Thomas Pallmyr
Thomas stumped along through the knee high snow. He was cold, wet, and miserable, and he could only vaguely see the little town off in the distance. He judged it to be another mile across this open field of bleak white nothingness. Another mile until he could get warm, get a beer, and get to sleep. A copse of trees stood off to his right, dark and ominous. He glanced at them occasionally, it was the perfect place for the Kobolds that terminally plagued southern Sweden to hide. A midget breed of Goblin, he wasn't too worried about the creatures, but he had no interest at all in fighting in his current state. His Spanish breastplate clanked as he walked, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance, too tired to do anything about it.
After another agonizing hour and a half, he stumped into the village. A few huts, a blacksmith, and an inn sat haphazardly about, with a small creek flowing alongside the village. He grumbled about the lack of activity, how was any village supposed to get anything done if everybody hid from the snow? He thumped angrily up the steps of the inn's porch and pushed the door open. "Oy!" he bellowed "Where the in bloddin' hell is everybody?" He gazed around. Two men sat at a table, they had the swarthy look of Italians about them, a bit far from home but not completely unreasonable. Another sat by the fire, obviously relatively local, probably from a town or two over stopping in to visit a relative or such. The innkeeper leaned at the bar, drying a mug. Thomas thumped over. He gazed gloomily at the man. "Knight of the order, I need a room and a mug of whatever you've got." He slapped a half of a Spanish "peso de ocho" onto the bar. They still held value, even if the silver market was finally starting to flood over.
The innkeeper nodded and walked off, pointing to a door off to Thomas' right that was presumably his now. Thomas walked to the room, set his bag on the bed and returned to the bar, grabbing the drink as it slid to him. The man by the fire scurried up and sat next to Thomas. He was thin and nervous looking, almost ratty. He gulped and opened his mouth. Thomas raised a hand "Yes, I'm a Knight. Yes, I'm taking business. No, I can't start immediately. Price depends on the problem," he growled. The man gulped again, taken aback. He drummed his fingers nervously on the counter.
"Well you see, sir, we have a...um...nighttime problem. You might have noticed everybody hiding in their houses? That's because the sun is setting and nobody goes out at night at all anymore." Thomas raised an eyebrow.
"Ye got werewolves? They're pretty common 'round here" He asked, casually.
"Well, sort of, not really, i mean..."
"Spit it out man, I don't have all night!" Thomas barked, frustrated.
"We've got ONE werewolf. But he's massive, I've never seen anything like it. The claw marks are big as a man's chest, and the rumors say he stands as tall as the short hut at the end of the row." The man said.
Thomas turned, suddenly very intrigued. "I don't suppose this beast has pure white fur, does it?" he asked, curious.
"Aye, it does. But how did you know that?" The man asked, both confused and terrified.
Thomas frowned. This would not make his mood any better. "Because I've been hunting this beast for months. The myths call him Fenrir, but he isn't the original, just one of his grandboys. He's still a nasty old beast. I'll get started tonight. I'd put this one up at 100 or so Krone, or a piece and a half (OOC: of a peso de ocho)." Thomas drew his sword "I wonder if that recoloring rune still works."
