Earlier that evening...
The oarsman examined the sky once more. He was more than certain it was going to rain tonight. Then again, it practically rains every night in Darkwood. He carried passengers to Blackwater for a living, but he knew drifting down Stoneriver at night was a bad idea. He finally turned his attention back to the black-garbed warrior, his body hidden beneath a thick black cloak. "Look," the oarsman began, "I've been livin' here my whole life, and I can tell you that when it rains in Darkwood - it pours. Driftin' down the river tonight would be a bad idea. Just stay in my cabin for tonight, I have enough room for you and the girl, and I promise you'll get you to Blackwater by noon tomorrow."

The warrior sighed, "I'll pay you tenfold if you can get both of us to Blackwater by morning." He looked over his shoulder at the girl, "that includes her, too."

"Tenfo..." the oarsman said in surprise, unable to finish his sentence. That's one-hundred silver!. He weighed his choices.... it only took a few moments before he grudgingly accepted the offer. "Alright," he said, holding his hand out, "a hundred silver."

Later...
When it rains in Darkwood - it pours, the warrior said in his head, smirking. The torrential downpour started almost as soon as the boat started downriver. The rainstorm flooded the oak forest, turning ponds into small lakes and creeks into formidable rivers. The run-off flooded the Stoneriver and carried the rowboat at a rapid pace. The pitter-patter of the raindrops pounded against the old wood, filling the boat. The oarsman was busy at work filling up a fishing bucket and tossing the water out into the river. Streaks of lightning filled the moonless sky, illuminating the forest for split-seconds at a time. Rolling thunder followed in suit, as if the heavens themselves were about to collapse upon the world.

Naturally, the warrior was not surprised that his tattered black cloak, as thick as it was, failed to keep him dry as he sat on the thin plank-of-a-seat. Although he was wet and his boots were soaked, he was kept somewhat warm by the girl's body heat. The young girl, no older than twelve, sat curled up in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms folded up against her chest. Her head was dug snugly into his own chest and he kept his arms and cloak around her to keep her dry. She somehow found the comfort to fall asleep.

The oarsman was not as lucky. When the lightning flashed you could see beads of rainwater pouring down his bald head and over his face. He was cold, wet, and regretful, and the warrior knew the man would catch a cold come morning, but his hefty profit kept him content with this unbearable job. "Ye never did tell me why you needed to get to Blackwater so fast," the oarsman said, taking a break from bucketing the water out. When the warrior did not reply, he continued, "is it 'cause of the girl? She sick?"

"No," the warrior said blatantly, "just get us there."

Early morning...
The sun hadn't even began to rise and the oarsman had gotten his two customers to Blackwater. Both parties were satisfied. The rain had let up a little, but it was still raining quite hard, and the strong gusts of wind didn't help either. The oarsman used one of the oars to slow the boat down and make sure it didn't crashed into the drain-grates that allowed the river to flow into Blackwater. Using a rope, the oarsman pulled the trio to a rickety old dock set into the side of the palisade wall. The warrior stood up slowly, being gentle with the girl who had began to wake. With a little help from the oarsman both of them hopped out of the boat and onto the dock. The oarsman proceeded to safely tie his boat to the dock and the group hobbled along a path towards the northern gate of the town.

"This storm's a little stronger than usual," began the oarsman, "it's almost.... unnatural."

The warrior let out a light grunt. "Probably is," he said in a foreboding way, "that just means I didn't get here as fast as I had hoped."

"Staytchur bistniss (state your business)." A loud, boisterous voice with a thick accent erupted from atop the gate. Three men armed with crossbows stood at the top.

The oarsman stepped forth and waved his hands, "just a few generous travelers, Larus, no one to be concerned about."

"A beet late fer a boat-ride, Cain, (a bit late for a boat-ride, eh Cain,)" the gatekeeper replied, "whysho late (why so late)?"

I... uh," began Cain, "...I'm not sure. I believe the girl is sick. She looked a bit under the weather." Cain knew she was fine, but he wanted out of this weather.

The gatekeeper, Larus, waited a few moments after giving the group a look-over. "Fine! Open, the gates, men, it's juist that bastard, Cain!" The wooden-iron gates began to slowly open and the trio quickly marched across the cobblestones and underneath a nearby shelter. The guards hurriedly closed the gates shut. A bit paranoid, thought the warrior.

"Theys an inn just down the ways," yelled the oarsman, "'The Faintly Gallows, Sloan' calls it. Come, follow me, it'll keep us out of this weather." The warrior and the girl did not hesitate to follow the man down the road. It was hard to see, but each building was at least two stories; their foundations were made of gray stones while the structures themselves were made up of both stones, wood, glass windows, and pointed, shingled, roofs. Where alleys or alternate pathways branched off from the main road you could see the storm had pelted it into mud. Obviously, the older and more wealthier buildings had been built along the main road.

The group finally made its way to the inn. The Stoneriver naturally ran southeast, but it made a bend in the middle of Blackwater and ran south. The inn was interestingly built right over the bend. In a way, it was like a very wide arching stone bridge built over the river with an inn sitting in the middle of that bridge. It was three-stories high, built with gray stones, glass windows, wooden shutters, and a shingled roof. The inn's entrance faced south down the river, so you had to cross either the eastern or western walkway to get to it. The door itself was made up of a very strong wood, no doubt from the oak-trees of Darkwood. A sign hung over the door of the building with the name "The Faintly Gallows' stylized across it.

