Tales of Taylos

II

II

It was almost midnight. A full moon towered above, fighting through the clouds, and a vicious wind whipped and howled across the land creaking, breaking and felling the sturdiest of trees all the while battering the hatches of buildings. A deluge of rain thundered down, drenching all and turning the streets into rivers. The local Inn, the Hammer & Sword, was a hive of activity with the townsfolk of Taylon seeking refuge from the storm. The fire was roaring in the hearth whilst the raucous chatter and laughter of the patrons filled the air. The Innkeeper, Ivor Bjernson stood slumped over the bar with his furrowed brow and thick, unkempt moustache obscuring his creased lips watching as the storm buffeted the Inn sign and letting out a long sigh wondered when the disastrous weather would subside.

The position of the moon shocked him out of his daydream, for he knew he had stayed open far longer than he was accustomed to. He set down his wiping cloth and pushed his ageing body off the bar, and every inch of him ached even more so when he reached towards the bell behind him. With a stiff flick of his wrist, an almighty ring pierced above the noise of the Inn and with an effortless bellow that would rival the best town crier

"Last orders folks, get your drinks in whilst you can last orders." An annoyed murmur amongst the patrons started up as they realised they would have to brave the storm on their journey home, and some tried to protest to no avail. No sooner had the bell rung was the Inn disturbed by the sudden crack of the door slamming open, expecting it to be the weather Ivor was shocked to see a hooded individual standing in the doorway. The mysterious figure stood for an eternity, breathing heavily with rain spattering the worn-down wooden floor.

"Good evening, Sir, what can I get you?" Ivor boomed with joviality. The figure strolled over to the bar and threw back his hood, revealing long wet brown hair and a dirty and bloodied face.
"Your strongest ale, please." The man managed to gasp out, still heavily panting. The flagon had been scooped up and drained before Ivor had set it down on the bar.

It took a few minutes for the man to catch his breath as he leaned against the sturdy wooden bar. He turned towards Ivor and asked

"Do you have any rooms available, and do you have a hot poker that I could use?"

"Aye, there's a room available, but I'm afraid it's not big nor warm, as for the poker I have to ask why?"

The man carefully shook his left hand out of the sleeve of his coat, revealing a bloodied hand wrapped tightly in a dirty cloth. Repressing his nausea and shock, Ivor headed towards the fire, stuck a wrought iron poker in it and sat down.

"It will take a few minutes to heat up, so why don't you sit down lad." he motioned to a chair beside him. By this time, the Inn had emptied aside from the last couple of stragglers whom Ivor quickly shooed out the door and into the mercy of the night.

"I never did get your name lad, mine is Ivor."

"Joh-Johann is my name." he replied with a grimace as he sank into the chair before slowly removing the dirty cloth from his hand.

"Whatever happened to you?" Ivor asked as he stared at the mangled hand.

"I was by the mountains just north on my way here to meet a friend when someone attempted to rob me, and luckily I traded my finger for my life."

"I wouldn't call that lucky, but that's just me. Anyway, you ought to be careful near the mountains as folk say sinister and queer things have been appearing." Ivor sternly responded as he drew the poker from the fire

"What things have been appearing?"

"Most folk recite the tales of old and say they've seen Ogres that used to live in their mountains, but the shopkeeper reckons he saw a Demon"

"A Demon I thought those were just a tale?"

"Aye, but he says it wer black as night with two great big horns on its head" Johann appeared shocked at what Ivor had just said

"What do you believe?"

"Me? Unless I see it, it doesn't exist," Ivor casually replied, "Now lad this will hurt, but the bleeding will stop."

Johann finished unwrapping his hand, showing a mangled stump where his index finger used to be. With one swift stab of the poker, Ivor pressed firmly onto the stump. Johann let out a pained screech as the poker hissed and seared his flesh turning it a charred black. The pain was gone as soon as it came, and Johann fought back against the woozy, blackening vision. Ivor placed the poker back into the fire and reached for a clean cloth to wrap the hand in.

"Your room is at the top of the Inn. Go get some rest, and I'll see how you do in the morning." He looked at Johann reaching for his coin pouch "That's alright lad, we'll settle up tomorrow"

Johann thanked Ivor before trudging up the stairs with every step, sapping energy his body didn't have.

The door creaked open, revealing a room not much bigger than the bed. A sturdy slopped wooden beam ran through the middle of the room, and a tiny window lay at the head of the bed that allowed just a slither of moonlight to enter. Johann closed the door, hung his coat up on the beam, stripped off his clothes and eased himself onto the bed. He closed his eyes in an attempt at sleep, but every throb of his hand made it seem an impossible task. Eventually, exhaustion took its grip and he tumbled into the deepest of slumbers.