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."
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."