Cain barreled through the door, eager to warm up. The warrior passed through next, holding the girls hand who walked in afterwards before closing the door behind her. The main room was quite large, covering the entire first-story save for a lavatory in the back-right corner and the bar on the left. There was a long stone pit made in the center of the room with hot coals burning within and some morning food roasting over them. An old, nearly-bald man was tending to the meat before he noticed Cain busting through the door.

"Damn it, Cain, how many times I gotta tell you-"

"Easy, Sloan, have you been out there? It's freezin'!"

"No I ain't been out there, boy. I'm not the madman who drifts down Stoneriver at night! Take off those wet clothes, you're getting the floors wet!"

"Of course," Cain said before scurrying off upstairs, where the rooms-for-rent were located. The warrior eased forward, noticing that only he, the girl, Sloan, and an unconscious drunkard was in the room. The wooden tables, chairs, and the bar itself was finely built. It was warm and dry, thanks to the firepit in the center of the room, which also offered a pleasant smell. The girl started to slowly circle the room, looking around sleepily.

"Lookin' for a place to stay?" Sloan walked up to the warrior, dismissing the presence of the girl.

"Sure," said the warrior. "Well, I'm hoping the girl could..." The warrior stopped talking once he noticed the girl take an interest in the unconscious drunk that sat on the far-end of the room. "Hey!" he yelled, "what do I always tell you?" The girl smirked before slyly moving away. "I'm looking for a place the girl can rest - safely. I still have unfinished business in town and so I don't plan on resting until tonight. Can you help me?"

"Yeah, I suppose." Sloan began walking towards the bar. The innkeeper pulled out a ledger book, ink, and a quill from beneath the counter. "Just tell me your names."

"Valunn," the warrior answered. At that moment, a half-cooked pig fell off of its stand and into the firepit. Both men looked over at the the girl who let out a guilty smile. "...and that's Lily."

Gabriel Knotts was beaming a smile from ear to ear, as the smell of roasting meat struck his nostrils. The food made over those crackling coals were always tasty, and they filled one of the seven essential meals of the day. He took off his backpack and slung it onto the floor, as he opened it up and dug his hand through his pack as he pulled out his fiddle and bow. Yes today is one for the fanciful fiddle, and not the flute at this moment. he shut his backpack as he swung it back onto his back.

Carefully eying his precious instrument he began tuning it, starting with the A string, moving down to the E string. After his tuning, he placed the fiddle against his head, resting it softly. He drew his bow with his right hand as he slowly brushed it against the string producing a soft and sweet sound. Excellent, now then.

Walking away from the wall he was resting against he moved near the assorted tables where the denizens were eating breakfast. He took a bow, as he then glanced towards them all.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, while you enjoy your delightfully, tongue tingling, tantalizing meal, whether this be your first or third meal of the day, I, GABRIEL KNOTTS, THE 'LAUGHING SCORPION' shall provide to you all this fine day a musical muse and merry melody!" He finished his declaration as he glanced towards Sloan, "And remember to thank your host, for the hospitality."

Gabriel started with a slow and sweet tune, as his bow gently cascaded down the strings of the fiddle, and his fingers danced alongside the strings. All the while he was doing a simple jig, a few steps which corresponded to the beat of the music. Later I shall sing an accompaniment. he thought as he continued his performance.

She was up early, as she was almost every morning.

Almost every morning she set out into the wood. She crept out of her room, down the back alleys, and into the wood. All just before sunrise when the dew was fresh… Though, after the rainstorm the forest was not dewy but drenched.

She returned to the tavern with mud up to her knees and a basket full of soaking weeds and moss. She was most pleased with the moss, soaked as it was, she could keep it alive for a few more days. She washed the mud from her feet and changed her dress before she went inside. She expected a busy breakfast.

At these odd hours she liked to think of herself as a ghost in the tavern. Over the years she learned to tend the small things that were important to the inn. That the breakfast cook would always find the mixing spoon in the same place, the guests would find their linens folded all the same way, Sloan would always find the inkwell at the front desk full and never need to give such a small thing any thought. (As she filled the ink this morning, she noticed the new name in the ledger, but paid it little mind as she set upon her other duties)

As the smell of breakfast roused the guests, Haven quickly donned a fresh apron. Those who knew her called to her by name, giving her their orders. The rest caught on quickly to the method of their silent server. What she could not plate or pour herself she could sloppily-scratch-out for the cook on a slate they had made. (She had only just learned to write, and only knew the shorthand for the orders anyhow.)

She was happy when Gabriel, the Laughing Scorpion, began his performance. He played a jolly fiddle jig. The pace of her step began to match his rhythm, and she did a little spin every so often. (Whenever he might finish a tune, she would stop and clap encouragingly.) With these dance-steps she went in and out of the kitchen, wove round the tables, and kept an eye out for new arrivals that she should greet.

~

It’s a fucking nightmare out here.

Densha pulled irritably at the hood of her cloak. Downpouring raindrops shattered like glass on the cobblestone pathway. As she crossed a small bridge, she looked up at her destination. The dark, towering wall seemed to stare her down as she walked toward it. She couldn’t recall ever seeing such a tall structure in her life. In fact, pretty much everything she’s experienced since leaving Eastwind had been a shock to her. Men riding wolves, homes built underground like anthills… even spellcasting was unheard of in her homeland, save for the occasional healing enchantment by the local shaman. Though, by far, the heavy rain was the most horrible new thing. Sure, Eastwind had a few sprinkles now and then, but deserts don’t storm like this. The explosions in the sky made her flinch every time; each one felt closer and closer.

