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I would prefer hearing rumors than hearing threats, he reasoned with himself, a small grin slowly filling his complexion. He heard the welcoming sound of an approaching waitress, and turned around to see a beautiful maiden with a tray of fine-smelling delicacies. “Your food, sir,” she humbly stated, stopping at the end of the booth to place the items on the table. “A lady of your looks working in a place like this seems to be an awful waste of talent,” the man posed, helping her to move a few of the items from her tray. The waitress blushed slightly in response, then lifted her empty tray and hastily made her way back to the kitchen, looking back briefly before leaving the room. The man stared at the cuisine before him and sighed. The annoyance lining his face spoke for itself as he began to eat.
While he still had a few pieces of potato and ham on his plate, a ragged woman walked over and sat across from him without a word. He paused before placing a piece of meat in his mouth, looked up at her, and waited, trying to identify her. After a few moments of awkwardly staring at each other, the man gently placed the food back on the platter and began, “it’s rude to sta-“ before being interrupted by the lady. While slamming her fist onto the table, she growled, “you’re that scumbag traveler aren’t you? The Vanisher?” Before he gave answer, she pulled out a scroll of crumpled paper and placed it on the table, continuing, “this may be of interest to you, for five gold pieces.”
Eyeing the scroll on the table, the man pulled out his purse. He casually piled up a few thin golden coins next to the scroll, leaving her to count them. “May I ask who you are and why you recognize me?” the Vanisher asked, watching the lady as she eagerly dragged all the coins back to her purse, releasing the scroll as she counted them. “Lucky guess, ‘spose,” the ragged woman said, forcing the coins into a pouch which could barely be considered usable, “you have the eyes of a hunter, and the expression of an adventurer.” With her snide comment said, she quickly got up and started hobbling off, leaving the Vanisher and various other inn inhabitants to watch her leave in surprise. He quickly opened the scroll after she was gone, curious as to its worth, and was instantly satisfied.
“Hear Ye, All Who Dare
Across this land is a plague of death, creatures more powerful and deadly than any powerless man could handle, diseases which can barely be controlled, and a greed for recourses caused only by the isolation of our individual cities. However, it has been rumored that the source of all these problems has been identified! The Haldor High Council has officially confirmed the presence of a Death Magician. This is a person of unparalleled power, one which can summon creatures of strength beyond imagining and use magic stronger than any deed power currently known.
The Haldor High Council is currently interested in hiring the assistance of any person, man or woman, who can find the hideout of the Death Magician and return this information. Death is all but assured to the careless, but a great reward shall be given to those who succeed, 500 gold pieces per person and pardon from any crime before the past year.
All interested persons are to report to the true capitol of Haldor, Stoneham, and meet at the city hall on the eve of the fifth full moon this year. There you will be grouped up and sent off.
Signed,
Councilor Kagan”
The tall man immediately shoved the final piece of his meal down his gullet and got up to leave. He left two silver coins on the table(one for the meal and one for the maid), pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders, and left, ignoring the sound of a few voices as people inquired about his identity. Without a second thought, he charged out of the inn and headed for the stables, eager to meet the deadline. He took a deep breath, brushing a few crumbs off of his lamellar chestpiece and his black cloak, and, with a calculating frown, started to think. A single moon to get all the way to Stoneham seems difficult, the tall man thought, frowning, then again, those ladies mentioned a caravan leaving today…
The caravan owners only needed the Vanisher’s name before hiring him as security. He asked their destination, and, perhaps by luck, they were headed for Stoneham. The towering man joined them on their travels, riding on one of their silver dapple horses along the journey. The caravan proceeded smoothly, as they only ran into five large groups of vicious creatures throughout their journey. The way was relatively flat, few rocky bits, only two detours, and one stop per night. The people were greatly annoying in their eating and sleeping habits, however Nestor never found necessity in complaining openly to them. Only two casualties and three injured, none of which resulted from combat.
Unfortunately, Nestor always had night duty. He really loved his sleep time, especially when it was dark out, thus being asked to stay awake for three hours a night was a major annoyance, not counting the annoying late-night activities of the caravan dwellers. In the few combat situations he encountered on the journey, the effects of his sleep deprivation showed. He was a bit sloppy in using his sling, however, he was given more bullets by the caravan folks. Every day, he drank his entire water skin and even a few sips of wine, hoping that the extra water and the slight bit of wine would keep him from falling asleep accidentally. It worked until the last day of his travel, in which he fell asleep for three hours before reaching the foot of Stoneham Mountain, named after the capitol.
