The approach of Niflheim (IC)

A cold wet rush of air blew past, ripping a section of his cloak open and letting out the precious warmth that had begun to build up. "Curse Freyr for this damnable cold!" the figure could be heard saying as his boots slopped down the wet muddy road.
Mirkwood is a horrible place. At one time it was a decent enough area in which to live. Expansive forest were excellent for lumber mills, and settlers would come for the work. But now, those here strive to make a living as the forest has slowly turned to marshy swamp lands. As he drudged on, water soaked, rotting walls loomed ahead. As he drew closer lights pierced the fog illuminating those looming dark walls. "Let me in for Gods sake!" "Open the gate!" he yelled between pounding knocks on the doors opening to the town. As he pounded away a third time the door gave way. Flinching noticeably, for the thought he had just broken the sadly rotting door, the gatesman sized him up as the door swung open. "Why u makin such a rucus! Wat's yer buisness?" - "By the gods man! What do you think my business is? To get out of this damnable swamp and get some mead!" - "Alight, don come so late an Id wont ask questions" the gatesman rumbled in a gruff voice as he moved aside for the lone figure to enter the town. He trudged up a sloping incline, coming to quite a large inn for a place so far removed from civilization. Opening the wooden door, he savored the burst of heat that came swirling out of the building. Ignoring the stares from the sparsely populated crowd he got to the the bar and slapped three silver pieces down. "Food, mead, and a room for the night. Please." At the sight of the silver, the innkeeper got a bit more friendly. "So where you coming from friend?" He asked as a pint of mead was set on the bar. "South from haven. Heading north" the man grumbled and moved off toward a corner seat near the fire. "Bring me my food when it's ready will ya?" he asked not waiting for a reply. Taking off the sling which carried his traveling supplies, and dropping it under his table, he sat at a bench, propped up his muddy boots on a chair, and lit a pipe of Nightweed. Settling into a half awaken state he let the fire bathe him in warmth, and allowed his tired feet to throb away, a slow throbbing rhythm.... a crackling of the fire..... soothing inhale of smoke.....

A strong gust blew over the dirt road, catching hold of Sartorous's cloak and blowing it around him, revealing the pommel of a sword and dagger on his belt. He hugged his cloak closer to him, trying to protect from the cold the night had brought with it. The man walked with a limp, stumbling slightly every few steps. He had a bandage wrapped around the upper part of his right leg. The wind picked up again as Sartorous neared a sign post at a fork in the dirt road. He glanced up at the sign and headed down the left side of the fork. The sign said the town was only a mile and a half away. Hopefully, he'd be able to make it there before it got too much colder or darker. He looked up at the sky. A few stars were beginning to come into view along with a slight shadow of the moon. He estimated it would be dark a little before he reached the town. Not too bad, but his luck could have been better that day. Earlier that day, Sartorous had been jumped while on the road by a few bandits. He scratched at his chin as he thought back on the incident.

He'd been walking along, much like he was at the moment when he heard a twig snap off to his right. He looked over in time to see three people walk out on to the road right in front of him. He sighed to himself, silently cursing his luck. The three in front of him were the typical bandits, brandishing their swords and demanding he pay some imaginary toll that was too outrageous for any normal traveler to pay. And Sartorous answered in the way some storybook adventurer would answer. That got him hit in the face by the big one. He stumbled backward, holding his cheek. Immediately he felt it swelling under his hand. Sartorous stood back up and faced the bandits, who were now laughing at him. Again they asked for a toll, again Sartorous took on the roll of the overly confident and smug adventurer, and again the big one took a swing at him. This time, however, Sartorous expected it and ducked then shoved his shoulder and his full weight into the big bandit's body. The bandit barely budged, before taking hold of Sartorous around the middle and slinging him to the side. He went tumbling across the road. He stood up, brushing the dust from the road off of himself. He looked up to see the bandits drawing their weapons; the big one that had hit Sartorous had a long sword, the lanky-looking one drew a pair of daggers, and the -

He was brought out of his thoughts by stumbling and almost tripping over a rut in the dirt road. He caught himself and looked up to see the small town he'd been headed toward down the sloping road he was atop. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and made his way down the slope carefully, not wanting to fall. He was knocking on the main gate several minutes later. A panel at about eye level opened up in the gate in response to his knocks.

"Wha' do yuh want?"

"Nothing more than a clean bed to sleep in, a roof over my head, and a hot meal," Sartorous said with a smirk on his face.

"Good luck findin' one o' them here," the gatekeeper said with a chuckle.

