In the taverns of Moonport City, there is not the hubbub that one might expect. The

  adventurers were all sitting down, low in groups, whispering heads to heads, about the news

  from the northern ice fields. The barman sat languidly behind the bar, feebly wiping his glasses,

  which had long been clean. It wasn't until the dwarf in the corner called to him for the seventh

  time that he woke up with a start and brought him a load of ale, but not the rum the customer

  wanted.

  Only the dwarves can still have the mood to drink, and when the giant army comes, it is not

  enough to drill into the cave, and those giants can not get in anyway. Now, in the little quiet

  time before the war, the Dwarves of the Red Iron Mountains brought fine weapons and large

  quantities of ore in exchange for grain and wine, and of course, the prices of these things

  went up with the "market."

  Lambert sat behind the noisy dwarves, squinting at the only source of noise in the tavern.

  "There will be good days ahead of you, and if you are not ready now..." He was now a member

  of the Moonhaven cavalry, and had risen to the rank of captain. Today he had not come to

  be lazy, for the tension of his preparations had given him no time to be lazy. He had come to

  this tavern because of an oath. Seven years ago, he made a vow with his friends.

  "Maybe this isn't the right time to meet." Lambert looked at the sky. It was not yet sundown,

  that is, time, but he began to worry. "There was a lot of trouble out there, and the giants were

  threatening the road at every moment. I hope everyone is all right."

  Lambert ordered another ale and set it in front of him. He seldom drank, and only took a

  glass when he was very nervous or excited. Lambert is nervous and excited today, but he is

  having a hard time keeping it down. As he watched the ale bubble away, he thought back to

  the team's keg, Berserker Newton, who was known as "one barrel at a time." Stroking the thin

  beard on his chin, Lambert envied Newton's roving gills. It was said that the dwarves grew

  their height in their beards, and that when he first joined the cavalry, the veterans made fun

  of him for not growing a beard. If it had not been for shaving and stimulating his chin every

  day, he might not have had any hair at all.

  "The only race that never has a beard is elves." Lambert thinks maliciously. "I wonder

  what happened to Carol. No matter what husband she gets, she always looks like a girl..."

  But at once he rejected his own dirty thoughts, and as a knight, he could no longer think

  and act like a gangster without rules, as before, but there should be discipline and honor.

  Carol the Ranger was a good archer, and if she overheard me, I had to watch out for arrows

  from behind that had gone off course because of "careless hand slip."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm looking for Lambert! He owes me..." With the shattering of the door

  of the tavern, a loud, rich sound came crashing into the drinker's ears, and the dwarf, armed

  to the teeth and armed with a huge double hammer, jumped in, his shaggy beard still stained

  with pieces of wood from the broken door.

  The dwarf swept around the tavern and saw Lambert skulking in the corner. The next moment

  he was looking at the unused ale on the table. "Hehe hehe, you know me so well." The Dwarf

  handed the weapon in his right hand to his left, strode up to Lambert, picked up his glass,

  and drank it. That chugging sound in his throat, the two traces of water running down the

  corners of his mouth, and his great red beard quivering with joy were Newton.

  "Ah, good time. I haven't had a drink all the way." The Dwarf smashed his cup on the table

  and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Another cup!" he said.

  Lambert handed his boss a gold coin and ordered another ale. It was not that ale was really

  that expensive, but that a gate was really expensive. Especially when winter is coming.

  "How... Goo goo goo... Why are you and I the only ones here? Where are the others? Do you

  want to invite me?" The dwarf drank another glass of wine, and his nose turned red. "If anyone

  dares not come, I will shoot him."

  "Who do you want to shoot? A crisp voice came through the door of the tavern, and in came

  a slender, green-haired fairy woman, dressed in white chain mail, with a unicorn logo pinned

  to her chest, and a large red longbow and a pot full of arrows on her back. A slender blue

  scimitar hung at her waist, and a black hooded cloak wrapped her body tightly, shielding her

  from the autumn wind and the penetrating gaze of the "men" in the tavern.

  "I'm afraid you won't get a chance to shoot me, Newton Dwarf. Unless you learn how to climb

  a tree before you can photograph me." Carol walks slowly, without a sound. She takes off her

  longbow, pushes it against the wall, and sits down on a chair at the table.

  'Well, just you? The Dwarf took another glass of ale and gulped it down. "Shoot you as easily

  as I finish the ale."