As Densha neared the entrance gates, a man shouted down at her from a watchtower.

“Oi, down there! State’cha bus’ness!”

She thought for a moment. Densha didn’t exactly want the whole world to know she was hunting a large bounty. That would only mean competition.

“Just a traveler, looking for a place to rest!” she bellowed back.

The gate man looked skeptically at her weapons and armor. Densha forced a smile.

“Awright, bu’ we go' our eyes on ya!” He signaled to other men on the wall, and the iron-clad gates began to open slowly inward. Densha slipped through and looked behind her to watch them shut it.

It was morning, and there didn’t seem to be many people out in the rain. Those that were rushed to and fro, searching for shelter. She spotted a beggar sitting on a pile of wet papers nearby; he was trying to protect his head from the rain with a particularly thin news article on The True Lives of Elven Warriors. Densha approached him warily.

“Hey, know where I can get some food and a warm bed?” she asked him.

At first, the man didn’t seem to realize she was talking to him. He looked behind him anxiously.

“Me?” he asked her, pointing at himself.

“Yes,” Densha responded, puzzled. I suppose the people around here don’t talk to the destitute, she thought.

“I… Y-you probably want The Faintly Gallows. It’s just in the center of town. You can follow the main road and cross a wooden bridge to it.”

“Thank you, sir. Here,” she pulled a golden coin out of her purse and handed it to him. “Have a good day.”

The man was dumbfounded, holding the little coin with both hands as if it was his firstborn child. Densha left him stunned speechless and went down the wide stone path. Sure enough, she had only walked some 10 or 20 yards before reaching a tall, grayish building with curly letters spelling “The Faintly Gallows” above the door. Though it was similar to the rest of the town’s structures, the inn seemed warmer, more inviting somehow. The windows glowed orange from a lit fire, and she could smell bacon and potatoes being cooked.

When she opened the door, Densha was immediately in a better mood. The rain was practically a whisper compared to the bustling people and the sizzling breakfast stuffs. A woman behind the far wooden counter greeted her welcomingly. Densha felt the heat of the enormous fire pit on her skin, and she took off her cloak and wrung it out outside the door before shutting it and stuffing the cloak in her bag. A small man by the dining tables was performing a cheerful song on his fiddle; Densha watched for a moment, then neared the innkeeper at the other end of the room.

“Got any rooms available?” she asked the balding man casually.

The Faintly Gallows, Blackwater
The Faintly Gallows began to come alive as it did every morning. A halfling by the name of Gabriel Knotts played a jolly solo with his fiddle to the amusement of many guests; to some, it was the first time they had heard a fiddle, while others probably heard it every morning; nevertheless, a few of the patrons tossed a few coins his way. A young woman known as Haven was busy tending to the patrons and Sloan looked over her with a smile, joyful that he had some help tending to such a busy inn. It only took a single glance around the room to spot out priorities. A few merchants were in the center of the room discussing trade and weather; some mercenaries in a corner were counting their coin, promoting jealousy amongst the others; a few shady individuals found darker corners to hide in, keeping their heads turned away but turned just enough so they could see someone if they approached. On a normal day hunters would have brought in their fresh meats, but the vicious rainstorm of the early morning hours had dealt its blow. Just another day, thought Sloan.

"Got any rooms available?" Sloan jumped, a bit surprised at the sudden question. He turned to face a dark-skinned woman.

"Oh," he began, "oh yes, of course. I just need a name and your initial payment..."

Streets of Blackwater
Valunn strolled the streets of the town as they began to come alive. People were moving everywhere, but he wasn't sure what they were doing. Some carts, a few children, a bit of yelling - a bit busy for such a small town. An easy place to blend in, he thought.

There stood a man in a courtyard, an old fellow with a thick mustache. He stood on a pedestal to elevate himself from the crowd around him. In one hand he held a paper and was shouting "Get it here! The True Lives of Elven Warriors! Stories of er... great adventure and... romance... heh heh." He looked nervous, but seemed to enjoy spreading the news. Could have information, thought Valunn.

"Excuse me, sir," Valunn called out, talking towards him. The crowd dispersed, uninterested in the lives of elvenkind. "Hey," he called out again, "I'll have a word with you." At that moment the man noticed him and looked at him with a shy grin.

"Shamus is busy spreading what he knows at the moment my good man, see him at The Faintly Gallows," he said, oddly referring to himself in third-person. The man went on to yell a bit more about some nonsense, so Valunn reached up and grabbed his forearm before yanking the old man down off the pedestal. "...or I can come now," the man said in a frightened tone.

Valunn led the towncrier over to a nearby alley. "Alright 'Shamus', how about you spread some news my way?" Shamus nodded his head nervously, not about to hesitate denying the strong warrior. "Darkwood is about to receive some visitors, Shamus, but I'm pretty sure they're already here, you understand? Now these 'visitors' aren't the friendly type, so as soon as you hear anything suspicious find me at The Faintly Gallows - immediately!"

"Er... yes sir," Shamus replied, "but uh... what's in it for me?"

Valunn smirked and pulled a small pouch of silver coins from his bag, shoving into the old mans chest, "greedy old bastard," he said before turning to walk away. But the old man tapped on his shoulder, letting out a nervous chuckle. "What?"

"You'll probably find more capable help" he began quietly, "by posting a notice on The Faintly Gallows notice board, eh?"