Sartorous waited as the man on the other side opened the gate for him. He made his way in a little hesitantly due to the gatekeeper's response. He made his way down the single dirt road that ran through the small town. He found the inn with no trouble. He walked in and went straight to the bar, too used to the acrid pipe smoke, musky stench, and general noise to be affected. The innkeeper walked over to where he stood and asked what he would have. Sartorous responded with the same response he had to the gatekeeper. The innkeeper smiled and asked for five silvers. Sartorous fumbled around in one of the pouches on his belt for a minute before bringing out the five silvers and placing them on the bar. He nodded to the innkeeper and then made his way over an empty table. He shrugged off his cloak and satchel on to the chair next to his before sitting down and sliding another chair over to prop his feet on. He glanced around the room briefly before the innkeeper bustled over to his table with a bowl full of stew, a warm drink, and the key to a room.

Sartorous let his feet slide to ground as he thanked the man and took a bite of stew. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't necessarily the worst either. He ate the stew and drank the mug the innkeeper had brought him. He finished the stew in a few minutes along with the warm drink. He felt much better with something on his stomach, especially something warm. Sartorous slid the bowl and mug away from him a little as the door to the inn opened and admitted another patron for the night. One that resembled Sartorous in the aspect that he had travelling gear and a cloak slung around him. He ignored the new patron and looked down at his left hand on the table. He grabbed near the base of his left ring finger with his right thumb and middle finger. There was a metal ring there. An old, scratched, dull metal ring. It used to be shiny and clean at one point, but has gone a long while without being cleaned. He let go of the ring under his gloves and reached under his shirt and began playing with an identical, yet smaller ring hanging from a simple piece of rope around his neck.

Jack sat quietly in his corner seat at the bar as he noticed a man drop two silvers only inches away from him. "Big spender" Jack muttered to himself in amusement. Eyeing the bartender as he readied his food. The bar was dark aside from the occasional candle scattered between the large wooden benches. "And what'll you have younglin? You been here hours and ain't ordered a thing. Pick your poison or get out." The bartender said to Jack as he spit in a mug and wiped it out with a ragged cloth. The mindless chatter behind the main bar from all the patrons almost drowned out the bartenders voice. So many lost souls in one place with nothing left to do but drink away their problems.

Jack just smirked as he pulled out two copper pieces and a black cord. Tossing the copper as he pulled his long blond hair into a ponytail, tying it off with the cord. "Just bread and water friend... and I'm waiting for someone if you must know." He said as he leaned back on the wooden stool, placing his hands behind his head. "Oh yea? Who exactly?" The bartender said curiously. Jack then pulled the small necklace out of his chainmail and rubbed it between his fingers. "Not entirely sure yet, but I have a feeling I will find out." He said as he turned around in his stool to gaze upon the men and women all lined up at their benches, drinking their mead. Enjoying the company of eachother as they momentarily forgot their barren lands and dying cattle.

A smile grew on Jacks face as he watched the people try to enjoy themselves no matter the problems. He pulled out another copper piece and placed it on the table. "Actually, make that a Mead, I want to celebrate my first day as a Freedman." He said as he smiled. The bartender took the copper piece and placed the mug under the Tap, filling it halfway and sliding it towards Jack. "Times are tough, three copper only pays for half a mug." The bartender smugly said. Slowly making his way towards the back to prepare the other mans food. Jack's smile weakened but was still a smile as he gulped down the half-mug. "Time is tough..." he muttered jokingly to himself.

Christopher trudged forward through the damnable swamp. Mirkwood was a dark and dangerous place... at least, that's how it is now. He heard it had seen better days, but he saw no evidence of that from where he stood. Although common folk may have worry bandits, or worse, but the clearly displayed emblem on his chest would scare off the average wrongdoer. The Templars carried with them a long history of myths and legends, and although they may not see as much action now as they had in past times, the legends still carried weight with the average man, and for good reason. Although now they may be reduced to fighting petty bandits hassling town folk, they were still one of the most respected swordsman around. Christopher was almost disappointed the Templars were not more proactive on the affairs of today- the world was a dark place, and it was obvious to many that there was more afoot than meets the eyes, and he knew more could be done by them. But, The Church insists that the Templars remain a neutral order. All they would do is send a single man to 'investigate'. As devoted as he was to The Church, there was a time for old men in robes to make decisions and times for mighty generals to make decisions. This was one of the latter.

He sighed. The cold was not doing him any good. Fortunately, a sign alerted him that a village was ahead. Good news. He was getting tired of the swamp, and a warm fire and a meal would be welcome- he might even stay the night, and begin the investigation he was assigned to the next morning. Finally, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of the walls of a village. Finally. He marched up to the gate, and banged on it. Nothing. Once again, he banged on the gate, hoping to get the attention of the gatekeeper. Finally, on his third attempt, a man came and opened up a panel on the gate in front of him. "Wot's your business?" the man asked. "I'm here on Templar business." Christopher said, in an authoritative voice. The man looked down at his armor, staring at the emblem. "Yes, o' course sir, right away." being a Templar had its advantages. The myths that surrounded them bought some leverage with most. The gates swung open, allowing him in. Christopher walked down the sole road in the town, which led straight to an inn. Perfect.

