The candlelight of Alistair’s keep flickered out, and in its place came sunlight and flies.

  Somewhere far from stone walls and grand oaths, a man lay face-down in mud. Pigs snorted beside him, one sniffing his bald head as if testing whether it was edible. The man stirred, groaned, the sunlight beaming off his shiny dome, revealing a grin far too confident for someone caked in filth.

  "Another dawn conquered," he muttered proudly.

  This was Basic—the supposed working hand of The Bumbling Stump Inn, though his work had yet to be sighted by any living soul.

  "R-rise and shine, my darling," called out an old stuttering man.

  Basic rolled over, mud sliding down his arms as he fought to stay awake. "And good morning to you, Bumbling."

  Bumbling walked past him and crouched beside a pig. "Not you—Rose. H-hows my precious girl?." He rubbed the pig’s neck, and she grunted in delight.

  "Ah yes," said Basic, sitting up. "She grows more beautiful by the day."

  Bumbling stopped rubbing and squinted. "Sh-she looks pale. Y-you haven’t been eating her slop again have you?"

  "Heaven forbid a man gets curious," Basic said defensively. "You shouldn’t worry. She’ll feed the entire village when the time comes."

  Bumbling looked offended. "How d-d-da—"

  "Shall we start the day?" Basic interrupted, stretching his arms.

  "It’s midday, you goof. That’s why I’m here, you’ve for-forgotten your chores again."

  Basic smirked. "I remembered the most important one of all—keeping Rose company."

  The pig grunted and snapped at his finger, much to Bumbling's delight.

  He began to speak to Rose with a toddler dialect. "He'll w-want to do them today, w-won’t he? Yes he will."

  Basic perked up. "I will?"

  Bumbling nodded, clearly pleased to hold power over the situation. "A r-raven came for you this morning."

  Basic's eyes widened in surprise. "A letter? For me?" His mind raced with possibilities.

  "Not to often that—now that I think of it… nobodies ever written ‘you. I’ll b-be sure it stays that way unless you march your tail inside and g-get to work."

  "Could it be a new debt, I wonder?" Basic asked, his voice laced with anxiety.

  Bumbling shrugged his shoulders, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he knew the answer.

  "Is it a love letter from Swanda Duckworth? Has she finally returned my affection?" Basic asked, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear.

  This time, Bumbling shook his head, trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill out.

  Basic, feeling a glimmer of hope, asked quietly, "Is it from my parents, come to undo my bastard status?" His eyes sparkled with a whimsical twinkle, a desperate hope clinging to his words.

  Bumbling couldn't hold back anymore. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "O-oh no, no," he managed to say between laughs.

  Basic’s face fell, a flush of anger rising in his cheeks. Bumbling’s laughter at his misery stung. "Fine," he muttered, his voice tight.

  With a sigh, Basic began gathering a few stray tankards from the empty tables. Mud tracks scattered wherever he went. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the work, his mind kept drifting back to the letter. What could it be? Who could it be from? The mystery gnawed at him, distracting him from his tasks.

  After a moment, a determined glint sparked in Basic’s eyes. He scooped up all the tankards in sight, even snatching them from the hands of guests still enjoying their drinks. That way, he wouldn’t have to wait for them to finish.

  "Hey! I was drinking that!" one of the patrons protested, his mug suddenly gone from his hand.

  Basic turned graciously toward the patron with a bow and replied with a forced smile, "But this one has spit in it," as he shot a ball of spit into the ale.

  The man jumped from his chair, ready to throttle Basic’s neck as if he were a chicken before supper.

  "I’m only following orders," replied Basic with a look of concern. "If you’ve any complaints, take it up with Bumbling." He pointed to the unsuspecting old man.

  The angry patron shifted his body language like a rabid wolf, posturing toward the oblivious old man.

  Ignoring the grumbling patrons, Basic headed upstairs to the guest rooms. He barged in, waking several guests from their slumber to redo their linens. The surprised and angry reactions echoed through the inn, grumbles and shouts of protest reaching the ears of those below.

  Next, he hurried outside to the well, filling a bucket with water. Returning to the common room, he unceremoniously splashed the water across the entire floor, then tossed some soap onto the wet surface. "I’ll let that mix and sweep it up afterward," he declared with a smirk.

  The few patrons still in the inn found their feet soaked and slipping on the soapy floor. Several lost their balance and tumbled to the ground, muttering curses under their breath as they struggled to get back up.

  Barely hiding his grin, Basic admired the genius he’d concocted. All he could think about was the letter and what it might hold.