After climbing to the entrance of the vast city, he dismounted his horse and approached the wooden city gateway, looking along the wall for the porter. A caravan man shouted out behind him, “Ho there, guards of Stoneham, the Caravan of Midriff is here! Open the gates!” The sound of metal footsteps then sounded as a person seemed to descend from a staircase, just out of view, and a heavy groaning sound shot towards them as the great wooden doors were pried open.
“Looks like I did my job,” commented Nestor, looking over at the person who shouted. “Aye, ye’ did indeed,” responded the man, reaching into his money pouch, “how sounds fifteen gold?” Nestor glared at the man, annoyed at the ridiculous notion, and responded, “thirty gold at the very least. You hire a man like me, you pay for a man like me.” The caravan man chuckled after hearing the Vanisher’s response, then jumped off his cart, the sound of the gates moving finally over, and poured thirty gold coins into Nestor’s outstretched hands. The Vanisher immediately put the coins into his money pouch, then gave a curt bow and walked through the gates, into the town.
Everywhere he looked, Nestor saw the faces of scholars, guards and mercenaries. The sight of so many learned and experienced men was unusual for him. He paid no extended awe at the spectacle, and quickly found himself walking along a paved walkway behind a group of thickly-garbed women. The names of buildings and businesses lined the walls as he walked past, each word denoting the identity of the room behind the door which was next to it. Leather tanners, armories, metal smiths, music instruments, banks and grocers were a few of which he noted. After a few minutes of soaking in his environment, Nestor happened to find a town crier, who was yelling about the Death Magician.
Interrupting the man in the middle of his rant, the Vanisher asked, “do you know when and where this meeting is?” The crier looked very angry at the man, but cautiously responded, “the meeting will be held in town hall three days from now.” The Vanisher nodded, but quickly continued, “and, where is the town hall?” The crier then smiled, realizing why he was being interrupted, and calmly answered, “the town hall is along the north road over there,” as he pointed to Nestor’s left, directing the man’s head with his other hand, “you continue along the path until you reach the second intersection of roads, and then you head along the path until you reach the large open area.”
The Vanisher was about to interrupt the crier at this point, however, he continued speaking. “There should be a few skyholes around the area and a rather large fountain. The town hall is the one the staircase leads up to. It is nearly impossible to miss, in fact,” the crier ranted, looking up at the ceiling as he pictured the fountain in his mind. Nestor roughly separated the man’s hand from his shoulder and said, “I-“ but was then interrupted by the continuation of the crier’s rant as he said, “The building is made of an exquisite white marble. It is one of the finest looking buildings I have ever seen, with those majestic columns, a great archway entrance with two ironwood doors, which our town’s fine emblem was carved into…”
At this point, The Vanisher decided that his question was not important enough to continue making a scene with the ranting fool, and thus he left. He still had three days before the meeting would be held, thus he had plenty of time to spare. As he continued walking through the surprisingly crowded streets, Nestor spotted a Bed and Breakfast place. Relenting to his urge for rest, Nestor jumped through the doors, looking for the price estimates. Instantly, he found a man with a knife drawn at him and heard the sound of an arrow being nocked. “Who’re you?” came the crackling voice of an old man from across the room. “Yeah, and why’re you here?”
Snidely, Nestor responded, “to get some food and rest, clearly. That’s what the inscription says.” The man with the knife lowered his weapon after hearing this, but the elderly bowman never relaxed as he quickly responded, “you aren’t welcome here, traveler!” Without a moment to respond, he was then lifted up and thrown back out the doors by the knife-wielder. “Rowdy crowd,” he commented, holding his head as he rose back to his feet.
He continued searching through the unpredictable town for quite some time, finding an inn here and a restaurant there, getting kicked out everywhere and complaining at every chance. Finally, he stopped and pulled a random lady out of a crowd, holding her by the collar. She immediately freaked out and tried prying his hand off, thus he said, “calm down and just tell me something.” She showed no sign of recognizing what he said, so he continued, “why are the inn keepers so hostile to travelers?” The lady opened her eyes, after having shut them tightly out of panic, and murmured out, “b-because of th-the call for the Death Magician search party, I-I guess.” The Vanisher then released the lady, who sprinted away as fast as she could, bumping into a few people in the crowd who happened to be in her way.
