Open Chronicles Night at the Wayward Rest

[Kristen Pirian]

OUTSIDE THE WAYWARD REST​

Rain poured in relentless sheets, silvery against the light of the pale moons. In defiance of the night slim orange lights from inside the Wayward Rest issued forth. The inn was one of many of its kind in the vicinity of the thin arms of land to the west and east of Alliria and its surrounding towns, situated along the well-trodden roads and servicing travelers going to and from the grand city.

But the Wayward Rest was dreadfully alone this night.

"There ain't no reason to hide," called Lorick Gamon with a smug, even gay, surety. Indeed his cheerfulness belied many things. The fact that, just behind him, one of his men held an innocent girl hostage. The fact that the entire Wayward Rest was surrounded by his large band of raiders.

"Them doors? Them windows? Those walls and that roof? They ain't gonna shelter ye for long. And there ain't nowhere to go. You're gonna have to deal with me sooner or later."

Lorick smiled wide, his teeth pressing into his lower lip. The rain fell and it bothered him not a whit.

"But I'm a nice guy. Nice and reasonable, so I tell you what! I tell...you...what. You bring all that gold and them valuables you got outside and drop it at my feet. Do that and we all walk away happy from this. Don't do that...and she dies. And not only does she die, but you all die too!"

Thunder rolled just as he said that. Lorick laughed heartily.

"Hear that? Arethil her-fuckin-self agrees with me." Lorick raked his teeth along his lip and then called out, "You all got fifteen minutes to decide."

* * * * *

INSIDE THE WAYWARD REST​

Kristen knelt in a huddle with the other patrons and the innkeep of the Rest in the (once) cozy common room. One of the windows of the common room was broken, shards of glass on the floor, rain sprinkling in through the violent opening. A dead man lay near it, crossbow bolt in the back of his head—the unfortunate man had been standing near the window, and Lorick and his band of raiders had decided to announce their presence by shooting him from the outside.

There weren't many of them, patrons of the Rest. Not many at all, for among the Rest's patrons and including the innkeep himself there counted no more souls inside than one could track with the fingers of both hands. They were outnumbered no less than three-to-one by the raiders.

"We cannot give him what he wants," said Kristen.

The innkeep, a man named Robert, said frightfully, "He has my daughter! My Morgan! She's seen but her fourteenth winter!"

"I do not intend to imperil your daughter."

Robert, beside himself and near hysterics with fear, said, "Then what can we do!?"

Kristen looked among the small gathering of patrons. Some were not fighters, this much was clear. But a number, like herself, were.

"What say you?" she said, turning her gaze to one such person.

 

[Aurelia Dunn]

Aurelia sat very still. Her breaths came slow and measured, and she stared ahead with verdant, seemingly unfocused eyes. Her heartbeat was a steady metronome against the air of fear and panic around her.

But Aurelia was afraid. She was afraid of the large, horrible man outside and the large group of equally horrible men behind him. She was afraid of what they would do to these people if they didn't get what they wanted. She was afraid of what they would try to do to her.

She had not been at the inn more than three minutes before the window had shattered, killing that poor man. She had not even lowered the hood of her traveling cloak, which was still heavy with rain. Her fire-red hair hung in wet tresses down the sides of her face, dripping to the worn rug beneath her feet. The long points of her ears were not visible.

Fourteen. That little girl was fourteen years old. Aurelia felt anger under her fear, and then anger at her fear. She clenched the fists she held in her lap, making her leather gloves squeak under the pressure.

"What say you?"

Aurelia was pulled out of her thoughts by Pirian's piercing stare. Her hair was similar in shade to Aurelia's own, but her eyes were cold and grey. Her face looked similarly icy. "Me?" She did have a large hunting knife on her belt, and had entered with a bow and quiver of arrows. But those were for animals... for food and pelts. They weren't... she had never...

Aurelia clenched her jaw, letting her anger at the bandits flare. Maybe if it burned bright enough, she would not be afraid. "I will help."