Dain would often think about the twists and turns of his life as he farmed. As he would wake, sometimes he would remember the times in which he would awaken while under attack, or in ambush during the night. As he would go to feed the chickens and cattle, he would recollect warm fires in the midst of drizzling rain, or shrouded in foggy twilight, surrounded by his companions on whatever venture they'd fooled themselves into. As he collected the eggs and the milk, he would remember raiding supply trains and selling the goods for profit. On and on throughout the day, he would remember. He liked the farming; though he never would have thought that his life would turn to something he used to view as drab and unworthy of his skills, he now found it all very therapeutic, even if it was uneventful. As unexciting as it often was, he was much more suited to working the earth and living a life mostly filled with making ends meet. It was better for him to not always be in danger... However, things like that got as old as he felt after some time.
On a morning that didn't necessarily differ from any other, he decided not to conduct business as usual. He sold his livestock, and he abandoned his little parcel of land. He never made much on the farm anyway - the resources he gained out of the land were almost exclusively used for supporting himself, and the land itself wasn't actually included in any specific locale. That's why he'd chosen it in the beginning, so that he could simply be away from everyone. He liked the quiet for a time, but the best part was the secrecy. If any had heard of the riches he'd scooped up in his own adventures and possibly wanted to take what he had, then the best of luck to them! They would have to find him first. Even if they had, Dain would have introduced them to their end.
Dain saddled his horse, a black mare called Muireann. He filled the satchels with the basic supplies for his journey - food, money, a basic bedroll, a warm cloak, a spiked warhammer, a pouch filled with narcotics (Khat, Henbae, and Fly Agaric), and all of the Lobelia he could stuff into the extra spaces. Much of that, he had cultivated on his own, as it was his favorite form of Tabac. And then he left, waving farewell to his home. He figured it was unlikely he would ever see the place again. His destination, to start: The Black Adder.
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"All throughout her terrible reign, make certain you bow to the magical queen," Dain sang as he rode. He liked singing. He liked to whistle too, but he wasn't just making this noise for fun. No, what he was doing was essentially announcing his presence to others nearby. More than once he had surprised other travelers on accident, and sometimes you just don't want to kick a hornet's nest until you know how big it is.
"Make sure to be wise or she'll cut out your eyes! Play the fool, it's your doom, and it's your surprise."Dain wasn't sure of how long it had been since he'd visited the Black Adder. He also wasn't sure of how long he would stay there, but as it came into view the memories flooded back. What a strange place this was, and all the better for it. Hunger reminded him to stop daydreaming, and he pushed onward.
"You've never come to this place, Muireann." He said to the mare as she placidly forged on. "Maybe you'll learn a few things while you're here. Maybe we both will, but old folk like us... Well, we have a few things to teach too."As they reached the Tavern, Dain climbed off of Muireann and immediately felt the years in his knees and hips. He tied her off and took a moment to gaze at the scenery around them. Almost completely by habit, he pulled out a worn pipe and thumbed some of the Lobelia Tabac into it, struck flint into a handheld bushel of straw and tinder to light it, and puffed thoughtfully. He'd stay out here for a little while.
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