Beyond the Pale

Beyond the Bale

The sky shrouded in a layer of dark cloud, Castorius felt the first drops of cold water on his face. The wind was also picking up, blowing in from the ocean, carrying that tell-tale signature of salt and fish that always reminded him of what resided between a woman's legs.

In its way the association brought him some comfort, but was unfortunately not enough to dispel the gathering shadows from his mind. Step by step he became more convinced this would not end well, and that strengthening odor might as well have been the scent of his own approaching doom.

He felt like an idiot to have gotten himself into this mess, and scarcely felt heartened by the fact that the man in his company was likely an idiot also.

Castorius gave a scornful glance at Roggie riding abreast him. The air of confidence the man was putting out, that arrogant little smirk on him—they reminded Castorius of someone he knew.

Oh gods! he thought. Is that how people see me?

Roggie's grin widened then, his eyes still fixed in the distance. "Well, well. Look at those sorry bastards!"

About a fifty strides ahead, a somewhat miserable looking bunch of people huddled together against the ever rising wind. Four men dressed in town guard sat on horseback, protecting at the middle of them a man in a heavy, long overcoat.

As they approached the company, Castorius could hear the man in the middle heaping curses and scolds on top of the surrounding men, who took the words with calm composure bespeaking chastisement. Castorius recognized the expression on their faces, was in fact very familiar with it. Likely these were some hardened pairs of ears; used to it all and skillful in tuning out the actual content of the words, mindful only of the moment when they would stop pouring out.

It generally took quite a while.

Around the coast, trees were few and far between, and with the mountains left behind the wind had a free rein. Castorius looked into the near distance, could hear the ocean roaring and the seagulls screaming, but could not get a good visual due to the thick wall of mist that seemed to have come from nowhere.

The people did not notice Castorius and Roggie approaching. Close up, the man in the middle appeared to be an older fellow. "And wipe that smirk off you face!" he was crowing at one of the guards.

"Yes sir!" the guard replied, tight-lipped.

"Hey!" Roggie called, waving a hand. The man's scowling face snapped towards them.

The sight of them approaching did not seem to improve the man's mood. If anything the furrows of his already corrugated brow deepened further. He came across as one of those men with a perpetual expression like they were chewing on something sour, whose permanently displeased eyes never failed to find out each and every fault in what ever they saw. The thin-lipped tight line of a mouth—surrounded by a profuse stubble up to his cheekbones, making him look as if he'd been down on his knees, eating the dirt off the ground—was undoubtedly equally eager to make known the exact rotten nature of the details his eyes picked up.

A turquoise and silver circlet adorned the man's brow but did little to improve the visuals. In fact, it only served to further underline the utter misery of the visage underneath it.

The man scratched at his shaved head, its scalp equally shadowed by stubble, as he disapprovingly studied the newcomers. He chewed at the insides of his mouth, lips twisted as if he was doing his darnedest to keep from bursting into tears.

"Skald, my friend," Roggie said. "Always nice to see your sunny disposition!"

"You," the man, Skald, sneered. "He sent you?"