  "You will strike with a hammer, and know nothing of the art of fighting."

  "You know nothing about art? Dressed in all the colors you want to hang on your body, like

  that golden pheasant "thought the dwarf, with a sudden pat on the head" when it's cooked

  without plucking its fur."

  Carol's eyes lit up as the dwarves criticized the elven's aesthetic abilities, especially their own.

  Her eyes were fixed on the dwarf, who was delighted with his smile, and she put her right

  hand to the machete. When Lambert saw this, he gave the dwarf a sharp knock on the head.

  "If you want to drink, drink honestly and don't talk nonsense. Be careful that your beard falls

  into the barrel, and there is no..."

  The dwarf's laughter stopped abruptly, as if a walnut had stuck in his throat. He remembered

  how, seven years before, he had been shaved off all but his bare chin for saying the wrong

  thing and upsetting the elves -- an embarrassment that lasted two years before his new beard

  hid it. The Dwarf quickly rubbed his cheek to make sure every hair was intact and still fluffy,

  then took a glass of ale, carefully avoiding the elf's gaze, and drank slowly...

  Carol looked at the chastened dwarf, then put her hands back on the table and decided to

  spare him. Then she looks at Lambert's stubble with interest. "Handsome, why did you grow

  a beard? It's so ugly, turning into a dwarf..." Newton grabbed a piece of meat, took a sharp

  bite, and washed it down with ale, automatically ignoring the elf's words. Carol saw that the

  dwarves didn't respond, and began to tell Lambert, "You are so handsome and artistic, I would

  like to introduce you to some fairy women." Shave off your beard."

  'Beards are a man's pride. Some people just don't get it!" Brandishing his drumstick and ale,

  Newton was speaking to "Air" when he noticed yellowish liquor spilling into the air. "Oh, waste,

  waste! The Dwarf threw back his head and opened his mouth, trying to save some of the ale

  deserters flying through the air, but he washed his beard.

  "Glory warrior of the Warhammer, praise the stone. Your great beard speaks volumes of your

  pride." The dwarven merchant at the table next to him leaned in to praise Newton, whose

  mouth was wide open towards the ceiling. "I wonder if you would be interested in driving

  away the enemies on the road and escort us back to the mine hall in the Red Iron Mountains?"

  "Won't you go back by yourself?" Newton stuffed the whole chicken leg into his mouth, patted

  the oncoming merchant with a greasy hand, and gave it a gentle rub. "We are the proud heirs

  of the warhammer, and should not be afraid of the difficulties of the road." Newton's red

  beard quivered up and down as he spoke, and the greasy part of it reflected.

  "It's a rough road now, giants..." Before the dwarves could finish, Newton grabbed an empty

  wine glass, waved it around and said, "When the giants come, I'll smash them, break them

  into pieces like shale, then twist them and grind them into powder." The giants! What are they

  afraid of?" Newton spread out his left hands, squeezed them together again, and rubbed

  them together. "Like this! I hate guys who hide in a hole."

  When the dwarves heard this, they knew they had met the warmonger of the dwarves, and

  they had better not provoke him. The dwarf merchants returned voluntarily to their tables. All

  the races on the continent were a little unprepared for this sudden attack by the giants. The

  humans had to fight, the elves rushed to meet, but the dwarves were able to retreat to the

  mine. The giants are too big to fight the dwarves in the caves. But at the same time, there was

  also a cry among the dwarves for the main attack, so that the giants could not run amokay.

  Newton was a member of the war group.

  "Lambert, let's get together this time and do something big!" Newton patted Lambert on the

  shoulder with excitement, so much so that the poor Knight suddenly missed his set of silver

  armor, especially the strong shoulder armor. "Wait a minute. This giant is no joke. It's not like

  going after the goblins before." Lambert brushed the dwarf's hand away and rubbed his

  shoulder.

  "Well, Lambert, you're not afraid, are you?" The dwarf suddenly pressed his large hand against

  the table, and the wooden table crunched under the weight.

  Lambert looked at the dwarf's expression and saw a sly smile in his narrowed eyes. "You say?"

  "Lambert answered calmly.

  The Dwarf grinned, let go of the miserable table, and touched his beard. "I knew you'd be all

  right. But Vincent didn't know if he would come with us."

