Phealafarian Frontiers: 21 : Starlight at the Barney Knight
The day began with soft snowflakes drifting through pale morning light, a quiet hush settling over the road as Steal Team 6 shared a simple breakfast to mark the Starlight Festival. It was a modest celebration—the kind born not of wealth, but of camaraderie and stubborn endurance. Over warm bread, fried eggs, and the last dregs of their travel rations, the group recounted tales of mischief and past victories, each story interrupted by bursts of laughter or Tobias’ muttered complaints about the cold. The clinking of tin mugs, filled with steaming tea, echoed softly across the campsite. It wasn’t much, but it felt like home.
By late afternoon, the distant lights of Okoheller flickered across the snowy horizon like beacons. The weary party trudged forward, boots sinking into the fresh powder. As they crested a hill, the Barney Knight Tavern came into view, its tall sign swaying gently in the wind. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the tantalizing scent of roasted turkey, clove, and butter drifted on the breeze, promising respite. Their mounts were led to the stables with practiced ease, while Peanut the elephant, far too large for a stall, was content to settle in the wide walkway. Children from nearby farms stared in awe at the creature, shyly approaching to offer apples and pats while Tosk oversaw Peanut like a proud parent.
Inside, the tavern was a bustling refuge against the evening’s chill. Families and travellers gathered at long oak tables, sharing hearty Starlight Festival meals—plates piled high with golden roast turkey, bowls of buttered vegetables, sugared cranberries, and loaves of freshly baked bread. A few fiddlers played a warm, lilting tune near the hearth, their music blending with the hum of cheerful conversation. Behind the counter, a dark red-skinned tiefling with curling black horns polished mugs, his tail flicking lazily as he greeted new arrivals with a practiced grin.
“Evening,” Tobias said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Any chance you’ve got rooms?”
“Plenty,” the innkeeper replied with a welcoming smile. “Most folks head home for Starlight, so rooms are free. Two silver for the night, five if you want supper as well.”
The group shared uncertain looks, their coin purses lighter than they cared to admit. Before the moment grew awkward, Zaryth stepped forward, the faint glow of firelight dancing across her confident expression. “I’ll cover it,” she said with casual grace. “Call it a gift—for Lyra’s daughter and her friends.”
Relief and gratitude rippled through the group. Soon they were gathered around a long table, the feast laid before them like a festival dream: roasted turkey glistening with herbs, creamy mashed potatoes, spiced vegetables, and warm bread still steaming from the oven. The air was rich with the mingling scents of butter and roasting meat. For a few moments, there was no talk of quests or coin, only laughter and the scraping of plates.
Between bites, reality crept back in. “We really need coin,” Tobias muttered, examining the last crust of his bread like it might sprout gold. “We’re not exactly flush with silver.”
Tosk, never one for tact, grunted. “We should look at that gift we’re supposed to deliver. Might be worth something.”
Guardian fixed him with a glare and pulled a neatly wrapped box from his pack. “No. It’s not ours. And who even was this for? ‘Simon Slubbins’? Sounds fake.”
Simon, drying a plate nearby, looked up with a bemused expression. “Well, it’s the name my Ma gave me. Simon Slubbins, at your service.”
“Oh!” Guardian stammered, hastily handing over the box. “Sorry, uh… here. This is for you.”
Simon accepted it with a curious frown. “Thanks? Was I meant to get you something too?”
“No,” Guardian said quickly. “We were just told to deliver it.”
“By who?” Simon asked, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
“Your grandmother,” Tobias whispered.
“Your grandmother in Lamaton,” Guardian added a bit too loudly.
Simon’s face brightened. “Oh, Gram-grams! Well, thank you kindly.”
The exchange earned a round of chuckles before Tobias leaned casually on the counter. “While we have you—any work going?”
Tosk, ever tactless, chimed in cheerfully, “Need anyone beaten up or killed?”
The table fell silent. Even Simon blinked. “Not really the spirit of the season, lad,” he said dryly. “No, nothing major—everyone’s home for Starlight. Deliveries are done. Although…” He glanced at the kitchen. “I could use a hand cleaning up. Not glamorous, not well-paying, but it’s coin.”
“Nothing heading north of the mountains?” Tobias asked.
Simon shook his head. “Not with the Borglins up there. They’ve taken over the pass and ambush anyone who gets too close.”
Erisa leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Would someone pay us to clear them out?”
“Not around here,” Simon said. “But you lot—you’re from New Albion, right?”
“Yeah,” Tobias replied.
“Well, the city pays for ‘Services to the Continent.’ If you clear that pass, you might get a reward for opening the road.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tobias said. “But for now… I’ll help with the dishes.”
The rest of the night was spent in a whirlwind of clattering plates and warm camaraderie. They scrubbed mountains of crockery, splashing each other with suds, while the music from the tavern played faintly through the swinging kitchen door. Even Tosk, who broke two plates with his oversized hands, earned a forgiving grin from Simon. “Don’t worry about it. Consider it a Starlight gift.”
When the last dish was stacked, Guardian wiped his hands and offered, “I can bake some bread in the morning if you’d like. Fresh loaves for your guests.”
Simon’s expression softened. “I’d like that very much.”
As the evening waned, the party sat by the fire, their boots drying by the hearth and mugs of mulled cider warming their hands. Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing Okoheller in silence. For the first time in days, they allowed themselves to relax. The tavern quieted as they climbed to their rooms, the crackle of the fire lingering in their minds. Under the glow of the Starlight Festival, the world felt, if only for a night, safe and calm.