  Bumbling, with a furrowed brow and a deep frown etched into his wrinkled face, approached Basic in a hysterical manner, his voice carrying across the room. "Basic!" he called out, his tone sharp and urgent.

  Hearing his name, Basic turned slowly, his expression resembling that of a dog caught in the rain.

  Bumbling marched up to him, his finger aggressively thrust into the air as if to emphasize the severity of what he was about to say.

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  The innkeeper’s voice hardened. "You… you… you did a fine job," he stuttered, much to Basic’s astonishment. "I never thought of changing linens while someone’s still in bed, and to wet the entire floor with bubbly foam… Why, I dare say it’s genius!"

  Basic blinked, lowering his hands slowly, surprise written plainly on his face. This was not the reaction he had anticipated—but one he agreed with.

  The guests, however, were not as impressed. Their protests grew louder, a chorus of discontent rising around them.

  "He’s wet my willies!" one particularly irate guest shouted.

  Bumbling, seemingly oblivious, turned toward the grumbling patrons, nodding his head as if listening intently. "B-be patient," he replied, waving his hand dismissively, completely misinterpreting their demands as requests for more service.

  The guests exchanged bewildered glances as Bumbling returned his attention to Basic with a satisfied smile.

  After a moment of surveying the pleasantries around him, Bumbling suddenly remembered the task at hand. "Ah yes, I b-believe you’ve earned this," he said with a rare tone of solemnity as he reached into his worn coat. "Let me fetch your letter."

  Basic’s eyes lit up with giddy excitement. His breath quickened as Bumbling slowly pulled out a folded piece of paper. The young bald man’s hands trembled as he eagerly reached for it, his anticipation palpable.

  But just as Bumbling handed the paper over, he hesitated. "Oh, w-wait, no… that’s the chore list from earlier," he stammered, quickly snatching it back.

  Basic’s face fell slightly, but he tried to be understanding, though his excitement still bubbled beneath the surface.

  Bumbling fumbled in his pockets again, his brow furrowed in concentration. He pulled out another piece of paper, which Basic promptly snatched from his hand, nearly tearing it in his haste to read it. His eyes scanned the words quickly, only for his face to contort in disappointment.

  "It’s a notice… for unpaid taxes?" he exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief.

  "Ah, y-yes," Bumbling stuttered sheepishly. "I was wondering if you could help me with this?"

  Basic’s patience was wearing thin. His eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth. "Get your head checked, old man, and produce the letter already!"

  Flustered, Bumbling rummaged through his coat pockets once more, his fingers brushing against another folded paper. He pulled it out with a triumphant smile.

  "Here it is!" he declared.

  "Oh no," Bumbling said quickly, realizing his mistake. "That’s… that’s the chore list again."

  In a fit of frustration, Basic turned to grab a knife from the nearby table, his face darkening as his patience snapped.

  "W-wait!" Bumbling cried out. "The letter… it should be in the cupboard in the back."

  Basic froze, his hand gripping the knife tightly before he sighed heavily and put it down. "For your sake, let’s hope so," he muttered, turning toward the back of the inn.

  As he walked away, Bumbling called after him, "Be swift with your reading, Basic, then return to your duties!"

  "Swiftly, yes, I shall," Basic replied, pretending to strangle Bumbling from behind.

  Satisfied he had done his part, Bumbling crept toward the common room. In his haste, he failed to notice the soapy mess Basic had created earlier. His foot slipped on the sudsy floor, and with a loud yelp, his body hit the floor with a heavy thud.

  Searching through the cluttered cupboard, Basic’s frustration grew until, finally, his fingers brushed against a small, rolled-up piece of parchment. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled it out, noticing the seal was still intact. A thrill of hope surged through him. If Bumbling hadn’t opened it, maybe—just maybe—it was from his mother or father after all.

  With trembling hands, Basic carefully broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, his eyes immediately darting to the bottom.

  "Mommy!" he shouted with glee, a flicker of hope lighting his chest—only for that light to be extinguished as he saw the name written below.

  Alistair.

  "Alistair?" Basic murmured, furrowing his brow. What business could someone with such a name have with him?

  Confusion turned to curiosity as he began reading from the top.

  To the one they call Basic,

  I seek your companionship amidst a quest of uncertainty and of the highest importance. I make haste for the Bumbling Stump at your first correspondence. Consider the issues plaguing Gilgamar and reach into your vault of courage. For there will come a time when the plague extends itself to even the most intimate corners of the realm.

  Basic’s face twisted in confusion as he tried to make sense of the letter’s convoluted phrasing.

  "What in the world is that supposed to mean?" he muttered.

