Recompense for a Lost Soul

[iv] The Value of a Goodnight

By the time Pitcher had located an inn, a thin pockets of snow covered the ground and more were beginning to form. The sun was about to kiss the Western horizon, evening fell. An orange hue covered Riplyvil, reflecting on the snow. Pitcher had let his hair fall down around his shoulders and pulled his hood up while pulling his robes close together. Occasional gusts of wind would sweep through the street he was walking through. Approaching the inn, he noticed a few things. It was very tall, three floors from the looks of it. He entered, worried that they would be able to hear his teeth clattering. 

The warmth hit him immediately. The fireplace near the bar, crackled with flame, spreading a comforting warmth throughout the establishment. A warmth that Pitcher was eager to partake in. He scanned his surroundings before moving to the innkeeper. Barrels and crates were stacked in corners and tables and chairs were aplenty. Ale was on everyone's table and they all seemed content. Five men and two women were sitting at a large table to the side and laughing uproariously. Probably a party of seven relaxing on their off day thought Pitcher. At another table to the back, two women were also conversing, covered in cloaks and chugging ale in-between conversation. They glanced at him for a second before continuing. Another small group of two men and a lady who seemed to be of higher class were also chatting amiably. Voluptuous Waitresses wearing leather tights, white shirts and bodices laced taut were waltzing around the customers loosening purses and tongues, all while delivering orders. Pitcher marveled -at many things.

He waddled over to the innkeeper who had appeared out of a door behind the bar and quickly explained his need for a room to stay a night.

"Sorry 'bout tha bucko, you've shown up at a really unlucky time. . . Our Inn will be playing host to tha academy from Targarth. . . tha really famous one -I'm sure you know the one, well they've up and asked me to reserve all our rooms. Something about an educational expedition. . ."

Pitcher hadn't expected this. "When will they be coming?"

"Tomorrow in the morning -and before you tell me jack-all about 'oh I'll be going before they show up,' I've been asked to keep the rooms clean and arranged so no."

"Yea ok, I'm sorry for bothering you then. . . I'll just leave. . ." Pitcher turned to walk out of the inn when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Gefrry, I'll take him to mine, just total the payment for two people." It was the woman who had been drinking ale with that other woman moments prior. She addressed the innkeeper and sorted everything out within moments then proceeded to push Pitcher to the stairs. 

"Eh! eh, excuse me, I'm thankful but -"

"Shut up," the woman whispered forcefully, "wait till we get to the room."

The other men in the inn who were watching this unfold, cheered drunkenly for Pitcher. Shouts of, "damn, you're a lucky kid!" and "Make us proud boyo!" were heard as Pitcher was herded to the stairs and up them. He was extremely confused. 

There was no one else on the second floor. A floor which was surrounded by doors. The one closest to the stairs was opened and Pitcher was shoved inside. 

"Argh!" He exclaimed as he landed on the room floor with a thud due to the force of the shove. "Excuse me but what's this ab -" 

Pitcher finally got a good look at the woman as she pulled off the cloak she had been wearing. She wore underneath, a tight leather vest and black trousers that were tucked into cuffed boots. What caught Pitcher's attention was her face. She looked to be almost twenty winters past. Her pale skin was broken up by small scars that crisscrossed on her cheek, but instead of marring her beauty it seemed to increase it in some strange way, giving her the air of someone who would say sorry then kill you. Short, smudged, brown hair curled around her shoulders. Her eyes were a dull green, almost like sewage. They transfixed Pitcher. Drawing him in.