  "Do you think Vincent will run into the giant's stick like your stone head?" Carol picks up a

  piece of apple with a dagger, gently puts it into her small mouth, and chews slowly. When

  she had swallowed it all, she spoke again. "This is a very strange and sudden giant. We need

  a strategy. We cannot win by brute force alone. Of course, that's what Vincent is good at. You

  wouldn't understand. ' Carol cuts another apple into small pieces with a wave of her dagger.

  Newton picks up a whole apple and pops it all into his mouth. "I don't know. It's a mystery."

  Lambert looked at the sky outside. The sun had mostly set, with only a glimmer still hanging

  in the sky. At the end of the sky, there were already some stars behind the red glow, beginning

  to twinkle.

  "Don't worry. Phelps Littlefinger will be late, but he won't miss it." "And Vincent," Carol said,

  "has he ever been early? It's not the right time."

  "But I'm never late either." Just as Carol finished speaking, a black-robed figure floated

  through the door of the hotel. "A wizard is never late. He arrives at the promised time." The

  Black robe lifted a slender finger and pointed to the sky outside, where the last glimpses of

  the setting sun were just about to disappear behind the endless mountains.

  'Vincent! The Dwarf jumped up from his stool and flung his arms at the Wizard for a warm

  embrace. The Wizard, looking at the beard, rushed over and stomped the floor. He pulled out

  a leather bag and said, "Newton, don't come. This is a present for you."

  The dwarf stopped, happily took the skin, pulled the stopper with a bang, and put his nostrils

  close to it, trying to sniff the aroma of wine in the skin. The mage rounded the excited dwarf

  and sat down at the table. He leaned a wooden scepter gently against the chair and nodded

  slightly to the knight and Ranger.

  "Vincent, you have come at just the right time. How was everything on your way? ' "Carol says.

  "Well, all is well." The mage nodded. "Isn't Littlefinger here yet?"

  "No, I'm sure he's around." Lambert looked at the door. "He'll show up, but not before he's

  collected the wallets of everyone around him."

  Carol frowned, her pointy ears twitched a few times, and suddenly grabbed the can from the

  table and hurled it at the air around her. The can broke into pieces in the air with a bang. The

  Stolen story; please report.

  spilled wine floated in the air, forming the shape of a small man.

  "Stop it, it's me, Phil Puth!" With these words, a small figure emerged from the void. 'It hurts!

  The halflon rubbed his head, where a red blob was trying to grow, and complained, "Carol,

  you're good. You can see when I'm invisible."

  "Well, the noise coming out of your purse would wake a deaf person up..." Carol says as she

  moves the halfling over to one of those high stools reserved for children.

  'So that's it! Phelps suddenly saw the light and jumped into his chair. "Next time I won't be

  invisible with my bag. But how will you be invisible without your bag?"

  'Why are you dressed like that? Lambert looked Littlefinger up and down at what he was

  wearing. "Since when are you a priest? You know, in Holy Greafury it is a great sin to pretend

  to be a priest."

  The halfling took out his handkerchief and wiped his green robe vigorously. "I'm not

  pretending to be a priest. This is the robe of the real God of Luck! I am now a god's

  representative, a man of words."

  The Elvish Ranger looked closely at Littlefinger's clothes. Her eyes rested on the emblem,

  where a leaf was carved in three green waves. "The priestly sign of the Goddess Nature?

  Congratulations!"

  Littlefinger scratched his head and plucked the little splinter from his hair. "Thank you," he

  whispered, "I've had a hard time becoming a goddess of nature, Pastor..."

  "Sure enough," he said. The mage, who had been quiet for a long time, said, "Sure enough.

  Littlefinger, do not touch any part of my body in the future, and do not come within three

  feet of my perimeter. Otherwise, I will not guarantee your safety."

  "Why is that?" Lambert asked. Are fingers still dangerous?"

  "Yes," Vincent said, "the emblem is a disguise."

  "I can't say..." Littlefinger jumped up like an electric shock. "If you only knew that, there's no

  need to tell. Get out."

  "Is there anything wrong? Little Phil! We're all here to help you." "Said Lambert, snatching the

  dwarf's flask." Don't you, Newton warrior?"

  "Er... Wha?" The dwarf was startled by the sudden "disappearance" of the wine pot. "Yes,

  whatever it is, there is me." He looked eagerly at the knight's "day wine" jug, "if there is

  something I will help, no one can stop my jug... Huh? Wrong, my hammer!"

  Lambert sighed, and had to hand the wine back to him. It was obviously not the dwarf's

  waking hour.

