The kettle felt warm against Henrik′s callused hands as he poured its contents into the white porcein cups across the counter. The sweet scent of the peppermint tea making itself noticed the moment the light green liquid started to trickle down.

  It was a rainy afternoon in Ashwood Vilge, the kind of downpour that made the Tea maker grateful he′d spent the st weekend hammering away the loose tiles atop his roof back into pce, the kind of rain that stopped even the most diligent farmer from toiling in the fields - lest he wished to see himself hip deep in muck and mud.

  As he finished filling up the teacups Henrik pced them onto his tray, arranging them around a pte of butter cookies before sprinkling just the tiniest amount of vender sugar atop each of them - smiling in appreciation as the specks of sweet powder disturbed the rising steam.

  With a practiced motion, he lifted the tray and stepped out from behind the dark wood counter - lowering his head just enough for the top of it to merely brush against the dried herb bundles dangling from the ceiling beams without damaging them – before weaving through chairs and tables on his way to deliver the tea order.

  As he crossed the shop, he took a moment to check in on his patrons for the day,

  Miss Maury and old Agatha seemed amused enough as they excitedly gossiped in their usual corner. Father Craster pretended to scribble something on those parchments of his two tables away - the faking of the quill′s movements deliberately slowing down as Agatha reached a particurly juicy bit of intel about the mayor′s daughter - And then… there were the strangers, sticking out like a sore thumb, as strangers usually do.

  Two of them - almost as big as Henrik himself - were cd in rusty mismatched armor, trading quips and jokes cheerfully to the dismay of their third companion, a smaller, meeker-looking individual dressed in fine blue silks that impatiently tapped a golden ring bound to be worth more than the teashop itself on the table′s wood.

  - “Your tea sir.” The words left him in a practiced fashion as he arrived at the table, the rough tone of his voice subdued by intentional formality as he transferred the dishware from the tray onto the table

  “Finally! I was starting to think you were waiting for the bloody herbs to grow!” The noble pipes up, his voice dripping with annoyance as he reaches for his cup. “This is why I despise leaving Candria. “He continues as Henrik watches him ruin the brew, one spoonful of sugar at a time. “You rural folk move like you have unending time, no regard for your betters, none at all.”

  There is a pause as he takes the drink to his lips, contorting his face into a frown at the first sip.

  “Bha! You made it too sweet.” he decres disapprovingly, but when the shop owner was about to reach for the cup in a silent offer to repce it, the nobleman just shakes his head. “Just leave it! How much is it?”

  “Five copper.” Henrik responds, his lips contorting into a smile that doesn′t reach his grey eyes.

  - “Humph…a bit pricey but so be it…. Gregory, pay the men!” the noble orders as he reaches for a biscuit, and with that, one of his grunts - a bald man with burn marks all over his scalp - turns to face the Tea Maker and extends him the coins.

  There was sharpness behind this man′s sunken gaze as he was examining him, his bck eyes lingering one moment too long on the hefty collection of scars that peeked from under Henrik′s pulled-up sleeves, on the hardened hands that received the coins and the deformed lips locked into a polite smile that were made up of equal part scar tissue and flesh.

  “Didn′t get those brewin tea did ye?” he suddenly asked.

  “Not exactly.” Henrik retorts dryly.

  That could have been the end of it as he closed his pouch and picked up the tray, ready to leave…however, despite his best judgment, curiosity led him to take a longer gnce at Gregory′s wounds…the burns looked fresh…fire? No…acid-made judging by the sunken look of the markings…and there was something about the way they were positioned… almost as if resembling teeth marks…yes, no doubt about what it caused them....

  He didn′t want to say it...as a matter of fact, keeping quiet would be less of a hassle.

  But old habits, apparently, truly die hard.

  “I have some water clove ointment in the back. I could sell if you need it” he offers, a zy gesture given as his free hand points towards Gregory′s scalp. “Might help reduce the scarring once that Basilisk bite heals.”