He headed inside, and approached the bar. As he entered, gazes fell upon him. His kind were rare around these pats. "What'll it be?" the barkeep asked. "I need a room for the night, a meal, and some mead." Christopher pulled three silver pieces from his coin purse and handed it to the man- it was part of the moderate stipend given to him by the Templars for his journey. The barkeep got his drink, and handed him a key. "This'll be for yer room, third door on the left. The meal'll be a second." Christopher nodded, and sat down at a table in the corner, sipping his mead. Soon a stew came, and he wolfed it down. It wasn't the best he had ever had, but it was better than what they had given him when he was training in the Templars, and was certainly welcome. When he finished, he decided to sit and enjoy the warm fire, at least for a little while. He reached around his neck, pulling out his locket, and started to examine it, if for no other reason to sate his boredom. He examined every contour, making sure it was not damaged..

Catrine stood outside the large inn for a moment, shivering fingers hovering on the doorknob. The raucous noise from inside might have seemed happy, but she couldn't help feeling intimidated. The rain seeped through her cloak and down her spine. She shuddered. The rain was thick, as if it turned to some ill slime when it dripped off the Mirkwood trees. This place was gods-forsaken. Catrine ducked inside the doorway, tugging her hood farther down.
The smell of sweat, liquor, and hot food hit her like a wall. She sank into a chair by the door.
"Hello there." Catrine jumped up, only to see the innkeeper. Her hood was knocked loose. The innkeeper seemed a little taken aback by her garb, then grinned a toothy grin. "Well well well. We don't get much lady-folk here. What'll it be?"
"Um..."
"Speak up missy. Can't hear ya in this place."
"A room."
"Alright missy." He held out his palm. Catrine stared at it, then began rustling through her cloak folds. "Um..."
"What's that?" The innkeeper leaned in.
"Would you be willing trade something? Um, I don't have money right now.."
The innkeeper's kindly demeanor vanished as quickly as it had come. "Maybe in happier times, I might've. But now I need cold hard coin. I don't cater to vagabonds missy. Make way for paying customers." He cocked his thumb at the door. Catrine slunk out as quietly as she had come, and slumped down in a bench by the door. Now was not the time for self pity. She gnawed in her fingernails. It didn't do much to distract her from cold and hunger.

“Are you hungry?”

There was an oddly dressed… girl? (she seemed a bit small for a man) sitting just outside the inn, something that seemed all too common in this town and many others he had visited. A second later, a little gust partly removed her hood, and he could see her face clearly. Definitely a girl. The elf remembered that just in the few days he had been there, the innkeeper had thrown multiple people out into the cold when they couldn’t pay, and she certainly had the appearance of one who couldn’t. Defeated, deflated posture, slight shivering in the wind, the piecemeal logic of her clothing… Well, by Eru, she wasn’t going to starve if this elf could help it. He marched right up to her, smile strained slightly by the sheer icy chill, but smiling all the same.

“I am Camthon Ithalion,” he said, giving her a traditional elven hand-sign and bow of greetings. “I could not help but notice you sitting alone out here, just outside the warmth of the inn… The barkeep is a bit of a bastard.” A shiver ran through Camthon as he sat down, but that was of no importance. At least he was well fed. And since he had no way of knowing how long it had been since this girl had eaten, immediately after sitting down he was offering her his water skin and a small loaf of elven bread , all that remained of the food he had originally set out with. Even if she seemed to refuse, he would push the bread into her hands anyway. “Everyone needs to eat,” he said gently, “coin or no coin.”

“Perhaps I could entertain you with a story while you eat? My people certainly have no shortage of stories… Mm. Perhaps not.” He sat in uncomfortable silence, still shivering from the cold, waiting.

Cassandra woke to the sound of a child's cry. She rolled over in bed groaning. "River..." Her niece had quite obviously woken up in one of her moods this morning. She assumed her sister would have begun to calm her by now. She opened her eyes and immediately closed them again, the light coming in from the window nearly blinding her. It was early morning and she knew she would have to get up eventually. She sighed as River continued crying. She pushed herself out of bed and over to the crying baby. She picked her up. "River where is your mother?"

"Mommy!" River wailed. Cassandra winced at the pricing noise.