It makes sense now, the stocky man thought, frowning as he sat down on what appeared to be a collapsed drunkard, no one in their right mind would let a ruffian, one with a power capable of sparring with the Death Magician, into their humble abode. He then looked around, searching for a solution. Sleeping in the streets would do no good, except possibly for roaming pickpockets and thieves. Additionally, he could not enter a building with his lamellar armor and his traveling cloak equipped. “I suppose I will need to live without them on for the time being,” he supposed, frowning at the thought. He loved his lamellar armor, a special gift from his father before he became a royal jerk. The thought of storing it in his rucksack made him cringe. It has to be done. I don’t care to make another plan right now.
The Vanisher then took off his cloak, then his rucksack, rolled up his cloak, and untied a few of the braces along the inside of his lamellar chestpiece. After a good deal of loosening, he managed to fit it off of his chest. He then fit the rolled up cloak into the cavity in the middle of the chestpiece and stored the armor in his rucksack. The bag was about as full as it could get, at that point, so he decided that it was time to find an adequate inn. What better inn than the one he started at?
Walking back to the bread and breakfast, which was rather close due to his circular journey, he decided that he would try to reason with the inn keeper as opposed to using force. He did not want to look any more the part of a ruffian than he needed too. As a few people passed by, not paying him a second glance, he felt he was starting to fit in. Still need a bath, but I’ll save that for tomorrow, he thought, approaching the door to the familiar building.
With confidence, Nestor strolled into the building again. Suspecting he would be greeted with a knife near the face, he brought up his hand, and, as his eyes adjusted to the light difference in the building, he saw that his hand was following that of the large man who threw him out last time. Catching the man’s wrist before it reached his head-level, Nestor dug his index finger and thumb into the joint of his wrist, encouraging him to drop the weapon. Being the rather agreeable man that he was, the burly man dropped the knife, which Nestor then quickly caught with his available hand, by the blade-end. Knowing that a bowman would be in the back to the right and behind the burly man, Nestor then threw the blade towards the bowman, spinning the blade so that it would land blade-first into the wooden counter in front of the man. The blade hit the counter, stuck, but quickly wobbled free under the weight of the hilt, landing flat on the floor.
After this brilliant display, the elderly bowman in the back was speechless(as he was still reaching for an arrow from his quiver) and the burly man pulled his arm away roughly, massaging it in the hopes of dulling the pain. “Who are you?” asked the elderly bowman in the back, dropping his hand instead of drawing an arrow. “Name’s not important. I’m here for a bed and some food, and I got money to pay with,” Nestor claimed, pulling three silver coins from his money pouch. The burly man stepped to the side and bit his lip, looking over at the elderly bowman in the back of the room. “I dunno,” he said, eyeing his wrist, then looking back at Nestor with suspicion, “he isn’t normal, Berlow.” The elderly bowman then sighed and motioned for Nestor to walk over to him.
The Vanisher complied quickly, picking up the knife from the floor and, holding the blade, offered it to the elderly bowman hilt-first. The bowman grabbed the hilt and placed the blade in a drawer under the counter as he said, “for most, it costs two silver for a normal meal and a night in a small room, three for a large meal and a small room, four for a large meal and a large room. For you, you can add one silver to it for hurting Buster over there, and two more silver per night, meal included.” After hearing this, the tired fellow put the silver coins back in his bag and pulled out a gold coin, smiling warmly as he said, “I’ll have four nights in a small room with four large meals.” Surprised at the speed the man in front of him calculated the price, the elderly man returned his smile, grabbed the coin, and replied, “glad doin’ business with ya’.” He then turned his attention to the burly man and continued, “Buster, give im’ the key and tell Rusty to get cooking.”
With a fake smile, the burly man walked over to a pile of keys, pulled one out, analyzed it, and walked over to the Vanisher with his arm outstretched. “Here, you get the room upstairs at the end of the hall,” he said, watching as the traveler grabbed the key. As soon as the guest had possession of the key, Buster walked out of the room and through a door, turning around the left corner and shouting, “HEY! RUSTY! GET COOKIN’!” He received a shout in response soon thereafter, the voice of a hardy, vigorous woman, “SHUT YER’ YAP, I HEARD!” Nestor nodded in thanks to the elderly archer, then quickly escaped from the presence of the crazy men and ascended the stone staircase to the second floor. His eyes were finally adjusting, but the atmosphere was nothing to write home about.
