Read the Tale. Play the Quest.

The village of Green Meadow lay nestled in a bend of the Argent River, its whitewashed cottages gleaming beneath gentle hills. Generations of sheep herders had built quiet prosperity here, their lives ruled only by wool prices and weather patterns.

But peace had fled Green Meadow.

From the shadowed depths of Worros Woods, two ogres had emerged—hulking raiders who stole sheep by the dozens and terrorized the valley by night.

For three weeks, the creatures had raided the settlement. They struck only after dusk and always when the village's defenders were away with the wool caravan. They raided the smithy for weapons, kidnapped the clerk from the general store, and took hundreds of livestock. In desperation, the mayor put out a call for brave souls willing to venture into dangerous territory to confront the ogre threat. Promising a handsome reward of fifty gold pieces, he posted a flyer at the Drinking House, hoping for adventurers bold enough to follow the trail of destruction and put an end to the raids once and for all.

Four unlikely strangers would answer that call.

Evron had made a terrible mistake.

He really should have known that plugging the smoke vent was a bad idea. His hands trembled as he traced the spell pattern—one year of magic theory felt woefully inadequate against twelve feet of ogre.

This revelation struck him as Hunter's boots disappeared through the jagged crack in the cave roof, followed by inventive profanity that echoed off stone walls. Below, in the flame-lit depths, two shadows stirred.

“This isn’t going to plan!” Hunter shouted, scrabbling for purchase as dust rained down and the crack swallowed him inch by inch.

The larger ogre loomed twelve feet tall, rotting sheep hides draped across his scarred frame. He lifted his boil-covered head, clawed hands reaching upward—each wide as a warrior’s shield.

“Fresh meat falls from sky,” he rumbled. “Gift from dark spirits.”

The smaller ogre lumbered closer, dragging his spiked club with a grating screech. His yellow tusks gleamed as he grinned.

“Tender meat. Sweet meat,” he said, licking his lips as he raised the weapon.

Hunter tried to scramble back through the crack, but his black cloak caught on the jagged stone. “A little help!” he shouted, legs kicking wildly.

From the far corner of the cave, a voice cried out, “Help me too! They’re going to eat me!”

Evron squinted through the gloom and made out a young man hunched in a hanging cage swinging from the ceiling. The captive’s wailing rose, blending with the ogres’ growls. Evron couldn’t tell what else stirred inside the cage with him.

Avestdra's bone-white mask turned toward the cave entrance. She strode forth, heavy-footed and well armored, reaching into her breastplate to retrieve a symbol.

“Grund-Wyrgen guide my maul,” she intoned, her voice muffled by the mask.

The symbol bore the sign of Grund-Wyrgen, the Dark Mother. Most recoiled from such a patron, but Avestdra embraced the darkness.

Evron winced, rubbing his aching head. How had he gotten mixed up with a cleric who served the Dark Mother herself? Yet watching her move with deadly purpose toward genuine monsters, he couldn't argue with results.

Harbek hefted his battle-axe, its dwarven-forged edge free of nicks and keenly sharp. He tightened a shield strap with his teeth—the dented surface was painted with the sigil of the dwarven stronghold RingingHammer.

“Should've known the lad would muck this up,” he muttered in his thick mountain accent. “No patience, that one.”

Evron's fingers traced practiced patterns in the air, silver-blue energy gathering around his hands. As power flowed through him, his mentor's lessons echoed in his mind.

Magic flows from the High Points— primordial nexuses of power scattered across the realm. Wizards draw directly from these sources, bending raw energy to their will, but the greater the power seized, the greater the risk of losing control. Clerics channel this same energy through their gods, trading unquestioned devotion for divine guidance, power and protection. Every spell cast is a prayer answered, every miracle a debt of service owed.

The threads of force responded to Evron’s will, coalescing into the spell he needed. This was the difference his studies had taught him: wizards shaped magic through knowledge and discipline, while clerics received it as blessing. Both paths led to power, but wizards paid the price in constant vigilance against forces that could easily consume the unwary.

Evron glanced at Avestdra, wondering what dark powers Grund-Wyrgen had granted her. Her casual mention earlier today of the Dark Mother demanding blood suggested her divine abilities leaned toward destruction rather than healing. He found himself both grateful for her effectiveness in battle and quietly unsettled by the implications of traveling with someone whose goddess was literally called the Mother of Nightmares.

“Hunter won’t last much longer,” he yelled, analyzing the tactical situation.

The evening had begun promisingly at the Drinking House, that ivy-covered sanctuary where adventurers gathered to seek fortune and glory. Evron had been sitting alone, methodically reviewing a help wanted flyer.

Cirif, the colorful Master of the House, took notice. He set a tray bearing three foam-crowned tankards on the table, much to Evron’s surprise.

“The Vengeful Yew Band looked at that very posting yesterday, but they had more urgent matters to attend to—something east in the mountains. Experienced fighters, that lot. Been together for years, known for taking on the jobs other companies won't touch. If they passed on easy ogre work for something more pressing, it must be serious indeed.”

