Clashing Claws

Chapter 1

The wind and rain bit and nipped at them, the dirt path worn from many travelers and beasts, old wheel indents and hoof prints led the way through rolling hills. On the left side of the valley, a cliffside overlooked it all, the unstable rocks occasionly falling to the earth when a particularly strong wind knocked it loose. The crashing noise of which joined the rain like thunder. Today, there was a traveler, his wagon and his horse.

The traveler was a man dressed in thick leather, underneath which was a layer of chain mail to protect against thugs and bandits. His bandana hid the lower half of his face, his pale face and brown eyes all you could see of him. He didn't show off his wealth, choosing to instead keep a livable amount on him and invest in little village merchants to boost them and their economy. The wagon was a simple one, cloth draped over a wood frame, secured in place with some old techniques he couldn't remember, inside and safely secured from the elements, were his simple bed and chests, barrels and lockboxes of goods. The horse pulling the wagon, was a burly shire, bred by one of the best stable masters he could find, a rich black with a white streak on her nose. She hurt his purse greatly, but she was worth it, the mare had once stared down a pack of wolves and broke the jaw off a young Stonesnout trying to get an easy meal.

The little sunlight that could be seen started diminishing, leaving only the flimsy lantern light to guide the traveler. Uneven terrain made the wagon sway and buck, forcing a grunt from the traveler as he held on.

Further they went, the mare pushing through the storm as it got rougher. The rain pelted them, lightning struck out against the cliffside, making the traveler flinch. The cold of it all sank into his bones, forcing shivers from him and chattering teeth. The valley had no indication of stopping, no caves, no road side signs and the hour was getting later and later.

Pulling on the reins, he directed his mare to the side, off the road and into a curve. The storm didnt cease, but here they had a little reprive from the wind. Haulting the horse, he dropped off the front of the wagon and retrieved an oatcake to offer her. Once she had taken it from his hand, he quickly got into his wagon, closing the back up by unrolling the tarp and tying the rings to the hooks at the frame. Sticking the worst of it, he sat on a chest for a moment to remove his outer coat, keeping his clothes on which thankfully remained mostly dry.

Reaching up into his leather jerkin, he pulls free a map. Parchment stained from use and marked in cartography lines, showing the terrain in hard lines. On the left was the main city, roads leading away to other lands, the road he was on led to a fork that led to two different villages, a farm rich and mining colony respectively, this trip he was headed to the farm town of Hunmar Spire, the road ahead of him had a dragon mark , the indication for dragon encounters. The rumbling wind shook the wagon, knocking him out his thoughts, the traveler tucks the map away again, settles on the bed, curling up and pulling a large bear pelt over him to shield him from the cold. Trying to rest for what he frets might be a turbulent day tomorrow.