Collin had never tasted the product he sold, and he never planned to. Sure, at first there certainly was an allure, when his customers sighed cheerfully, froth-lipped, commenting on its freshness or chill. But give them a few more rounds and they would be fumbling drunk, which Collin found no interest in at all. So instead, he sat idly behind the counter, cleaning glasses and pouring drinks without ever so much as a sip. 

The Blue Bird Inn was not the most elegant of establishments, but the ale was sweet and the meals were cheap making it the talk of the small town of Fungor. A grand, deer-antler chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting the room in the gentle glow of candlelight. The room shook with loud, drunk laughter alongside the clinking of wooden pints. In the corner of the room, a piano was playing itself to an upbeat melody. All sorts ventured to the Blue Bird Inn: wizards and witches, rogues and mercenaries, and even the occasional magical beast made an appearance. 

Tucked away against the far wall was the bar, a counter surrounded by leather stools and glass lanterns. Collin stood between the counter and a wall of barrels, usually either cleaning or refilling a glass. 

His hair was divided, half as white as snow, the other as dark as charcoal. It was shaggy and cut short to his neck, the ends curling up like upside-down fish hooks. He wore a ratty, leather vest and a white colored shirt with black slacks.

One day, a man kicked open the heavy wood door and surveyed the room. He trudged over to the bar and plopped down into one of the seats. He had a brawny, rugged body engraved with pale pink scars. The skin that was not scared was a lovely caramel color that glistened in the lantern light. His hair was thick and dark like animals’ fur. He wore chainmail armor with a long crimson cape. 

“A pint please, Elf’s Ale.” the stranger ordered gruffly, scratching at his stumble.

Collin popped the cork of one of the barrels and let the golden liquid fall into a pint. He slid the glass across the table silently, not spilling a single drop. 

“Name’s Breven, Breven Battle-Axe.” the man announced proudly, catching the pint.

“Collin,” the bartender returned shyly. 

“You know, I used to be a part of the Inferno Knights many years ago,” Breven said with a large swig of ale.

“Used to?” Collin inquired gently. “It’s unusual for a one to leave the Knights.”

“They knew nothing of honor.” Breven spat. “At first we were a band of men out to avenge our villages, our fallen lost to the dragons. But soon enough what started as revenge became genocide. And after every last drop of dragon blood had spilled over this land, the Knights became dogs for the King.”

“You must be quite brave to be bad-mouthing the Knights so openly.” Collin chuckled uneasily. 

“They’re bastards, every last one of them.” Breven groused. “But I’ve been on a quest of sorts and-”

“Tell me your whole life story why don’t yeah?” a flamboyant, high-pitched voice squeaked from behind Collin’s shoulder. Collin blushed and hissed a warning into his shoulder hurriedly. Breven stared, one bushy eyebrow raised above the other while he slowly slipped his ale.

“S-Sorry,” Collin apologized with a nervous chuckle. “I think someone let a pixie in here,” he laughed, swatting at the air.

“...Like I was saying, I’m on a quest.” Breven continued more formally. “I’ve been looking for a rare artifact, you may have heard of it: The Oracle.”

Collin’s eyes suddenly went wide and his mouth hung slightly ajar.

“It’s nothing but a fairy tale told to children,” he retorted. "an old wizard's orb that can grant your heart's greatest desire."

Breven shook his shaggy head, a wide smirk growing across his lips. 

“It’s real,” he whispered. “And if I’m going to find it, I am going to need some help.”

“M-Me?” Collin yelped. “I’m not useful unless it's pouring drinks. I'm just a humble bartender.”

“No, no you're not.” Breven returned warmly, waging his thick finger. “You take jobs here and there, and everywhere you go, the Inferno Knights follow.”

“How do you know about that?” Collin hissed, leaning over the counter. 

“The Knights don't hunt down lowly bartenders. They only go after the real high-targets, people with dangerous secrets.” Breven said, drawing his face close to Collin’s, alcohol on his breath. “What is your secret?”

“I-I-'' Collin stuttered, flushed. He slammed his hands down on the table, Breven’s pint trembling. “I don’t know how you know all of that but I will not be blackmailed into an idiotic quest.” he snarled, tossing his apron aside. 

"I’m taking my break!” Collin yelled over to a pudgy goblin sitting at a nearby table. The goblin mumbled a vague "alright", counting a tower of golden coins and smoking a cigar. 

“Intriguing…” Breven mumbled, finishing off the rest of his pint in one big swig. 

Collin had traveled to many different lands, but none quite like Fungor. Small cottages made from thick, hollowed-out mushrooms lined the cobbled streets. Trees the size of mountains towered around the city, hanging with a million small glass lanterns tied with rope and filled with fireflies. 

The native people, the Fungolos, each resembled a species of mushroom; from the color of their skin to the mushroom cape growing up from their heads. Collin watched as a Fungolo fastened a harness on a gigantic honey bee. The Fungolo clambered over the honey bee’s fat back and rode it off into the air. The translucent wings of the bees reflected on the bright Spring sunlight.

As Collin was distracted, he accidentally walked right into someone. He fell backward, landing hard on his hands. 

“Sorry, I-” Collin began, the words catching in his throat.

 Looming above him was a massive orc. It had swamp-green skin covered in blisters and pimples. A pair of ivory, long tusks sprouted out from its bottom lip. 

The Orc grabbed Collin by the arm, yanking him up into the air. 

“I was on my way to grab some grub at the bar…” the Orc licked its lips. “...but you look like a tasty enough meal.”

“Let go!” Collin barked, clawing and kicking to break free. The Orc laughed at Collin's efforts, gabbing him hard in the ribs.

“Gentleman!” a familiar voice chimed from behind. Breven stood between Collin and the Orc.

“Would you kindly let go of my friend?” he asked.

“You can have him back…” the Orc smirked, drool running down its lip. “...if you pay me fifty oreals.”

In the flash of an eye, Breven had drawn his sword, the edge pressing against the Orc’s throat. Fearfully, the Orc let go of Collin’s arm and scrambled backward.

“I know that s-sword!” the Orc yelled, pointing one of his thick, sausage fingers at it. The sword’s handle was a snarling wolf’s head, the silver blade protruding from its open mouth. “You’re one of those damn Knights!”

“Not anymore,” Breven said, stabbing the blade into the ground. A burst of shadow came from the tip of the sword, taking the form of a large black wolf.  A dark mist billowed from the world, like smoke from a fire. Its diamond eyes glowed an eerie crimson. 

The Orc made a scared whimper and ran back down the street, the wolf chasing after him, snapping at his ankles.

“Are you alright?” Breven asked Collin, swinging his sword over his shoulder. Collin nodded with a defeated look. It had always been like this, danger around every corner, barely surviving to see the next day. He knew he was weak in a world where he needed to be strong. 

Breven studied the pain on Collin's face curiously, his features softening. 

“You have potential, you know,” Breven said encouragingly. “I saw you fighting like a demon to get away from that beast. You have the spirit, you just need the skills and equipment to go with it.” Breven took a knee so they were almost eye to eye. “Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted? Something you’ve always longed for?”

Collin looked anxiously at his wrist. 

“Yes,” he answered in a whisper. 

“Then why don’t you come with me?” Breven asked. “I’m gathering a team of the bravest, toughest adventures around. We’ll find the Oracle and then-well, then the sky’s the limit!”

Collin hesitated a moment and then shook his hand.