The Tragedy of Ravan the Great

Chapter Twenty-One: The Silver Cloak

It was two evenings before Quinn visited Traitor's Cemetery when Ravan finally arrived at Icebreach, the last town in Duraland before one crossed the border into Vordan. His journey had been uneventful as Quinn had promised, though despite Quinn's vast knowledge of Duraland being mostly correct, Ravan had run into some evidence that it was three decades outdated. There were six towns along the coast rather than five now, and the towns Quinn had forewarned him about appeared to be much improved since he had left the country. It would seem that the additional port town likely increased trade in the country, thereby aiding the general economy.

            However, one other change that must have happened within the last thirty years was that Icebreach appeared to be a struggling town, likely due to it being located so close to jotnar country. Quinn had mentioned to Ravan that he and his men had often used Icebreach as a rendezvous because it was abundantly stocked with supplies and the townsfolk habitually minded their own business. When Ravan entered however, the ice on the buildings was chipped, the spires rusted, splinters of wood and strips of leather littered the snowy streets, and there was no market. For the first time during his journey, Ravan felt on edge. Up until then, the trip had been rather peaceful. Ravan had enjoyed the winter wildlife and the majestic aura of the frosty terrain. He had treated this journey as an icy holiday where his enemies couldn't reach him (if any were still alive). For a short moment Ravan had considered the possibility that Quinn had set him up and had friends waiting somewhere to ambush him, but Quinn had fled Duraland for reasons having to do with a lack of friends. So Ravan had quickly pushed that thought out of his head and continued his trek with peace of mind.

            Now, however, that peace of mind fleeted as he noticed frequent glances from the residents of Icebreach sent his way. He endeavored to pay them no mind so to avoid drawing even more attention to himself. Perhaps if he showed that he was uninterested in them, they would lose interest in him. Quinn had provided the name of The Friendly Yeti Tavern and Inn in which to spend the night, but seeing as much had changed since Quinn had last passed through, Ravan simply searched for any tavern or inn which appeared even remotely friendly. As it turned out, The Friendly Yeti seemed to be the friendliest one.

            Upon entering somewhat hesitantly, Ravan pushed back the furry hood of his cloak in the hopes that it would send the message that he had nothing hide. He approached the innkeeper.

            "How much for a night?"

            "Three flakes," the innkeeper replied.

            Ravan placed five on the counter. "Please see to it that it's a room distanced from any trouble."

            The innkeeper gave Ravan a look of either sarcasm or mockery, perhaps both. "New to town, are you?"

            "You could say that, but keep it between us."

            "Sure thing." The innkeeper handed Ravan a key. "You have a nixy to put away?"

            "Yes."

            "Two flakes to keep the nixy."

            Ravan provided the money with no contest, careful not to show how much he had on him, then proceeded to his room. He holed himself up in his room for most of the day, reviewing his journal until he grew hungry and restless. He slammed his journal shut with a heavy sigh and finally decided to brave the tavern.

            It wasn't that Ravan had a problem with trouble, of course, that he feared it or that he didn't think he could handle it. He had, after all, spent the better part of a decade causing it. In Duraland, it was different trouble. Besides the fact that he was in a starkly foreign land about which he knew next to nothing, differing elementals had a long and sordid history. It was likely water elementals wouldn't knowingly welcome fire elementals into their country, less likely for ice-wielders to welcome blue-fire-wielders, and even less likely dry-ice-wielders to welcome lightning-wielders. The level of potential trouble here was exponential. Ravan hadn't been concerned about being exposed until numerous impoverished eyes gazed at him like they were already suspicious of his heritage. Of course, it was more likely they were studying him to see if he was an easy target for theft; perhaps the sword at his hip made him appear as a welcome challenge, and perhaps his eye patch didn't help matters. Ravan knew he could best any malnourished thief with his sword, but he was only capable of battling elemental skill with his own elemental skill, and that would certainly lead to his inevitable exposure.