Forged

Chapter Two: Lady of Death

Rendal’s travel through the forest was unimpeded by anything, his gaze flashing to the corners, watching and waiting for something to spring forth, on edge for everything. Within these forests, there seemed to lurk wary monsters, according to several of the locals of Darkmoor. The sound of birds and of the small creatures that walked through the underbrush was the only accompaniment he had found for this trip, traveling over the beaten road with the sun bearing down upon him, armor strapped to his body, encasing it. His beard had been shaved off, his face looking pale and almost inhuman with the way that the light seemed to reflect off the pale skin where there had once been a full beard.

“If I gather information, then that mage would be easier to track down.” The thought came to him and his hands rubbed over the breastplate, his tongue licking over his lips, whetting them. His eyes glanced at the pack that he’d hastily packed the evening before his rest and he fished the water bottle out of it, hefting it and placing it to his lips, the cool water sloshing about within, leaking into his mouth in a generous amount. “Agh.” He muttered, as he swallowed, the sound of the swallow being really audible all of a sudden. He put the bottle back within his pack, glancing about and readying his weapon, muscles tensed. There were no birds that chirped, no sounds within the underbrush. Suddenly, something up ahead seemed to draw his attention and he readied himself to strike, to defend himself from whatever horror that seemed to have wrenched itself free from the forest.

Instead of any sort of lurking monster, a cart with a simple ox in front of it appeared, it’s owner cursing softly, letting a small reed smack upon the ox’s hind quarters. Rendal relaxed slightly as he could feel relief settle on his face, walking up to the cart, as it continued its leisurely trek over the road. “Hello there Sir, do you know where there is an inn? I’m not really familiar with these parts…” Rendal watched as the man’s head rose up a little and then a slow nod. “M’ shure that there’s an inn jus a few miles ahead. Can’t miss it, the pig’s sty. Shoddy place, but enuff for a bed for ya, kind ser ‘night.” The accent was thick and Rendal wasn’t sure whether he caught enough of it, watching the cart continue. “Thank you.” He spoke, the owner of the cart’s head turning around and a slow wave being given, along with something that was hard to understand, as the cart moved out of hearing range, the ox giving a sound of discontent with the way that its owner smacked it with the reed.

So there’s an inn up ahead? I better investigate that. His face was impassive, as he walked towards the direction the cart had come from,  sure that he would be able to find the inn. Walking along the path that supposedly led to the inn, he found that nature’s tranquility seemed to soothe the pain within his heart, watching as deer seemed to dart in and out the brush on the side, trees still dominating the surroundings.

After what seemed to be almost two hours, he finally came upon the inn, a swath of forest cleared around it to make it not be overgrown, the sign outside being shaped like a pig, paint almost worn off completely with ‘The pig’s sty’ written in an odd cursive script. A number of carts seemed to be parked around it, which was not unusual, commerce would need a small rest stop every now and then after all. Opening the door and stepping inside, the scent of roast pig hit him. His mind went blank for a moment, the scent of people roasting came to his nostrils, gagging almost. He collected himself, though anguish seemed to be written within his eyes.

Striding up to the bar, he looked at the barkeeper, a man who seemed to be in his late fourties, a beard that was starting to grow silvery with age one of the most prominent features, if not the wrinkles that adorned the man’s head. “What can I get ya?” The barkeeper said, Rendal leaning upon the bar, staring at the man, even as a barmaid seemed to whiz by him. The scent of perfume clung around her like a cloud of flies around a festering corpse, Rendal’s face being unmoved. “Information.” His voice was even, his eyes staring straight into the barkeeper’s eyes. “Information eh? What can old Egbert do for ya, traveler? My information don’t come cheap, if that’s what yer’s after. And don’t think I’ll sell one of them merchant fellows out either, they pay good money to stay ere.” A pair of young men, armed with what seemed to be clubs approached, clearly on a sign from the barkeeper.