  “Uh?” surprise was apparent on the trio′s face, even the nobleman cocked a brow…as, Gregory was the one that gave voice to that inevitable question. “Doesn′t sound half bad...but...how did ye know it was a basilisk?”

  At that, Henrik merely shrugged, opening his mouth to reply but deciding against it as he started to make his way back to the counter.

  The scalp burned mercenary -Gregory apparently - on his tail, his face silently screaming out the wish to probe deeper and his uncertainty on how to do it in equal measures, as, before he figured out a way to broach the topic, the herbalist had already vanished into the back room.

  A minute or two passed, but Henrik would emerge, pcing a small circur tin box atop the counter.

  “You got off easy." he says, both as a compliment and a handy way of using fttery to try and disperse further questioning from Gregory′s mind.

  "Considering the size of the wounds that is...however... how did you three even run into a basilisk in the first pce? The ones around here nest deep within the Redwood, no road goes that far into the forest.”

  “Tsk, tell me bout it” the mercenary grumbles as he fishes for a small leather bag heavy with coin and starts looking inside, his eyes shifting momentarily to the nobleman.

  “The prick over there is a merchant, told us dishes using Basilisk eggs were all the rage in the Capital… gods know why…and hired us ta go on the hunt for them.” he expins, his voice lowering to a raspy whisper.

  “Insisted on tagging along too, said he wanted to see us pick them from ta source so we didn′t try to peddle him goose eggs or some shit....But if I am being honest,gettin ta dam things was easy! It took twice as much effort makin sure moneybags didn’t get himself killed trippin or a root or sum shit. But hey…“ he would produce a golden coin, pcing it square on the counter′s dark wood with a friendly grin- even if cking in the teeth department. – “At least the pay was decent.”

  The tale itself was nothing new...just the test eccentricity from the people in the Capital...but there was something odd about the whole thing, these people were too ...well...presentable, too unscathed.

  “Still, Basilisks are tough. If that is the only wound you got when taking care of the mother, then color me impressed, especially if you two had to protect the lordling as well.”

  “Pfft, we didn′t kill no mother, that thing was huge,” Gregory says with a dry cackle as he pockets the ointment tin.

  “We staked out the nest and waited until the bloody beast fucked off to hunt before sneakin in to steal the eggs…the bite was from one of ta little cunts that hatched early” he retells. “Dam thing got the jump on me as I peeked into the nest… but ye can bet I got him back worse.” he states, proudly patting his dagger.

  Gregory′s words would linger in the air as Henrik grew unmoving...shit.

  He couldn′t say he was surprised, but boy,...was he hoping to be wrong.

  “A hatchling…so… the mother isn′t dead?” he finally asks, a new coldness seeping into his tone as his body tenses up…the battering of the rain growing heavier outside…in the distance, a dog started barking.

  “What? Were we supposed to risk our lives just for ta thrill of it?!” Gregory asks, his tone growing defensive in the face of this tea maker′s sudden perceived judgment. “Pffft, im here ta make coin and live enough ta spend it old timer, all of that glory shit be damned.”

  That was when Henrik noticed the heavy leather bag by the nobleman′s feet, small lumps pushing out into the leather...eggs, they were inside.

  “You need to leave... the three of you.” It’s all he says as he quickly moves around the counter to go and grab Gregory by the arm, leading him back to his group while shooting gnces towards the rain-battered windows.

  The mercenary looked utterly dumbfounded while getting dragged, an emotion seemingly shared by every single one of the tea house patrons as they watched the usually peaceful owner snap for apparently no reason.

  As, halfway to the window table, the brute manages to free himself with a shove and a pull of his arm.

  “Are ye soft in ta head? What′s your problem?! Gregory spits out, hand hovering over his weapon.

  Henrik′s eyes follow the movement, but he doesn′t make any attempt to stop him or try to restrain him once more.

  Instead, he speaks…repressed anger, tiredness, and a hint of resignation, all present in his words as he picks up on growing commotion outside...rain, dogs...something more, footsteps perhaps? Running? Regardless, it was too te already.