"Yeah," replied Valunn. It was a good idea, to round up a few volunteers and be ready in case the 'strangers' made it to Blackwater. "I might just do that then... but not until I'm certain they're here. Meanwhile, don't tell anyone what I told you, you hear? No need to cause a ruckus." Shamus nodded his head and Valunn turned and headed back for the inn.

It wasn't a long distance, but the crowd of people made it a longer trip. The inn was a bit more busy at this hour, and it wouldn't be long until a few straggling travelers would arrive. Wow, thought Valunn, this place is shady as hell. It was no lie. Valunn figured he could count the number of innocent people here on one hand. Everyone else looked to be a thug, a scoundrel, a drunk, or a killer. [/i]Just the type of people I need for my situation[/i]. Valunn didn't bother to post a notice yet, not until he was certain the town was in danger, so he just moved through the crowd, went up the steps, on up to the attic which was used as storage...

And Lily was nowhere to be seen. "Gods be damned," Valunn said to himself. Then he saw it: an open window on the far-side of the room. He walked over to it and noticed a rope tied to a nearby plank, obviously Lily's handiwork. "You dumb girl, where've you gone off to now." He looked out of the window to survey the surroundings before hearing a tiny voice call out to him.

"...hi." Looking down he saw Lily making her way back up to the window. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

Irritated, Valunn reached down, grabbed the girl by her shoulder, and in one smooth stroke pulled her through the window. "Bloody hell girl, what'd I tell you before? You do what I say - WHEN I say, you got that?"

"I just wanted to check out the town, it's not that big of a deal," the girl argued.

"Not that big of a deal? Didn't you see what was following us, girl? Do you really think it's a good idea to be out in the open?"

"Hey, we handled him," she continued to argued, raising her voice, "we can do it again."

"We?" Valunn reared his hand back and backhanded the girl onto the floor, sending her onto her stomach. "I barely managed to 'handle' him, you dumb bitch, and all you did was run like the frolicking cunt you were born to be. Besides, that was was just one of the fuckers, now I have all six making there way here, do you really think I can handle every single one of them?"

The girl didn't reply. She looked up at Valunn and wiped the blood from her face. As harsh as he was, Lily knew he was right. It was stupid for her to go out alone, and she knew it. She finally replied: "Well if you're going to be watching over me, at least act like you care about me."

Valunn just laughed at her and remarked "Believe me girl, there's plenty of others in this world who would've done you worse. You're lucky you're not slung over one of the tables there, begging for help. It doesn't matter how 'mean' you think I am, at least you're able to see how things really are."

The girl just slumped back in a chair and didn't bother to look at her guardian. Her eyes began to water and Valunn walked back downstairs, slamming the door behind him. He'd take a seat in one of the booths, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious to come in.

Dancing even quicker, he quickly moved his fingers up and down the strings and ran his bow down the fiddle strings at an incredible flurry. As coins were tossed in his direction, he motioned his bow over the strings, and extending it out to the side. He gave a quick bow, as he held his fiddle and bow in the same hand. Slinging his backpack off of his back, he opened it up and placed his fiddle and bow back there. Gabriel scooped up the coins that the patrons tossed during his performance and placed them in his bag, then sealed it shut. Grabbing the backpack he placed it on his back as he gave another bow, "Thank you, thank you all. I shall do another performance in just a bit." he said to the various patrons.

I'll need to acquire more rosin to tend to my bow. he mused to himself. Gabriel glanced back as he heard a door slam, and watched an individual go up to take a booth. Raising his right eyebrow he took a glance at the man, Booths are for parties of multiple people, three or more... Yet I do not see anyone else. Gabriel thought to himself, as he again smelled the meat roasting on the open coals. However, it is time for Second Breakfast, Strolling on over to the coals he glanced at the selection of meats available. Beaming with another smile he drew one of his throwing knives from the right satchel, and twirled it around inspecting the gleam of the blade against the flickering of the coal. Hm, it could use polishing. he thought to himself. Holding the blade in his left hand he eyed the selection, searching for the meal he felt would best amuse him in eating. He stabbed a small piece that looked well down, and wrenched it off from the coals. Gabriel eagerly eyed the piece, as he licked his lips, knowing that he had chosen wisely.

He strolled up towards the booth that Valunn was in, and hopped onto the opposite side. Beaming a smile he glanced at the man, while still standing on the booth seat, "Hello there! I'm Gabriel Knotts, the Laughing Scorpion, Professional Entertainer and Freelance Adventurer. How are you doing this day? Say, it looks like you haven't got anything to munch on." He used his right hand as he tore off a chunk of the meat impaled on the throwing knife as he handed it over towards Valuun. "The food here is fantastic, and the atmosphere is nice. So what brings you here?" He said, as he brought his throwing knife towards him as he took a bite out of the meat, tearing it off.

Densha gave her name and spelled it out for the innkeeper, then dropped the correct amount of coins into his hand.

“Thank you,” she said. She thought briefly about whether she could ask him about Y without raising suspicion. Then again, innkeepers see so many travelers coming in and out, and this is the only inn in town; if Sloan has a good enough memory, he just might have seen him.

“By the way,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “do you often get a lot of, ah, diverse customers? I can see there are many different races of people here already, and it’s not even noon.”

“Oh? I s’pose so, yeah,” Sloan replied, confused. “Why d’you ask?”

“Do you get customers from some of the more northern parts of Imerill? Maybe a man who wears a lot of furs? Shoulder-length red hair, a hooked nose? About yeigh high?” She raised her hand above her head to indicate Y’s height as best as she could estimate.