After the laughter and warmth of the Starlight meal the night before, a hush lingered over the tavern as the new day began. Morning came quietly, snow sparkling under the early light, each flake catching the sunrise like tiny shards of glass. Guardian was the first to stir, his hands already busy with flour and dough in the tavern kitchen. The oven mitt he’d enchanted the week before glowed faintly with a soft runic pattern, making him grin as he slid out perfectly browned loaves from the oven. The comforting scent of fresh bread filled the Barney Knight, curling through the rafters like a warm, inviting spell that coaxed even the sleepiest patron from their bed.
By the time the rest of the party descended the stairs, the tavern was far quieter than the previous night’s festivities. Only a handful of locals sat hunched over breakfast, murmuring softly over bowls of porridge and mugs of steaming cider. Guardian emerged from the kitchen with a tray of bread so fresh it seemed to breathe steam. He placed the loaves on their table with a small, satisfied flourish. Simon Slubbins joined them, wiping his hands on his apron with a mixture of gratitude and pride.
“Thank you again for last night,” Simon said warmly, placing a single gold coin in Guardian’s palm. “That’s for the bread. You’re welcome here anytime, you know. My kitchen feels brighter with company like yours.”
Thomas, chewing thoughtfully on a slice, tilted his head. “What was in that gift from your grandma?”
Simon laughed, hiking up his trouser legs to reveal a pair of garish knitted socks, striped in vivid reds, greens, and yellows, bright as festival lanterns. “A seasonal classic. Best part of Starlight, I say. She knits a new pair every year.”
The group chuckled at the socks, gathered their gear, and set off for the road north. Their destination was Angeldenn, a village crouched beneath the looming icy sprawl of Ulaa’s Wall.
The first day of travel unfolded beneath a pale winter sun. The road crunched under boots and wheels, lined with frost-covered trees that glimmered like crystal sculptures. Peanut plodded alongside the carts, his trunk swaying, occasionally reaching down to pluck at frozen tufts of grass. Thomas hummed a wandering tune while Erisa lobbed a snowball at Tosk, who responded with an exaggerated snort and a handful of snow clapped between his large palms. Their laughter mingled with the sound of distant crows and the whisper of wind curling through the pines.
By midday on the second day, however, stomachs began to growl. Rations were wearing thin, and the hearty meals of Okoheller felt like a memory that taunted them with every step.
“Did none of you prepare better for this?” Tobias teased, adjusting the straps of his cart with mock severity. “Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. You’d all be eaten by wolves if I wasn’t here.”
Before anyone could fire back a retort, the road curved, and a solitary boar stood planted in the middle, snorting plumes of white breath into the frigid air.
Thomas drew a slow breath as he nocked an arrow, his eyes narrowing on the boar’s stance. The creature’s bristled fur and low, rumbling snort sent a ripple of tension through the group. “Easy shot,” he whispered, loosing his arrow—and missing wide.
Eldrin followed suit, but a sudden sneeze, sharp and unexpected from the cold, sent his arrow whistling deep into the brush. The undergrowth erupted with a guttural squeal as four massive boars charged onto the road, their tusks gleaming and hooves pounding like war drums.
“Of course,” Erisa muttered, already scrambling up a rocky outcrop. She steadied her crossbow and began firing, not to kill, but to drive the beasts back, her bolts sparking little explosions of snow and dirt near their feet.
“Peanut! Let’s bring in Peanut!” Tosk suggested eagerly, glancing toward the elephant.
But the elephant stood firm, ears flaring, unwilling to move closer to the chaos. “Fine! Giants’ Might it is!” Tosk roared, leaping down from the cart. His frame swelled, muscles bulging as he grew in size, the Moon-Touched Trident in his hands flashing like a weapon forged for titans. He thundered forward, meeting the charge head-on.
Thomas and Eldrin loosed arrow after arrow, the twang of their bows mingling with the snorts and squeals of the boars. Guardian, his eyes glowing faintly, unleashed twin bursts of crackling eldritch energy. Each blast slammed into a charging boar, knocking them sideways with raw force.
Through it all, Tobias stood, unmoving, his breath fogging the air in measured puffs. “No,” he said flatly. “Not my fight.”
Zaryth’s jaw tightened, conflict flashing in her eyes, but duty won out. She strode forward, her blade igniting with divine light. With a single, precise swing, she struck, her smite exploding against the boar’s flank and sending it crashing lifeless into the snow.
The fight devolved into a storm of snow, mud, and blood. Tosk bellowed as he skewered one boar with his trident, hurling its body aside. Erisa’s final bolt zipped past his shoulder, embedding deep into another’s flank, bringing it down with a guttural roar. As the third beast fell, the last giant boar let out a high-pitched squeal and fled into the trees, the smaller one darting after it, both vanishing into the cold forest shadows.
Silence settled at last, broken only by heavy breathing and the sight of steam rising from the slain creatures. The air smelled of iron and frost. Tosk wiped his trident clean on the snow, then grinned, tusks flashing. “Dinner, anyone?”
They set to work immediately, their breath misting as they harvested their kill. The cold made every movement sharper, every sound crisp. Tosk dragged the carcasses into position, while Thomas and Eldrin carved thick slabs of meat, the warm steam rolling off the cuts into the winter air. Guardian worked with meticulous care, stripping the hides in long, smooth strokes until heavy sheets of boar skin were folded neatly beside the cart. Erisa gathered the ivory tusks, arranging them like pale trophies, while Tobias rendered dense chunks of fat, the waxy pieces stacking in gleaming piles. Bones were bundled with leather straps, ready for later use.
By the time they finished, the snow around them was stained crimson, but the carts were laden with spoils—hundreds of pounds of fresh meat, supple hide, tusks, fat, and bone. It was a gruesome task, but as they stacked the final load onto Tobias and Guardian’s carts, a sense of accomplishment settled over the party. The smell of blood and snow clung to their clothes as they pressed on, the cold air biting harder now, the road to Angeldenn stretching endlessly ahead.