“Had my eye on that ogre bounty!” The dwarf at the table behind Evron turned around in his seat. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, moving to Evron’s table and lifting an ale to his bearded lips. “Name's Harbek of RingingHammer. Ye've got the look of a man with a mind for adventure—and the brains to make sure we all come back breathing.”

Before Evron could explain that his coin purse was embarrassingly light and his experience limited to theoretical studies, a young man in brown leather sat down and took the third ale.

“Hunter,” he said with a grin that should’ve been fair warning. “Couldn't help but notice you studying that ogre bounty. Fifty gold pieces split three ways? Not a bad day's work.”

“Four ways,” came a voice, muffled by a white oval mask with its hollow eyeholes. A woman in midnight plate advanced to their table, each step of her armored boots heavy against the floor. A thick chain hung around her neck, its pendant hidden.

Evron blinked in bewilderment. One moment, he'd been alone with his studies; the next he found himself apparently leading an adventuring company. “I'm Evron,” he managed. “Student of the arcane arts. Though I fear there may be some misunderstanding about my qualifications…”

Harbek set his mug down, a fresh line of foam streaking through the bramble of his beard as he listened to the newly minted leader. “I managed a year at the Great School of Magic, in Arcanum City, before my tuition ran out.” Evron gestured helplessly at his meager coin purse. “I'm hoping adventuring might fund the remainder of my studies.”

“Magic!” Harbek boomed, loud enough that half the tavern turned to stare. “Perfect! Blast the beasts with fire and lightning!”

“Actually, I'm still quite new at my studies. My theoretical knowledge is extensive, but practical application—”

“Theories are for dusty old scholars in dusty old towers,” Hunter interrupted, somehow having acquired a loose fitting ring that definitely hadn't adorned his finger moments before. “Action's what separates heroes from corpses.”

The masked woman leaned in. “I serve Grund-Wyrgen, and the Dark Mother favors the bold. And the profitable.” She removed her mask and set it on the table. The contrast was startling. Beneath the porcelain was a striking face—high cheekbones, strong jawline—marred and sanctified by ritual scars and inked devotion. Spiral patterns drew the eye inward on her cheeks, while sacred burns marked her temples. Each mark told a story of commitment that went beyond philosophy into complete surrender.

For a moment, her fierce stare softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. But only for a second. The mask remained on the table, but the shadows behind her eyes remained unyielding. “Avestdra,” she said simply.

The group settled at the table with their drinks. Though strangers, they conspired like old comrades, quickly sketching a plan to hunt the ogres and claim the reward. As they prepared to depart, Hunter tore the Green Meadow job posting from the message board. That's when Cirif, the elegant master of the establishment, approached with characteristic grace. “I see you've accepted the ogre bounty,” he observed, his cultured voice carrying amusement. “Might I ask what name your company goes by? For the ledgers, you understand.”

The four exchanged glances in sudden, awkward silence. In all their planning, they'd never discussed something so fundamental as a name.

“We're...” Evron began, then faltered.

“The, uh...” Hunter tried.

Harbek simply shrugged and drained his tankard. Avestdra remained mysteriously silent.

Cirif watched this display with obvious amusement.

“Well,” he said at last, “it is an odd company to be sure.”

And the name took hold.

“Come back Odd Company!” Cirif called after them. “I have another job waiting when you return!”

Calling out once more before he shut the door.

“If you manage to survive the ogres!”

Below, the boil-covered ogre made a savage lunge for Hunter's ankle. The thief twisted desperately as claws took hold of one of his boots. “Fresh meat!” the ogre bellowed.

His companion hefted his spike-studded club and turned toward the cave entrance just as Avestdra burst through the opening. Her white mask caught the hellish firelight as she raised her maul high. To her companions, she appeared as an avenging angel—though she served darker powers, darker than most would stomach. “Grund-Wyrgen walks with me,” she snarled, and brought the weapon down in a devastating arc.

Her maul struck with a wet crack. Black ichor sprayed the walls as the ogre roared in fury. His club swept sideways in a wild counterattack that whistled past Avestdra's masked face.

Harbek charged in behind her, his war-axe singing its battle-song. “For the glory of my fathers!” he roared, driving the blade deep into the ogre's thigh. Blood sprayed hot as the honed edge bit through ogre hide. The ogre's grip on Hunter loosened as he howled and swiped at the dwarf.

Hunter twisted in the monster's weakened grasp, finally managing to wrench his cloak free. He plummeted through the crack and struck the cave floor hard, rolling behind scattered bones as the ogre's fist smashed down where he'd been lying.

“Stay down!” Evron shouted, weaving power between his fingers. His Arcane Blast lacked devastating power, but perhaps—

“Look out!” Hunter yelled from his hiding place.

The ogre’s club came sweeping around aimed at crushing Avestdra's ribs. She quickly sidestepped, iron spikes missing by inches, and countered with an upward swing that caught the ogre beneath his jutting chin. His head snapped back with a crack as more black ichor splattered across the ceiling.