Sloan narrowed his eyes warily. “Lookin’ for someone you know?”

“Um, yes,” she said, thinking fast. “A friend of mine. He mentioned he might pass through here.”

“Well,” Sloan began cleaning a glass mug as he spoke, “I might’ve seen someone like that. I don’t keep track of everyone who stays here, y’know. We throw out our older ledgers every so often.”

“He couldn’t have been here too long ago!” Densha said quickly. “In fact, he might still be staying here. Do you think I could have a look‒“

“Absolutely not,” Sloan interrupted gravely. “Our records are for business purposes only. If y’need help finding someone, try asking around town. There’re plenty of people who’re better at trackin’ folks than they oughta be.”

She gave in with a small sigh. “Sorry for bothering you,” she mumbled, and went upstairs to her room. Maybe I’ll have better luck asking other people staying here for the night, she thought to herself. She stored her spare clothes and extra food in a drawer, then returned downstairs.

Finding an empty table, she pulled up a chair and sat, looking around the room at the various people. A small, colorful jester was attempting conversation with an annoyed-looking man clad in black. A woman who appeared to work at the inn was serving breakfast to some diners. The innkeeper was pouring ale into an enormous pitcher.

A loud grumble emerged from her stomach. Realizing she hadn’t eaten in hours, Densha waved her arm to get the attention of the serving woman.

“Can I get a plate of potatoes and chicken, please?” she asked her. “Oh, but before you go,” Densha realized she had an opportunity; surely this amiable-looking girl would be willing to share any information she had. “Have you seen a red-haired man come in recently? Maybe wearing some fur outfit, has a hook of a nose? Fair skin, rather tall?” She made sure to lower her voice to avoid getting the attention of the innkeeper.

The serving girl waited patently with her hands clasped behind her as she listened to the woman's order. Haven took a step away thinking that the order was finished, but stopped when the woman had another question.

She tilted her head, considering the image that came to her mind based on the woman's description. She blinked as she thought of each attribute, like checking off items on a list in her mind.

A man, red hair, in furs, hooked noes, fair and tall.

After a moment she smiled, and nodded pleasantly. Then began to step away so that she could deliver the woman's order to the cook.

Seriously?! thought Densha excitedly. I finally have a lead?

She rocked back in her chair anxiously, watching the girl turn in her order. Densha wondered if Y was staying at this very inn. What if he was upstairs right now? What if she could just charge into his room and launch a crossbow bolt in his chest? After all, the bounty on his head is a legal order made by the government of Eastwind; if she wanted to, she could simply show the wanted document to the innkeeper and have certified permission to kill her mark. However, if Y isn't here, then the whole inn would find out there's a 50,000 gold bounty on a man in this very town, and the last thing she wants is the competition of the strong, shady-looking fellows around her... especially the scraggly man in black sitting across from the halfling jester.

Densha looked at him from the corner of her eyes, observing his ruined cape and his dead stare. The man looked like he had someone he wanted dead, as well, except he seemed more likely to enjoy murder more than Densha. To her, death was simply an inevitability; if killing a man who deserved it, such as Y, earned her a ton of gold and brought glory back to her homeland, then she had no problem with it.

Lost in thought, she suddenly realized she was staring at the dark man and turned her head quickly. Oops. Hope he didn't notice.

Gabriel blinked at the stranger, "So you're one of those mute protagonists? They are a staple in stories, I can respect that." He grabbed the charred meat off his throwing knife as he began wolfing it down. Vigorously chewing through it some of the grease and internal juices that were not fully cooked out spilled down his cheek. He licked his lips clean as he wiped the remains from his face. He hopped out from the booth as he gave a wave to the man.

Throwing his right arm into the air he made a declaration, "Now ladies and gentlemen I shall perform for you the tale of a creature simply known as the BEAST!" Scurring out back towards the center of the establishment a bit always from the cooking pit he began vocal excerises.

The various patrons had a mixed aura about them. Some were scowling at the man, while others were watching on with a smile while jabbing others who were eating in the ribs to make sure they'd pay attention.
"'Ow dare'e tuks o'tha Beast in anythun Otha Dan fear." (How dare he talks of the beast in anything other than fear." Said a burly man, with fists like hams, who was wearing a stained red logging shirt.
"Easy Logan, it's only a rumor. Sides the manlet is gonna be funny." Said a younger looking man, just barely entering manhood and was still transitioning from boyhood, who only had a slight bit of peach-fuzz covering his chin and a large patch of acne on his right cheek.

Logan chortled as he spat out chunks of phlegm which landed into the scrambled eggs of a man who's face was withered out like a sun-dried fruit. The older man stared at his eggs as he slowly removed his utensils out of it. "Soreh." (Sorry) he said to the old man, before slamming his massive hand on the boy's right shoulder engulfing it with his palm. "If'nyun's a manlet it's ye." (If anyone is a manlet it is you)

The boy stated at Logan with a bit of terror gleaming in his eye, "Well the midget then." Logan nodded, "Aye 'esa midget." He removed his hand off the boy as they focused their attention on Gabriel, who just finished his vocal exercises.

Gabriel threw his left hand into the air as he began, "I shall warn you, the Beast has been known to make men of strong constitutions feel like daintly women who are faint of heart."

He began singing, in a sweet voice, with a bit of dark chill to it.
"When the moon is full/
And the stars grow still/
The creature arises ready to kill/
Its eyes black as the void/
With claws and fangs that cut through doors/
No one is safe. No one is safe.
At day it suddenly disappears/
Leaving naught but a trace./"

Gabriel gave a quick nod, "I'll perform the longer version if anyone is interested in it. Though I have other performances as well."