  He stared at the letter for another moment before crumpling it in frustration and tossing it aside. "I’ll skin the next debt collector who dares send for me," he muttered, shaking his head.

  Just then, Bumbling slid on his back—much as he had earlier—and skidded into the back room where Basic stood. Startled, Basic turned just as Bumbling’s eyes landed on the crumpled letter.

  Curiosity sparked. Bumbling picked it up and smoothed it out, reading from the floor.

  As he read, excitement lit his face. "B-B-Basic," he stammered, barely containing himself. "You would deny such an adventure?"

  Basic waved a dismissive hand. "Adventure? You think so highly of me that I would be tricked, Bumbling."

  "N-no, no! It’s different this time!" Bumbling insisted, his pants nearly slipping off as he shook his head. "Just think of it—a quest only someone as… as great as you could handle!"

  He searched desperately for the right word. "Your… bald… head. Yes! Your shiny dome could become a beacon of life."

  Basic’s chest puffed slightly. A cocky grin spread across his face. "A beacon of life, you say. That I cannot deny. Yet I am a humble man from humble beginnings."

  He gestured around the back room, his grin fading. "But Huble is my home. These are my people."

  He pointed toward a drenched patron who had wandered in.

  "Save it, egg head, before I crack it," the patron muttered.

  Basic smirked and turned back to Bumbling, spreading his hands. "See?"

  "Where else would the common man address me by nickname?" he said proudly.

  Bumbling sighed, realizing Basic’s mind was made up. Still, he tried once more. "At least consider r-responding to Alistair by letter."

  Basic scoffed. "I can barely read, let alone write."

  Bumbling’s eyes lit up. "W-well, I could help you!"

  Basic hesitated, then shrugged. "Alright. But don’t misinterpret me."

  And so they sat together, the old man poised with a quill in hand, ready to scribble down Basic’s thoughts. Basic furrowed his brow, deep in consideration, before finally speaking.

  "To Alistair," Basic began, his tone serious, though still tinged with his usual cockiness. "I believe you undersold my talents. Adventurers, such as you claim, don’t write letters… they fight, pillage, and… venture! I, for one, cannot write, so my ripe friend here is doing so for me."

  Bumbling nodded enthusiastically as he scribbled, muttering under his breath.

  "This is a sign of stature," Basic continued, warming to his own words, "which would explain why you need a man like me. Come to the Bumbling Stump Inn if you dare… but be warned, this be a place of true terror. This is not a place you come to for comfort!"

  He paused, then added, "Unless, of course, you’re my long-lost dad, in which case, I love you."

  Bumbling nodded rapidly, scratching away. "Yes, yes, a strong message indeed."

  "—Basic," Basic finished, folding his arms with satisfaction.

  When he finished, he leaned back, crossing his arms with a proud grin. "I think that came out well."

  Bumbling looked up from the parchment, his eyes gleaming with approval. "I-I’ll finish up the last details and see to it that your message gets sent," he assured him, clearly pleased with the outcome.

  Basic, feeling rather accomplished, gave Bumbling a nod. "I thank you for your service, my dear friend. But fear not, for I shall never leave your side."

  Trying gently to nudge Basic away from that idea, Bumbling leaned closer. "Y-you do remember that Elabor is r-returning to the inn in the coming days? H-he’s to be honored for his conquests."

  At the mere mention of Elabor’s name, Basic stiffened. His face scrunched in displeasure as he muttered something under his breath.

  Bumbling watched with barely concealed amusement as Basic squirmed at the thought of the celebrated hero returning. There was something about Basic’s aversion to Elabor that Bumbling found particularly funny—almost as if he took pleasure in seeing him rattled.

  "Ah, w-what’s the matter, Basic?" Bumbling teased, his eyes twinkling. "D-don’t tell me you’re worried about being upstaged?"

  Basic huffed, crossing his arms defensively. "I just don’t see what the fuss is all about. I could best him if I had the chance."

  Bumbling chuckled, though it came out more like a croak. "Basic, you couldn’t b-best a bath, let alone the Rose Knight."

  Basic narrowed his eyes. "And you can’t best the words trapped on your tongue, Bumbling."

  Still amused, Bumbling waved a hand dismissively, shooing him away. "Be gone, boy! We w-will not dishonor the Hero of Huble. While I tend to your letter, you shall clean the mess in the common room—or else you’ll be sleeping inside tonight."

  The bald troublemaker glared at him, muttering resentfully as he turned away.

  Bumbling smirked to himself as he watched Basic go, knowing that for all the young man’s bluster, the coming days were bound to be interesting.