Arriving at Goldshire

The walk to Goldshire took until dusk. My legs were still slightly wobbly, and every stride served as a gentle, warm reminder of Brother Samuel’s lingering “holy light treatment.”

The cozy, bustling town finally came into view, dominated by the huge wooden frame of the Lion’s Pride Inn. Warm lantern light poured from the windows alongside the roaring sounds of laughter, clinking ale mugs, and the heavy, musky scent of off-duty guards lounging on the porch.

I found Guard Thomas standing near the crossroads, resting his hands heavily on his belt as he watched me approach.

“Branford, right?” Thomas asked, eyeing my basic cloth breeches and lack of armor. “McBride sent word you were coming. I’ve got a situation down at the eastern riverbank. Murlocs are getting aggressive, and a few local fishermen went missing near the docks after dark.”
“I’m ready, sir!” I replied, puffing out my chest to sound like a true hero of the Alliance. “Point me toward the beasts, and I shall dispatch them in the name of the Light!”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, looking at the setting sun, then back at me.

“Well, you’ve got two choices, kid,” Thomas said, crossing his arms. “Option one: you head down to the riverbank right now in the pitch black. The murlocs are active, slick, and they love ambushing lone travelers in the mud. Option two: you go check in with the innkeeper at the Lion’s Pride, grab a hot meal, and share a bunk for the night with the off-duty patrol. Then you tackle the river in the morning light.”

He motioned toward the inn, where several burly, sweat-drenched guards were currently wrestling playfully in the grass out front, laughing and roaring as they pinned each other down.

“So, what’s it going to be, aspirant? The dark, slippery river bank tonight, or the crowded inn?”