  “Basilisks mark their eggs with a special scent while they hatch them, a scent they can track from one side of the Redwood to the other if they need to...” he expins. "And you and your band of idiots broke into a Basilisk’s nest, killed one of her spawn, and brought her eggs here…do you understand what I am telling you?”

  The tea shop had gone quiet for all eyes were on the argument, by this point.

  That is...until the cnging of the vilge bell called out…rhythmic… metallic. A reverberating toll that every local knew had a single meaning…danger...

  At the sound, the nobleman gnced down towards the egg bag, the unknown mercenary peeked out of the window, Maury and Agatha were nervously clutching their skirts and Father Craster′s lips had turned into a thin line.

  Gregory, however, looked like he had just been spped in the face, lower lip trembling and skin turning the color of curdled milk as he processed this new information, his voice stuttering.

  “Y…Ye are making this up! I mean, what in ta world do YE know anyway UH!? Ye just brew fuckin TEA!”

  But Henrik just shook his head, the shadow that had just slipped past the nearby window confirming what he already knew…it was here.

  - “You doomed us all.”

  CRAACKK.

  Gss shards and wood splinters fly everywhere as the window near the trio′s table shatters, Henrik′s gaze shifting just fast enough to see the corpse of the unknown mercenary slump onto the chair – his head gnarly and deformed after having part of it bitten off – the mess of flesh and bone sizzling due to lingering acid – and right above it, squeezing itself through the newly formed opening, was a full grown Basilisk.

  The creature was long and slick, powerful front paws sinking their dark cws deep into the wood frame as it pushed its serpentine body into the Tea Shop, its yellow eyes darted around the scared patrons, and its teeth, sharp as needles, snapped at the surrounding air. It nded atop the table with a heavy thud, the nobleman – now trapped between the monster and the corner– tried his best to shrink himself into the stone walls, fingers scrambling at them in a silent prayer as the Basilisk encroached into his space…bright green acid coating its snapping fangs, a mane of dark orange spines rattling with silent murderous intent.

  “ I..I didn′t mean it…You can have them back, you ca...” but he didn’t finish his sentence as the creature′s maw wrapped around him, lifting him from his chair and ragdolling him around until the screaming stopped before dropping the corpse with a dry thud that would cause Agatha to release a whimper.

  “Don′t…move…” the herbalist cautions in a tone barely above a whisper, his eyes following the beast′s every step as it lowered its head and sniffed at the egg bag… He had no armor…no chance to avoid those fangs long enough to reach his weapon beneath the counter. Their best hope was that it retrieved what it came here for and left, satisfied with the carnage already inflicted.

  Looking around, he would see that Craster had managed to move towards Maury and Agatha, helplessly pcing himself between the two shivering women and the beast…not one of them seemed willing to take another step, even if they wanted to.

  Gregory however…Henrik noticed how the mercenary′s eyes fixed on the half-melted body of the companion he was trading quips with half an hour earlier, he saw how his hands trembled in what he could only assume to be a mix of fear and rage as they started to reach for the mace on his belt.

  “Don′t you idiot! You will get us all killed!”

  But it was too little, too te….

  The Basilisk′s yellow eyes snapped away from the egg bag as Gregory′s scream filled the air, and its acid-coated fangs bared themselves as he was charged.

  Chaos settles in.

  Still cursing Gregory under his breath, Henrik dashed towards the counter, pushing past the dangling bundles of herbs – most of which came crashing down around him - as he reached under the counter, wrapping his hand around a familiar handle that he would pull free.

  The Warhammer was admittedly crude-looking, made up entirely of some sort of bck steel that showed itself dented and rusted in most pces…but it was a weapon… and in a different life, it had seen Henrik out of more trouble than he could recall.

  Raising back to his feet, the Tea maker watched the Basilisk narrowly avoiding Gregory′s mace strike, he saw how the creature was forced to recoil before – like a whip – its tail struck the mercenary′s side, throwing him off bance just long enough for the monster to sink its needle-like fangs.