The forest was a bit quiet for a the morning. Other than the rain, that seemed to be never ending. At least it had let up marginally from the night before, which had kept up the hunter hiding within the brush. Of all of the terrors that were seemingly in the Darkwood, this one hunter seemed to be unperturbed by any of it. The rumors, the myths, the legends, that was all that they were, at least to the hunter. The real dangers was the rain ruining a good hunt, covering tracks, making one go home without anything to show for a day of work, no food and nothing to sell.

But, the rain was a perfect time to hunt. To find a good spot to sit and wait. The rain covered tracks, hid the scent. Masked, at the least, for a time. Wash away all traces that anyone was there or is there. The particular piece of brush being used as a hiding place had been covering the hunter for nearly an hour. The animals were used to the rain. It didn't bother them nearly as much as it did an animal elsewhere. Besides, it make small ponds in the mud and ditches that the animals could drink out of without having to make the trip to the river, which was a hot spot for other hunters and predators. No, it was better to walk in the rain, wash the dirt from their fur, and get their water in any of the thousands of miniature lakes.

That was a mistake they made all to often. Almost never the same spot. That made it to where any single area wouldn't become taboo. A bow had been drawn, strung, and an arrow was laid across it. All that needed to be done was aim, pull back, and loose the missile into the target. It made it all to easy. Beneath the rain, the hunter heard the squelching of boots, just barely audible above the downpour, the patter of rain on the leaves, the mud, the hunter. She saw the target, a large thing, a good subject. Might make a nice ornament, if it didn't take too much damage when she let the arrow fly.

The creak of the bowstring couldn't be heard over the rain. Nothing could have heard that, save something unnatural. The thing did not notice. Did not stop, either, kept walking. There weren't many puddles around. No place to drink. No real cover from the rain, either, other than where the hunter was taking cover. Took aim. Wouldn't be long now, it'd be so close that she couldn't miss. Impossible.

The arrow flew. Entered through the neck. It flailed around, fell to the ground, thrashed. Birds taking shelter in the trees scattered, moved away from the dying thing. The hunter merely waited in the brush, waiting for it to die. Watched it. Finally it stopped. She left the brush, collected her prize, and drug them back to the cabin. There would be some work to do while the rain poured.

---

Eva sat in her home, the deer she had caught out spread out across her floor. Heavy thing, a pain to drag through the rain and mud. Even worse than the last quarry she'd hunted and had to drag back, and that one she'd actually needed to chase down. Much of it was skinned already, and she was beginning to dig into the flesh, cut up the meat and prepare to load it up. The head was laying off to the side. She'd have to either begin work soon or throw it out. Wouldn't stay good for too long, especially if the weather worsened and she was forced to lay over in town for a few days. She hated doing that. Too much work to be done, couldn't be stuck in the city twiddling her thumbs and blowing her money on frivolous things.

It took several hours. What wasn't edible in the body or salvageable in the fur, she gathered it up and tossed it into the forest. Would attract carrion and predators, yes, but then she could use that to her advantage, especially if something nice showed up for the guts. Though, the rain and mud might ruin it. Didn't matter, would probably be gone by the time she got back and could take advantage of it. She went back inside, bundled up the meat. Would need to get it to town soon. She didn't have any way to preserve it for long periods of time. Fur was different, but the tanners liked it fresh. Tailors were beginning to pay good for it too. Apparently, fur was in now. Eva'd never payed much attention to fashion. Utility was more important.

Pulling on her heavy coat and a wide brimmed hat that would be stereotypical of a wizard to keep the rain from her, hurried the meat and fur, along with some others that she'd been able to keep for a couple of days, and loaded them up into a cart. The mule huffed, obviously not happy about being taken out in the rain. Eva ignored the complaint, and threw a tarp over the back of the cart to keep the rain from ruining the meat and furs, then another on top of the mule, to at least help keep it somewhat dry. Then she hopped up into the seat, took up the reigns, and set the mule to work pulling the small cart out onto the road and towards Blackwater.

She turned her head at the word 'mute', but to her surprise the bard was speaking to someone else. She looked away, least anyone notice her response, and cleaned an empty table that was splattered with a red sauce.

As she passed by the group of men, she eavesdropped on their conversation with the bard. She smiled inwardly as jabs and jests were exchanged between them. She went to the kitchen to rid herself of the dirty-red-cloth she had used to clean the table.

When she returned the bard was singing of The Beast. His voice was lovely, but had a haunting quality that seemed to crawl down her spine.

She tried to imagine The Beast. What did he look like up close? Could he talk? What if he wasn't as scary as the stories made him out to be, perhaps he was cute.

She set down a few pints in front of the men, and scuttled off before they took further notice of her. The young one was particularly was lost in his cups, but that didn't discourage the men from ordering another full round.

She turned to the bard as he finished his song, her eyes wide with curiosity. She wanted to hear more about the beast. She clapped her hands, encouraging him to continue his song. Then darted off into the kitchen. After a few moments she would emerge, and bring the woman-who-was-looking-for-the-red-haired-man her food.

The Blackwater Wall
The typical rainfall, as was usual in Blackwater battered down upon the walls of bark. The watch towers held some torches which faintly gave the guards above a reasonable visage of those down below. One of the guards, dressed in tanned leathers covered in mud and mire peered down to see a cart pulling up towards the Northern Gate. He shouted downwards, "State your purpose!"