  "It's all right, don't worry," said Lambert. Vincent rubbed his chin. "Littlefinger has only joined

  a high order of the Goddess of Nature. It is a rare and secret order that most people do not

  know very much about."

  "Well, that's right..." Phelps nodded.

  "Well, it's all right, it's all right." The dwarves were clearly a little more interested in their own

  wine pot.

  Lambert and Carol look the Halfling and the Mage up and down. If it was impossible to find

  out from the cunning Halfling, it was even more impossible to find out from Vincent. The

  mage was definitely a man of his word, and once he had decided not to speak of the matter

  again, nothing could ever be extracted from him. Still, even if something bad were to happen

  to Littlefinger, no one would stand by and help.

  "Lambert, Carol, how have you been these five years?" The Mages broke the brief silence that

  appeared on the court.

  "Fortunately, in the Elven forest, everything is still peaceful..."

  The fairy Ranger tells her story in an elegant and soothing tone.

  The stories of the Ranger are always closely connected with nature, the boundless fairy forest,

  the vast Hami grassland, and the towering and cold ridge mountains in the north. Every flower,

  grass, stream and fallen leaf are stories in the Ranger's eyes. There are winged eagles circling

  in the sky, looking down on their territory like Kings; The nimble monkeys leaping and

  frolicking from branch to branch, always playing like urchins, their coordinated movements

  seem to fly; The tame deer strolls on the grass, bending down from time to time to taste the

  dewy grass.

  "You should go back sometime." 'said Lambert softly. He clenched his fist, and in his heart he

  held the emblem of Greafury, the god of justice. He was not yet a paladin, even though he

  had been ordained to be one, but the sudden arrival of giants forced the bishops of the

  capital to make quick pilgrimages to the local shrines, and his canonization was postponed.

  As a paladin, Lambert was, unfortunately, unable to use divine magic.

  "Damned giant, he would have been better off in the North." Lambert did not know it, but

  the change of mood made his voice louder.

  "Lambert, are you still guarding Moonport?" The mage felt his knight's unease. "Well, as a

  captain, you must have a heavy job."

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't disturb everyone's fun. After all, it's been seven years, and it's been a

  long time coming together." Lambert said apologetically, forcing a wry smile.

  "Well, it's none of your business!" Newton takes a rare moment to put down his drink and use

  his sleeve to vigorously remove wine stains from his beard. "Those leggy guys, not a good

  time! When I break their knees one by one, they'll know the greatness of dwarves!" Praise

  Gungan! Let the fire grow fiercer!"

  Carol bit her bottom lip, turning blue and staring dully at a patch of black ash on the table.

  After a few moments, Carol finally looks up and says to Lambert, "Yes, I'm sorry. I can't stay

  and help you..."

  'What! Since when do noble elves dread the battle of their enemies!" Newton suddenly turned

  his head and stared at the elf.

  "Newton! Don't be impulsive! Don't you know Carol!" The Wizard tapped the knuckle of his

  index finger on the wooden table top and said, "Boom!" 'he said. The whole pub was startled

  and stopped whispering and staring. The boss also put down the work in his hands, grasping

  the edge of the counter with both hands. If a mage makes trouble here, it is not as easy to

  deal with as two hooligans fighting, and it is not certain that he may have to put his life's work,

  this little famous hotel, completely lost.

  When the mage saw the dwarf put his fat buttocks back on his chair, he was no longer angry

  with the help of wine at the beginning. He turned to reveal his milky eyes from under the brim

  of his cloak, which had hitherto been shrouded in shadow. The corners of his mouth turned

  gently upward and slowly squeezed out the words: "You have come to drink. Those who do

  not stare at the glass of wine, do not want to see the wine."

  For an instant there was a murmur of noise in the pub which had been heard a quarter of an

  hour before. This time, however, the individual emotions of the speakers were not involved,

  and the drinkers used their lips desperately for the sole purpose of the act of conversation.

  "I'm sorry Carol, I didn't mean it..." Newton, blushing, whispered

  "It's all right, Carol. You can keep talking." The mage reverts to his former calm tone.

  "Thank you, I..." Carol looked at the dwarves, still worried, the kind of bad temper after

  drinking, can kill the dragon. "Our people, demand all elves to return. I'm sorry, I... I can't help

  you." Carol nodded gently to Lambert.

