The storm had been howling for hours. Rain hammered the cobbled streets like the drums of an approaching war. Amid the chaos of wind and thunder, the battered wooden sign of “Fantasy” swung wildly, its faded letters promising warmth, drink, and fleeting safety. Inside, the fire roared and the mugs clattered, as fate drew ten souls together — each carrying their own burdens, ambitions, and secrets.
Story Chapters
- Chapter One – A Storm, A Scroll, and the Awakening of the Vault
- Chapter Two – Embers Beneath the Alehouse
- Chapter Three – Whispers in the Cask
- Chapter Four – The Weight of Silent Deals
- Chapter Five – The Trials of Nikiforos, Pando’Spiros and Nikoko
- Chapter Six – The Trials of Sir Konstanto, St. Amou and Gleg
- Chapter Seven – The Trials of Patsir’I.O., Doc Pitoros, Gogos and Koump’aros
- Chapter Eight – The Lockdown
- Chapter Nine – The Halls
- Chapter Ten – Return to the Hearth — The Price of Passage
- Chapter Eleven – Trial of the Fractured Faith and Other Tales
- Chapter Twelve – The Inn Beyond Time
- Chapter Thirteen – The Man Who Never Was
THE PROTAGONISTS
Nikiforos, the Bringer of Win, pushed open the heavy door first, dripping with rain but smiling broadly. Renowned for his uncanny luck and unshakable spirit, Nikiforos sought shelter not just from the weather, but from the many debts and angry rivals nipping at his heels. Tonight, he needed a break, a plan, and perhaps a few fools willing to join his next wild gamble.
Sir Kostanto, the Patient Knight, entered soon after, his polished armor dulled by the rain but his posture perfect. A man who believed in waiting for the right moment rather than charging blindly, he sought refuge from a mission gone awry. Silent but calculating, Kostanto was at “Fantasy” to regroup — and perhaps to find allies for the difficult journey ahead.
Gogos, the Man with a Hundred Faces, slipped in unnoticed, changing his face as easily as others changed cloaks. No one knew his true purpose, but in the corner by the fire, he sat smiling slyly, a deck of cards in his nimble fingers. For Gogos, inns like these were treasure troves of information — and tonight, he was hunting secrets that could make him rich beyond dreams.
Sir Doc Pitoros, the stoic knight-medic, was hunched over a battered journal, quietly nursing a mug. Haunted by the soldiers he couldn’t save, Doc wandered from town to town, offering aid where he could. He had stopped at “Fantasy” only because the storm was too fierce to continue — but destiny had other plans for him tonight.
General Pando’ Spiros, the old lion of the battlefield, sat grim and silent near the bar, his cloak heavy with mud. Though officially retired, whispers of unrest in the southern provinces had dragged him from his hard-earned peace. Pando sought old comrades and perhaps a few brave fools willing to help him snuff out a new rebellion before it sparked into war.
Koump’aros, the jovial troublemaker, crashed through the door laughing, soaked head to toe but with a bottle already in hand. He was on the run — again — after a marriage proposal gone catastrophically wrong in the next village over. “Fantasy” was just the latest stop on his endless trail of mischief, where laughter and knives often danced hand in hand.
Gaslord Nikoko, the fallen knight, slumped into a corner, his armor rusted and his bottle half-empty. Once a hero of the realm, now more a memory than a man, Nikoko drifted from tavern to tavern, chasing old glories and new sorrows. He didn’t come to “Fantasy” by choice — the storm simply found him there, as broken things often found broken places.
Sir Patsir’ I.0., the “Golden Boy,” sauntered in next, polishing an imaginary speck off his gleaming breastplate. He came seeking refuge — and attention. Though young and reckless, he bore the name of a powerful family, and his swagger carried him farther than his sword. For Patsir, every inn was a stage, and every storm a chance to show off.
Tech Priest St. Amou entered last, his blackened robes hissing with the rain, the glow of forbidden machines flickering under the fabric. Once a mind of unmatched brilliance, now a shadow consumed by ambition, Amou was drawn to “Fantasy” not by shelter, but by rumors: rumors of artifacts hidden nearby, treasures that could tip the balance of power forever.
Gleg the Brewmaster, the heart of the inn, presided over it all with a booming laugh and a mug in each hand. No storm, no secret, no brawl surprised him anymore. “Fantasy” was his kingdom, and tonight, with the winds howling like wolves at the door, he sensed something stirring — something that would bind these ten lives together forever.