The man knew how much Larrus insisted on proper protocol regarding the gates. And he didn't want to be lashed with the cat of nine.

---

The Faintly Gallows
"I can hanle nutha roun'!" The youngest man at the table where Haven had just brought mugs insisted while slurring rather noticeably. He waved his left hand and banged it on the table, looking surprised it made that noise. The oldest gentleman at the table chuckled as he grabbed his mug and took a large quaff of the ale. "So ye can, so ye can." He said with a smirk, as he stroked his greying beard.
"I'mma a-sseriuhs." The younger man said holding back something caught in his throat.

Another older gentleman who had his meal contaminated with phlegm peered at the colorful Halfling and spoke up, his voice riddled and worn. "Boy do you know what phase of the moon it would be this night?" Gabriel blinked as he shrugged, "I can't say I'd be aware, I mean the forest seems to block out most of the sun. Makes the beast scarier."

The first crack of dawn peered through the clouds and onto the lands below, bringing light to one side of the world, as it dimmed out on another. People were rising to find sunlight beaming through their windows and over the golden crops across the continent, but not in Darkwood.

In Darkwood the light barely managed to make it through the looming trees which cracked with age and the millennia old fog that drifted as it had been since before the birth of life. Thus it was cold, and tremendously wet from the rain that battered the forest, collecting on the leaves, the mud, and giving already fast flowing rivers a tremendous rush. Wolves lurked, as did other beasts, some unheard of. But their paw prints were quickly washed away by the rain, leaving no trace as to their existence.

And somewhere in the midst of all this was a man and his horse, with two large dogs on either side. All four individuals were armored, with the white horns that curled off the horse’s helmet giving it a deathly look with its sleek black fur and white, wavy mane. It was as though it was the mount of the Grim Reaper himself. The dogs were huge, silent, covered in metal and layered cloth alike. Focused, like hell hounds.

And then there was the man. He wore no hood, or cloak. A black pelt hung from his armored body as a cape, a cross bow at his right hip and plenty of bolts present too. His face was emotionless and he was just as quiet as the beasts that kept him company.

When they had reached a river that was necessary to cross, the rush had died down. Not enough to make the trip easy, but enough to make it do-able. It took the horse some persuasion, but eventually the man got it to enter the icy cold river, filled with stones, and begin to cross over. The dogs followed suit without any sign of hesitation. Still, all four beings were quiet.

Having made it across safely, the group continued their journey at the same pace; slowly, silently, dauntingly.

- -

”Oi! Who that be? State’cher business then lad!”

They had reached the gates of Blackwater, the sun had risen some, the rain was easier, and the guards were certainly not slacking off. The dogs were eyeing them atop their wall, their eyes piercing into them from behind their helmets. The horse snorted, the man looked up.

“My name is Eksile! I just want some rest.”

”Eksile eh? Never heard a name like that ‘round ‘ere. Where are you from, lad?”

He said something under his breath, and then “From a place far, far away. You wouldn’t know it!”

”And what with the horse? All the armor? The dogs?”

“Don’t worry, they won’t cause any harm,” Eksile said. Then he looked at all the armor and weapons he was sporting. “Some of these are to sell!” he called back.

”I suggest you bring the horse to stables quick as ya can! Don’t wanna risk getting beat up for looking like a show off, or get the beaut stolen eh?”

“Will do!”

The guard turned back to the others, “I don’t like the feelin’ of this guy. Been gettin’ alotta strange visitors lately. What with the dark girl? Never seen someone with that complexion before.”

“I think it’s rather attractive,” another one said in reply.

“Open the gates.”

The gates opened, and Eksile started on his horse, the dogs keeping pace. He looked up at the guards before he crossed under, and they returned the gaze.

Upon reaching the inside of the town, the first thing he noticed was the shady character of almost everybody else around him. He felt glances and stares from under the hoods of others, and being the only one on horseback didn’t help. He parted the crowd like a knife through butter, and they didn’t close in immediately after, because there were two armored beasts behind him. He was smirking on the inside, and he caught an unpleasant look from a muscular man who seemed to know.

Suddenly he heard tremendous barking and snarling behind him, and he whipped his head back to find the dogs facing the crowd, letting out huge, terrifying sounds. Everybody in their direction was backing up, save for a figure in a hood, whom they seemed to be singling out for reasons unknown.

“Keep your dogs under control!” someone shouted.

“Yeah, before I do it for ya!”

Alright, I’d like to see you try, Eksile mused to himself. ”Blood! Steel!" he shouted. The two dogs abruptly stopped their barking and fell back in line, behind the horse. He continued on his way, wondering why that one individual had caught their attention. He thought about it, looking back to see that the hooded being was gone.

Eksile eventually caught sight of a building, bigger than the rest and sitting atop a stream; it must have been an inn. He strode up to the side of it, by a small pine, and tethered his horse to the plant. “Blood, Steel,” the two dogs immediately looked at him. ‘’Watch Aesos,” he patted the horse. “I’ll be back with something to eat.” The canines wagged their tails as he patted their helmets and left to enter the inn.

- -

The door closed behind Eksile as he rubbed his hands together in the new warmth of the building, which he know knew for sure was an inn. Droplets of water still clung to his hair, occasionally falling off. He surveyed the area, taking in all the individuals, such as the waitress, the drunk young boy, what appeared to be a midget, the darker female sitting alone, and a whole list of other people. Like the black caped man in the booth. Whatever the case, he made his way over to an empty table and sat down, taking out his crossbow to examine it until someone came to see what he wanted.

