Open Chronicles A Storm on The Horizon

[Aremir]

Aremir lurked in the shadows of the city, failing to ignore the ominous foreboding that had been with him since he walked through the front gates. He hadn't come here for any reason in particular, aside from simply feeling that back in Bhathairk he had been staying in one place for too long. Now that he was here, he was already beginning to regret coming. The journey was long, although not pointless- he had taken on too many bounties lately in familiar locations, and would rather go somewhere he wasnt recognized to let tempers cool down. However, time and time again his journey was halted, as he passed caravans, wagons, squadrons, and more heading his same way. The first few he had greeted along the road respectfully and with a smile on his face- but they had kept their heads down, and faces obscured. After that, he had taken to the underbrush, avoiding being seen by the strangers, and making sure to speed well out of their sight. The journey had the awful feeling of a land on the verge of war, despite the rather small town not having any particular conflicts.

Yet, he reminded himself, even as he hoped his instincts were wrong.

Despite his misgivings, even northern rangers cannot simply hide in the shadows forever, waiting for something to happen. Especially not after a long and tiring journey of two fortnights. With both caution and fatigue, he entered the inn, keeping his head down, and his eyes wide open. His nerves could not decide if there were too many people there or not enough, but either way he felt something was wrong. Paranoid, paranoid, he scolded as he approached the bar.

"Whichever drink you recommend most." he told the barmaid, speaking softly. She regarded him suspiciously before complying, pouring him a ceramic jug filled with a thick, amber liquid. Aremir tipped as generously as he could afford; he really did need the jobs he had come here for, but did not mean to make enemies so soon- even out of the bar staff. After being served, he slunk quietly into the corner keeping his hood up, and surveyed the inn.

It was oddly busy, he finally decided, for a comparatively small town. Not busy enough, however, for him to go completely unnoticed. His eyes glinted as he stared back at the gaggle of suspicious strangers, some of which were already turning their backs to him in favor of their conversation, others seeming a bit more interested in the newcomer.

They are just the locals, and recognize me as an outsider, he thought. I hope.

 

[Szesh]

Szesh stooped through the door into the dimly-lit room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the flickering light of oil lamps and candles, but the warmth was welcome. He inhaled deeply, flaring his nostrils at the scent of roasted meat and wine. Food was not difficult to come by in the wilderness, but after a week of travel Szesh had grown tired of unseasoned meat and river water.

He moved carefully across the main room, dipping his head under the low rafters and holding his wings tight against his body. His tails slithered behind him, though he did his best to keep it from bumping the other patrons.

Taverns were cramped and crowded for someone of Szesh’s… conspicuousness. Yet, they were often the best places to find work, and he moved steadily towards the message board on the far side of the inn. Nailed to the wall were dozens of flyers and bits of paper. A cobbler needed an apprentice, and next to that Gavin MacElvoy was offering twenty copper pieces and two hot meals a day to anyone who could aid with the harvest this season. There were advertisements for services and flyers for fine goods, and posted above them all, stuck to the wall with large, brass pins: posters for wanted men.

And women, so it happened. Meridith Ives, leader of the “Ivory Hunters” bandit clan. Last seen two leagues east in the company of twenty armed men. Wanted dead or alive for robbery, extortion, blasphemy, impersonation of a town guard, and murder. Reward…

Szesh glanced at the sum of gold offered for the woman’s capture. Yes, this would do. He took the paper in one large, clawed hand, and tore it from the wall.

“Prrow.” Something rubbed against Szesh’s leg. He looked down suddenly at the fat, orange cat rubbing against his scales. He crouched down slowly, his towering height folding gently to the old floorboards. The cat stared at him with round, yellow eyes. Szesh stared back with black, hollow orbs. Slowly, very slowy, he reached towards the creature. Sharp claws, bigger than the cat’s paws closed over its head…

And Szesh gently stroked the cat. It pushed its face into his claws, finding that they made a very good rub. A faint reptilian purr escaped Szesh’s throat. He scratched the cat’s chin with his thumb, watching its eyes close and purring grow loader.

“Oy, mate!” A brash voice crashed into his moment. Szesh ignored it, soothing the cat who’s eyes had opened abruptly.

“Ah said oy, scales!” A mug thumped hard against a nearby table, sending wooden tableware clattering to the floor. The cat hissed and darted back behind the bar. Szesh’s wings tightened, and he closed his fist where the cat once stood.

Szesh turned his head and bore his dark eyes into a stout man sitting at the table just to the side of the message board. His pudgy face was pushed into a leather cap, and in his dirty hand was a mug with frothy ale running down the side and pooling on the table. He had knocked over a basket of hard rolls and was looking at Szesh with bloodshot eyes.

Szesh stood slowly, rising up and up until he stood at full height before the man, turning to face the table. His shadow dimmed that half of the room, and he noted several more heads turn in his direction.

The man did not seem to notice, and given the redness of his cheeks, the ale he spilled would not be missed. He spoke again, loudly.

“That bounty’s for three men. What you doing pulling it off tha wall, eh?” He took a few deep breaths. The effort of speaking seemed to have caught up to him, and he burped wetly into his fist. “You’ll be needing a team,” he continued. “Able-bodied men who know these parts. Else you’re like to be lost for days in them woods.”

He took another swig of ale and licked his lips as it ran down his chin. “Take me an’ my boys,” he raised his arms to indicate the two thin men seated beside him. One was a scrawny, blond boy who looked no older than 13. The other, equally thin but impossibly old. Long wisps of gray fell from his head and half covered his sunken eyes. “Best guides around, and we’ll only take 80%.”

Szesh turned back to the bar, he had entertained the drunk long enough. Three slow strides took him back across the room to where Aremir sat. Leaning low over the bar, he hissed at the barkeep, “Three chickens. And ale.”

The barkeep nodded nervously and called back the order.

“Bring to stable,” Szesh added, and stood back up. He would be more confortable when he was out of this tinderbox, and no bed upstairs would fit him. As he rose he glanced down at the cloaked man beside him. He couldn’t place why, but the man had a certain wisdom in his face. As belligerent as the “guide” had been, he was right. As much as he loathed company, this job would go much easier with someone who knew these woods.

Perhaps if the man were still here come morning, Szesh would consider his options. For now, he headed out to find the largest free stall with the driest bedding, ignoring the drunken calls of the fat man as he left.