"I Don't know where your mother is." Probably out with that Robert. She thought to herself. Ever since her brother in law had died at sea her sister had been behaving less then, well... Shed been restless. She bounced river up and down humming as she tried to calm her. She knew she was probably hungry from the way she was sucking on her shirt. "Damm you Surraiah!" She cursed as River continued her wailing. She sat down with river on her lap. She kissed the top of her head. Just then her sister came into the room looking like the happiest woman on earth. "Surraiah your not going to be able to find a job as a wet nurse if you cant even be here to attend to your own child!" She snapped handing the child over before storming off to get dressed.

It took her only a few minutes but found she was having trouble lacing up her bodice. Her sister noticed. "Cassandra do you need a new bodice again?" Cassandra glared at her. This was the third bodice she had gone through in the past three months.

"I shouldn't be growing anymore!" She groaned. Surraiah went over to her.

"Here let me do it up, we can go into town later today and see if we can get you a new one." She let her sister lace her up. "This is getting to be far too expensive." Her sister muttered under her breath.

"I heard that!" She said. Downstairs the noises of the inn could be heard. Cassandra leaned down and kissed the now much quieter river on the forehead. "Do you want to help me with the herbs later?" River nodded. Cassnadra sighed and walked downstairs. The inn was already fairly busy and master peter, the owner of the inn was ordering people around in his usual good natured way. He saw her.

"Cassnarda can you help Barrel with the soup." It wasn't really a question and she nodded going out into their summer kitchen where there were three kettles already boiling on the brick hearth.

Catrine stared for a moment at the elf as he offered her his water skin and bread, surprised, almost not knowing how to react. Someone - an elf! -offering something to me...? The idea seemed incredible. But a growl from her stomach snapped her back to reality. She hesitated, then took his offered food with a grateful, mute nod. For a moment the cold seemed less chill. She fumbled with the bread with numb fingers, then began eating it voraciously. It tasted barely stale, but sweet and hardy. The water tasted like distant places, but no place Catrine had ever wandered through. Both sent a pleasant warmth through her, starting in her stomach and branching throughout her entire body. She took a deep breath. It had beed a long time since she had eaten something that satisfying. Or had met someone kind.
She eyed the elf who called himself Camthon Ithalion from under her hood. She couldn't decide how old he was. The slimy rain didn't seem to affect him. He was smiling nonetheless. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were keen. They sparkled with with youth and curiosity, but had a depth that characterized maturity. It didn't matter. He had given her food, and that was all that mattered to her at the moment. She just kept nodding in gratitude. At the moment her mouth was too stuffed to say much of anything.
When the elf offered to tell a story, she sat up straighter. "A story...?" she said softly, a little husky, and for a second her eyes lit with a childish expression, then returned to their usual blank state. "...I, I would like that." She hoped it would be a happy story. She always liked happy stories. Unfortunately, happy stories were becoming increasingly hard to come by, except in fairy tales and drinking songs used to drown out the sad stories.

He awoke as the innkeeper set a bowl of stew, with a slice of bread on the table. Sitting down with a grunt he handed the key over to the stranger. "So friend, I didn't catch your name?" - "It's Vincent, thanks for the stew." - "What brings you to these parts Vincent, and so late in the night. It's dangerous on these roads." - "Just wandering, I take jobs wherever I can find them." He said between mouthfuls of mead and stew. The innkeeper eyed the sword. "Looks like I have another customer. Been quite a profitable day for me." he said with a smile as he got up. "You be careful friend, dangerous things are happening round these parts. "Welcome! What can I do for you" the innkeeper called to the new customer walking in.

Vincent finished his meal without further disturbance, then gathering his belongings he headed up to his room. Opening the door he took in the surroundings. It was furnished very little, with a simple table and chair, and a bed. Throwing his stuff in the corner he unfastened his sword, setting it on the table. Slipping his dagger under the pillow he fell asleep without taking boots or clothes off.

Jack felt a feint vibration come from his talisman as the templar walked in, as well as the poor young lady who was soon kicked out for having no money. "Hmm that was strange, Not exactly sure which one set it off like that." he muttered as he slowly got off his stool and made his way towards the templar. Casually passing him by to see if anything would happen. He noticed the man was playing with a small locket that seemed to not match anything else on his uniform.

"A keepsake from a lady-friend I presume?" He casually said as he took a seat across from the templar, placing his empty mug in front of him. "I'm sure the churches warriors steal many dames hearts... but for one to keep a momento, she must be very dear." He purposefully slurred his voice a bit so that he would not seem very threatening. "I have one too." Jack said as he gently tugged on the chain around his neck. "Although mine is more like a collar for a dog than a keepsake." He muttered sarcastically, slurring his words once more. "What say you? Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine." Jack leaned back in his chair and balanced it on its two back legs. Placing his left hand on his side, close to his sword but not touching the pommel.