From the cage above, the captive continued screaming while sheep bleated in terror. Evron now understood what shared the cage with the wretched prisoner. The sounds mixed with the clash of weapons and ogre roars.

The second ogre lunged at Harbek with both clawed hands extended, but the dwarf was ready. He caught the attack on his shield and drove his war-axe into the ogre's belly with ancestral strength. The blade bit deep, parting flesh and finding vital organs. The ogre doubled over with a sound like a dying bull. Harbek pressed his advantage with a horizontal slice that opened a gaping wound across the creature's chest.

“Now, Evron!” Avestdra called out, dancing away from another wild swing. “Strike while they're weakened!”

Evron stepped up, his hands glowing.

“By the seven stars of learning—Arcane Blast!” he shouted, releasing concentrated magical force in a brilliant burst that struck the hulking creature square in his brutish face. The ogre staggered backward, more stunned than hurt, but it was enough.

Avestdra surged and drew closer; smoke swirling around her as the maul carved its path—silent for a heartbeat, then roaring on impact. The weapon struck hard, pulverizing bone and the ogre toppled like a felled oak. His body hit the cave floor with thunderous impact that shook dust from the ceiling.

One monster slain. One yet lived.

The remaining ogre, wounded and maddened with pain, was far from finished. His small, hate-filled eyes fixed on Hunter, who was still scrambling on the floor to escape the spreading pool of ogre blood. “Kill you all!” he bellowed, raising claws for what he intended to be a killing blow. “Gnaw your bones!”

Hunter rolled desperately to his left, those razor claws gouging deep furrows where he'd been lying. “I really need to start thinking these plans through more carefully!”

“Hunter!” Harbek shouted, positioning himself for another strike. “Keep the beast's attention! Lead him into my axe!”

“Keep his attention?” Hunter's voice cracked with strain. “He's the size of a catapult and twice as good at smashing things!” But even as he protested, Hunter's street smarts served him well. His hand found a chunk of fallen stone among the rubble. With practiced aim, he hurled it at the ogre's scarred head. The missile bounced harmlessly off his thick skull, but it achieved its purpose.

“Annoying pig!” The ogre snarled, pivoting toward Hunter with murder in his eyes. “I will eat you slowly!”

That moment of distraction was all Harbek needed. The dwarf had worked his way behind the wounded ogre. With a hard swing, his axe cut deep into the back of the ogre's knee. There was a wet crack as tendons parted and bone splintered. The ogre buckled beneath his weight, sending him crashing down onto one knee.

“The shadows claim another soul,” Avestdra intoned as she approached the kneeling giant from his blind side. The head of her maul still dripped with blood. Seeing her close in, the ogre tried to turn to defend himself, but Harbek's perfectly placed strike had crippled him. The creature could barely support his own weight, let alone mount an effective defense. Avestdra brought her maul down in a final, devastating blow that echoed through the cave like thunder. An explosion of hot blood erupted. The ogre's colossal body swayed for a long moment, then toppled over to lie still beside his fallen companion.

Silence descended over the cave, broken only by the crackling of the cooking fire and the prisoner's quiet sobbing from above. “Is... is it over?” came the trembling voice from the swaying cage. “Are they truly dead?”

Hunter emerged from behind his shelter, breathing hard and checking himself for wounds. “Well, that was exhilarating in the worst possible way.”

Evron lowered his hands, the last wisps of arcane energy dissipating around his fingers. “That could have gone significantly worse,” he said, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. His hands still trembled as he cleaned ogre blood from his robes.

“Could it?” Hunter's voice was sharp. “Because your brilliant plan to 'observe their behavioral patterns' nearly got Avestdra killed. While you were taking notes, that thing was positioning itself to attack.”

Evron's stomach dropped. “I thought if we understood their tactics—”

“Tactics?” Hunter laughed bitterly. “They're ogres, not generals. Sometimes the answer is to hit them before they hit you.”

Harbek was covered in ogre blood. He clapped Evron on the shoulder. “Lad, there's a time for thinking and a time for acting. Learning the difference is what will keep you breathing.”

Evron stared at the cave floor, academic pride warring with the sick realization that his hesitation had endangered the others. “I... I'm not used to making decisions when lives are at stake.”

“Then let’s hope that you’re a fast learner.” Hunter said, not unkindly, and walked away. The thief looked around the messy cave, his natural optimism already reasserting itself. “Let’s search for loot!”

“Help me first!” the prisoner called down desperately. “Please! I'm Filo—I work for Otis at the general store in Green Meadow! I was checking the sheep in the high pastures and was knocked out. I woke up here three days ago.!”

As Evron’s vision adjusted to the flickering light, he saw the rest of the cave—the stagnant pool, the overturned chest, the half-devoured carcasses. He counted quickly.“Strange,” he murmured. “The mayor said hundreds were taken. Where are the rest of the sheep?”

His words trailed off as his stomach tightened. The ogres hadn’t been alone.Hunter ignored him and knelt beside the chest, sweeping coins into his hands.

“Perhaps this plan didn’t go completely sideways after all.”