Valunn slumped down in the booth and let out a deep breath. I think I've about had it with all this mess, he thought. The music stopped playing and Valunn glanced up to see the halfling packing up his instruments. It's like the little bastard would have played later, so as to not give anyone a headache in the early hours, he thought to himself. And then to his surprise the little man strolled on over to the booth.

"Hello there," the man began, "I'm Gabriel Knotts, the Laughing Scorpion, Professional Entertainer and Freelance Adventurer. How are you doing this day? Say, it looks like you haven't got anything to munch on." Gabriel tore off a piece of meat and held his arm out to hand it to Valunn. "The food here is fantastic, and the atmosphere is nice. So what brings you here?"

Valunn simply glared at Gabriel, never changing his expression. Finally the man realized Valunn didn't care about anything he had to say and got up before proceeding to tell stories, sing, and other such nonsense. Hope he can fight as good as he can play that fiddle, he thought to himself.

By then Valunn spotted a dark-skinned woman staring in his direction. Just a minute or two ago she had been speaking to the innkeeper, then conversed with one of the inn wenches. Seeking information I take it. On me? No, she's not from around here... still, she's a concern.

Valunn exited the booth and walked over to the dark-skinned woman who was obviously awaiting the food being brought by Haven. "'Apologies, m'lady," Valunn began while motioning his hand towards a nearby table, "mind if we sit?" Valunn was trying to be on his best behavior, trying to earn this woman's trust and really get a feel for her. It wouldn't be long before Haven would come out with her food.

Outside
As Shamus was headed for the inn to rest his vocal cords he spotted a small group of guards near the river. At the head of them all was none other than the respected Kern Locke, so-called 'mayor' of the town. Shamus, being the curious person he was, forced his tired body to scurry over to their location.

"Easy Shamus," called out one of the guards, "I'm not so sure you're gonna want to see this."

"What! What, what is it?" As Shamus pushed his way into the circle he saw Kern crouched down next to a metal basket-like object.

"By the gods," Kern said. "Shamus... I'm going to need you more than ever..."

Confused, Shamus slowly stepped forward to get a better look at the basket. Within was a horrible, disgusting, revolting sight. Severed heads of at least two men, a woman, and a young girl. "Of all that is holy," Shamus said, shaking in his very boots. "That's the Vierdell's! They own the cabin int he far north! What foul-"

"Shamus! Keep your voice down, we can't let anyone know." Locke picked up the basket and handed it to one of the guards, "Cover the basket up, then bury these remains behind Slouch Hill, no one goes over there anymore. Take two others with you, don't let anyone follow you and don't let anyone see you." With a quick 'yes sir' the guard and two others began to haul the basket behind a building. Then looking at another guard, Locke continued, "Larrus, you why don't you head to The Faintly Gallows, see if you can't form a small party to head up north and investigate what happened. If you find the rest of the remains, give them a proper burial at their home."

"Aye, suh!" Larrus hurried off to the inn to announce a search-and-rescue party.

"Shamus," Locke continued, "I need you to keep the folks feeling safe. Do not let word of this get out. If anyone asks, tell them Larrus is simply investigating a... a bear problem or something." Locke shook his head and walked away, patting a shocked Shamus on the shoulder as he passed. The guards dispersed, back to their duties.

"By all that is holy," he repeated. And then one name echoed in his head: Valunn.

Densha had only looked away for a moment, waiting until she thought it was safe to look back, and jolted slightly when she saw that the dark-clothed man was directly beside her.

He spoke to her in a low, smooth tone, and made a hand gesture to another table, inviting her to sit with him. He was evidently trying to seem pleasant, but Densha had already seen the way he looked at the halfling and at the other inn goers. That stare was full of distaste, even loathing; he looked at her now with those dead eyes, and she stared back into them, as if staring into an endless chasm.

What does he want with me? Densha thought. He had obviously caught her staring. Maybe he thought she was romantically interested. Maybe he overheard her conversation with the barmaid. Maybe he knows Y… or plans to collect the bounty on his head before she can.

As these thoughts stirred gently in her mind, she thought of how she could best play this in her favor. After a moment, she responded in a cool, collected voice.

“Yes, sure. I’m Densha,” she said, getting up from her table and following him to the adjacent one. She smiled confidently. “And you?”

“Yes, sure. I’m Densha,” The woman began before sitting down at the same table, “And you?”

"Name's Loras," he lied. "I'm a bounty hunter, you see, and I couldn't help but notice you're asking around for someone. Perhaps we're looking for the same person, no? Maybe we could be of use to each other."

Valunn awaited the woman's reply. He was attempting to see if Densha was looking for him, and if so that could cause problems. Meanwhile, Valunn called out to the young woman Haven, "a mug of ale, please ma'am."

As she dropped of Densha's plate, her new companion ordered an ale. She couldn't help but overhear their conversation. 'bounty-hunters'. Haven tried not to let any surprise register on her face. 'Is that why she is looking for the red-haired man? Are they both looking for him? Is he in some sort of trouble?'[/i] She fled the table quickly to retrieve the ale, then noticed a new guest.

As she drew near to where he sat, she made out that he was a warrior or some sort. His armor was heavy with rain, and he was inspecting a rather sinister looking crossbow. Haven slowed as she neared the table, not wanting to surprise a man with a weapon. As she stepped over to him, she opened her hands and gave a small curtsey. She smiled, waiting for him to ask for something.