  Carol: "What a big deal! Littlefinger chimed in. "Back in the faelwood, we'll fight the giants,

  too. What's the difference?"

  "No, but..." Carol stops talking.

  "Ha ha, nothing! We'll be fine. Moon Harbor is an unbreakable city!" "Said Lambert, rubbing

  his hands." I was hoping the giants would get here soon. Let them be my paladin's first fight.

  I would also like to have the head of a giant carved into my breastplate." He patted his chest

  as if he were wearing a suit of silver armor with the mark of victory over the giant engraved

  on it.

  "But go back to the forest and be safe. This giant attack came suddenly. Without a high wall

  like Moonhaven, Elven Forest is not an easy place to defend." Vincent pulls a scroll out of his

  arms and gently hands it to Carol. "I have been to your forest, and I will never forget the

  beauty and harmony of that place. Here are some of the defensive plans and strategies I have

  devised. Not as much as the thousand-year wisdom of the Elven Sage, but as much as my

  little head contains. Wendarel blesses you elves."

  "Thank you. This is very dear to me." A tear came to Carol's eyes.

  "That thin woman, I have nothing to give." Newton pulled a small bag from his arms, untied

  the tangled layers of string, opened the bag a small opening, and instantly wafted a faint

  fragrance from inside. This aroma wafted into the nose, into the body, immediately distributed

  to every pore of the body, making people comfortable to play a cold war, shake off the fatigue

  of the whole day in that tremor, and then the aroma wafted back to the head, gently brushed

  the brain, involuntarily let you close your eyes, gently accompanied by this aroma, thought

  floating up.

  The only person who didn't respond was Vincent, the monk. He just inhaled the aroma and

  watched with interest everyone's reaction.

  "It's the ice moongrass!" Carol wakes up from her intoxication. "This plant is found only at the

  top of the Ridge Mountains. Thank you very much." Carol gave the Dwarf a little kiss on the

  bearded cheek. "You must have done a lot of work!"

  "No, not at all! The Dwarf's face went suddenly red, and he quickly picked up his glass and

  gulped it down to hide his embarrassment. "I found it at the bottom of the hill. It didn't take

  much trouble. It just, uh, just suddenly, yes, just appeared under my feet."

  Carol laughed softly, covering her mouth. Newton, the dwarf, was a keen fighter and spent

  years wandering the streets. He returned to Gungan's Hammer home only once a year. So,

  he is still a bachelor, or rather, he has no experience with women. Seven years ago, when they

  were still on adventures together, Newton was often fooled by himself.

  "I have nothing to give you," he said. Littlefinger rummaged in one of his bags and pulled out

  a small wooden box. "Open it when you're far away."

  Lambert gives Carol a sheet of music. It's the latest work of a famous bard in the capital. "What

  are you guys going to do? It's not very safe out there now. '

  'I'll stay and teach you how to make giants like shorty!' "Newton said.

  "I'll stay, too. I haven't seen the city yet, look," Littlefinger said, patting a row of small bags

  hanging from his waist. Lambert began to wonder if he should put this lurking danger behind

  bars first.

  "I will stay. That is my mission." The mage took out a roll of parchment and handed it to the

  knight. "I have been appointed liaison between Moonport City and the Mages' Union. You

  will also be responsible for receiving me and arranging a place for me to stay."

  "It said to send a master of the higher order, but it was you! Congratulations, since when did

  you become a High Mage?" Lambert marveled. Seven years ago, Vincent was just an

  apprentice. If he could become a high mage in seven years, it would be a legend, recorded

  in history.

  "No! I'm not a High mage yet. I'm just a liaison officer. The old mage will arrive in five days."

  When it comes to the old mage, Vincent is deadpan.

  "That's all right, then. I'll arrange accommodation and food for all of you." Lambert patted his

  chest. "I'll take care of everything. But this is war time. Not everything is good to eat."

  "Wine is all you need!" "Newton added emphasis with a swing of his fist.

  "Yes, but how much you drink each day is up to me." Lambert then turned to the Halfling.

  "You are not allowed to collect anything in the barracks. So, Vincent, do you have any

  demands?"

  'You know all about it.' In answer to Lambert's question, the Wizard turned to the Genie.

  "Carol, how many days do you have left in Moonport?"

  "Two days, I, I have to go back." Carol whispers.

  "Well, in that case, let's have a good time for two days!" "Exclaimed Littlefinger.