  There was no time for the remaining egg hunter to shout or cry for help…his st words reduced to the wet crunch of bone and the sizzle of flesh.

  (…)

  With his foe felled the Basilisk stepped over Gregory′s body, his head hanging low to the ground while his yellow eyes focused on the two trembling women, and the scared priest standing in front of them, spines rattling as he got near…acid dripping into the wooden floors and burning away at the pnks…their fear thrummed in the air, the rush of blood, the quickening of pulse, the warmth of prey

  One step, then another, metallic taste seeped into his tongue as he licked his crimson-stained teeth in anticipation of the kill…

  (…)

  As the beast approached, Father Craster closed his eyes, his sense of duty keeping him from budging from his position despite the trembling of his old knees…but even then, he had to admit it ... it was easier not to run if he didn′t stare directly at it.

  He tried to say a prayer…find some comfort in the Gods… but his throat was suddenly too dry to speak, his mind too cluttered to recall the scripture…his senses too aware of the frightened woman behind him…he braced himself… But the pain he expected didn′t come.

  THUD.

  Henrik felt as his war hammer crashed against the side of the Basilisk′s face, scales and spines cracking under the raw momentum of his blow, he saw as the monster was projected onto the wall – a yelp leaving its throat upon hitting the cold stone – but then it rose…

  No longer was its attention on the elderly trio in the corner, rising to its feet, the beast would hiss towards the one who had just struck it, the broken spine mane rattling in a mix of fury and pain as it lunged.

  The cws where the first to reach him, two fast swipes – Henrik blocked one with the handle of his hammer, the sheer force behind the blow enough to stagger him and allow the other paw to rake his left shoulder – pain, hot, searing pain as blood started to trickle down the linen tunic…but he could not stop.

  Raising the hammer high, he would sm it down, aiming for the head again- but the beast was quick, pnks of wood shattering in pce of the Basilisk′s skull.

  A tail whipped towards Henrik, but he ducked and countered, returning the favor in the form of an arching horizontal strike…a dry thud, the crack of ribs, a visceral growl…he hit it!

  Amidst the chaos, the sound of various pairs of footsteps rushing to the exit echoed from where Father Craster and the woman were but Henrik wasn′t able to turn and see if they made it as a torrent of acid was spat by the wounded creature…white agony infming his chest and causing his vision to blurs into shadows...then a hit from something heavy.

  BAAM!

  Before he knew it, the world had flipped, and the Basilisk was on top of him. Yellow eyes gring merely inches away, dark cws pinning his arms to the tea shop floor, his hammer out of reach.

  Drippings of acid kept falling from the looming maw - burning Henrik′s cheeks as they nded on his skin – as, seconds away from having his head bit off the Tea maker ripped one of his arms free and threw a punch to the side of his attacker′s face, then another, and another, and another…

  His hand felt viscous, green blood soaked his knuckles as he reduced flesh into pulp, his muscles screamed at him to stop, his chest burned so strongly Henrik was pretty sure he would be able to see bone if he was to look down…but he kept going -Gods know he kept going - until he felt the grip on his other hand loosen, the limp body of the Basilisk falling atop of him with a suffocating weight.

  Then Silence.

  It came so abruptly that it caught him off guard.

  Suddenly, he was left alone, pinned down on the floor of his broken-down tea shop, by the weight of the monster′s corpse …

  Craster, Maury, and Agatha were nowhere to be found.

  His hammer y lost, not too far from Gregory′s body.

  And from the roof…a drop hit his face …

  He thought it to be blood at first, maybe acid.

  But then he saw it... right above him, in one of the pces he had hammered away at st weekend, there was a small leak–no bigger than a marble–but enough to allow some of the rain crashing outside to slip into his tea shop.

  Before he put the hammer down, he took pride in his efficiency, how he completed every contract he took, how he got results... the kind that ensured the issue wouldn′t rise again for a couple of years, if ever...

  Out on the road he was a fixer, but in here...in this new life..well..all he knew was that, despite his best efforts, that damn roof didn′t stay fixed long.

  That… is when darkness took over.