The dirty stone had a nice grit to it, enough that one would not slip on it were it wet. The walls and floor were the same color, but the floor had a few rugs placed along the hallway, once he finished climbing the stairs. On his way to the room, he found candles outside each door, unlit and almost unused. He inserted the key into the lock of one of the doors at the end of the hallway, found that it did not work, and tried a different lock on the other side. The second time he tried it, the key slid in and, with a satisfying “click,” the door opened. It’s better this way, my lockpicking kits can be put to better use. he thought, pulling open the door as he grabbed the candle on its stand.
Nestor got settled in his room and lit the candle, quickly placing his lamellar armor back on his chest. They knew who he was, so he assumed they would not mind if he wore his favorite article of clothing any more than they minded him without it. The man found his water skin empty and fitted it into one of the crevices of his trousers before leaving the room. He climbed back down the stairs with his lamellar armor along his chest and the water skin hanging out of his pants, then opened the door to the “welcoming” area in search of his meal. Already, as if by magic, a few plates of food were placed at a table over in the corner of the room. Having finally adjusted to the light of the building, he wandered over and took a seat without heeding the presence of the other men.
After consuming his meal in the fastest and most eloquent manner possible, Nestor rose from the seat and walked over to the elderly bowman once more. “Are there any springs or baths I can go to?” he asked, one of his eyebrows flying up to display his curiosity. The elderly bowman curtly replied, “yes,” and, having placed his unstrung bow on the counter, started inspecting it for damage. Nestor quickly continued, “where may I find a cheap one?” to which the elderly bowman quickly replied, “near the town hall there’s a good one. It’s called a fountain. You’d love it.” Nestor slammed his fist on the counter after hearing this, his expression suddenly quite grave. The impact of his fist left a slight depression on the surface of the wooden counter, but his fist quickly relaxed as he said, “bad answer, friend. Not asking for a jokester.”
A bit nervous, the inn keeper then replied, in a more serious tone, “there are only two in town, one towards the North Barracks, one towards the entrance. You’ll find steam all around the entrance, so it’s hard to miss ‘em.” Nestor nodded after hearing this, and, with a more friendly(but fake) smile, he added, “that’s better,” and walked back towards the stairs, making his way back up to his room. Once there, he barred the door behind him, using the wooden bar against the wall, undressed himself, and dropped in a heap on the bedding provided. Within minutes, he was asleep.
The next day passed fairly quickly. He woke up barely in time for breakfast, ate until satisfied, charged over to the bath house, relaxed for awhile, got some lunch, and then began wandering around the town. He bumped into a few interesting characters, and saw plenty of odd people wandering about along his journey. Eventually he chanced upon a giant fountain, and decided to take a look at the town hall briefly, just so that he would know where to go more adequately on the day of the meeting. The town hall was a really large amphitheater-like building with a fairly large speaking area on one end, a great number of chairs throughout, and a few balconies and staircases for the wealthier folks. It seemed to be the perfect place to conduct meetings among the important men of the city, thus why the Haldor High Council found it necessary to use this space.
Having lost his curiosity for the building as fast as he opened the door, Nestor soon left the building and returned to wandering for awhile. Sun set quickly, so he returned to the inn, ate some dinner, and went to sleep early. This repeated for the next day as well, except for the bath in the morning, which was replaced with more wandering around the city. Feeling as if he was well rested, clean, quenched, and fully satisfied with food, Nestor felt that he was ready to go to the meeting the next evening, thus he continued wandering around and looking for interesting things.
Noting that a mortar and pestle would make medicine crafting much easier, he decided to buy a pouch to carry his herbs and medical tools in. The pouch fit along the sash attached to his rucksack, so it would not get in the way. It made his money pouch feel all the more light, but he got over it quickly. Being able to quickly make medicine was of more importance than having money, considering how non-lethal alternatives became available when one can more quickly mix poisons and other drugs. Being that he preferred to keep killing other humans to a minimum, and that he wanted to make self-application faster, he was convinced that his purchase would satisfy its own worth.
Another day passed, more rest and food at no further expense. After dinner, having noted that the sun was starting to fade, Nestor rose from his seat at the dining table in the corner of the inn and walked out of the door, making his way towards the town hall. The streets along the way were fairly confusing, however he had already made the journey, thus he had no issue reaching the fountain area. Of course, there were hundreds of other people gathered around, seeing as the doors were barred and were not opening yet, so Nestor decided to walk towards the crowd and see who would decide to bump into him. A wimp who would instantly apologize? A brute who’d continue without a word? A lady who’d flee in terror? The people of Stoneham were quite unusual indeed, for Nestor could not even think of a general reaction he might get. Nonetheless, he continued along his way, wondering what the H.H.C. had in mind for him and the others.
