Location: Galloway
Dusk was beginning to fall as Artemis approach the town. From a distance he could see some workers still toiling away at the woods, placing the cut pieces onto a wagon. He could hear the hooves of the horses as they moved around, their riders being ever watchful. He adjusted the straps on his traveling pack, allowing the weight to redistribute properly onto his hips. Artemis wore a cotton smock that fell to about his shins, keeping the elements at bay. Thankfully, the last few days have been relatively dry. He tipped his wide-brimmed leather hat toward one of the Yeoman that was stationed outside of entrance into town. Artemis's pack was rather large, in keeping with a well-traveled individual, but no weapons were visible. The Yeoman directed his horse to intercept the man.
"Halt!" the Yeoman shouted, turning the horse sideways and placing his hand on the pommel of his sword,
"What is your business here this eve, sir?" Artemis stopped and looked up toward the rider, taking everything in. The man wore a tattered gambeson but otherwise no other protection. Clearly not a militiaman, or poor enough to not to be able to afford any additional defense. The hilt of his weapon showed minimal signs of rust and the leather of his boots were cracked and aged. For the man's authoritativeness, his tone was pleasant enough.
"Simply a weary traveler seeking respite. I hear you have fine ale here." The rider cracked a smile at that, nodding.
"Aye, indeed we do. The finest in the land, if I may boast." The man gave Artemis a once-over, leaning a bit closer.
"Ye seem harmless enough. Do take care and cause no trouble. The tavern is down the street and to the right. Large building with lights on. Can't miss it." Artemis nodded his head in thanks and walked into the entrance, the Yeoman retreating his horse off the path. Instinctively, Artemis began to gauge the effectiveness of the militia here. Their defensive positions as well as their general morale. He wasn't expecting trouble here, but years of habit was hard to break. Details mattered. One detail could mean the difference between going home to your family or finding steel within your belly.
Family. This is what he thought of as he walked along the path down toward the tavern. He passed several shops and the distinct clanging of a hammer to anvil rang throughout the streets. Laughter followed soon after, no doubt from The Retired Sword. He did stop, tho, as Executioner's Square came into view. There was something otherworldly that permeated from that area as if the souls of the dead still called out in horror as the axeman ended their lives. The blood sank deep into the earth, forever staining it with the foulness of it all. The irony was not lost on Artemis, given his profession. Some men needed killing. It was always those you least expected to be the most sadistic. The men who were pillars of the community, as some would say, would go home and beat their wives. A cherished man of the cloth would bludgeon the slaves he wasn't supposed to have. He once witnessed a man use barbed nine tails on a child. Suffice it to say, the man no longer drew breath.
Artemis was shaken from his daze as a man bumped into him.
"Oy! Pardon me, suh. Ye al'rite?" Artemis nodded in thanks and turned toward the tavern. He gave the Executioner's Square one last glance before heading off toward the tavern, following behind the man who had bumped into him. He wondered what kind of secrets this town would reveal to him. He wasn't sure how close the beastman warband was, or even if Galloway was on their list of towns to hit, but he wouldn't put it past them. They traveled incredibly quickly and striking just as fast. He must always be ready.
Location: The Retired Sword
Artemis paid the woman at the front for a room, dropping several coins onto the table. It was risky taking out his purse in a town he did not know around strangers he did not trust, but sometimes it was a strategic maneuver. You could tell a lot about a community from the way eyes would ogle at wealth. He didn't seem to notice too many, thankfully, and retreated into a corner table with an ale. Soon, a barmaiden approached him, asking if he would like anything to eat. He graciously accepted and ordered a potato stew. The last time he ate was this morning and his travel rations were running low. Relieving himself of his hat and placing it on the table, he shifted his pack off his shoulders and onto the ground near him. He edged it closer and opened a small flap on the side, barely producing the hilt of his blade. His dirks were always on his person, hidden under the smock. They were latched onto the midsection belt of his gambeson and always within reach.
He ran a hand through his matted hair as he looked around the room, studying the many patrons that began to flood inside. Each had their own story to tell. Men and women with loving families. Perhaps some children who were cozying up for bed. He did notice a man being hurried away by another as he said his apologies to the man he left at the table. Soon some of the men from the Watch would come in and have a drink after their long shift, preparing themselves for tomorrow. He still hadn't decided whether to prod for information this evening or simply watch and wait until the morrow. He was dreadfully tired from his journey, after all. The last town he visited was a week back and it was dismal, barely registering as a hamlet. The beds were rickety and old and the company worse. Artemis didn't drink his ale and instead shifted the tankard mindlessly with his left hand. He rarely drank these days as it dulled the senses. He wasn't sure if the Crown were after him and if they were, how far behind were they. At any point there could be a spy and that would mean he had to run again.
After a time the barmaiden brought him his stew and he gave her a coin for her service. The food was still hot, steam rising from the broth within. He gave it a moment to chill before eating it and it certainly warmed the soul. Respite indeed.
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