Post by Mazarkh on Mar 4, 2016 2:54:51 GMT
The roadside inn had promised warmth. Like most warm promises, that turned out to be a lie. Maybe a dozen people -- drovers, refugees, deserters -- crouched shivering around the central firepit. Even the pale flame seemed cold. For all that, Mazarkh kept her damp burlap cloak pulled tight around her, and the hood low. Few species appreciated orcs these days, astonishingly enough.
"What hour is it?" croaked the innkeeper, a sallow human with the muscle mass of a good-sized haggis. Mazarkh's nose wrinkled at his breath; he sat right across the fire from her.
"Not even midnight," she said, and snapped a stick over her knee. She tossed the wood in. "Best get use to the night, or patch the roof if you need something t'do before dawn. Not like that'll be any warmer."
"We should tell stories!" That was the innkeeper's daughter, too sunny to be genuine. Maybe she was aiming to impress the caravan guards. Maybe the dancing fire brought her back to the games of a recently abandoned childhood. Either way, the cold, damp circle around the fire agreed that telling stories would be the best way to pass the cold, damp night. One of the caravan guards spun a knife on the floor to see who the gods wanted to speak first. The blade pointed at...
"What hour is it?" croaked the innkeeper, a sallow human with the muscle mass of a good-sized haggis. Mazarkh's nose wrinkled at his breath; he sat right across the fire from her.
"Not even midnight," she said, and snapped a stick over her knee. She tossed the wood in. "Best get use to the night, or patch the roof if you need something t'do before dawn. Not like that'll be any warmer."
"We should tell stories!" That was the innkeeper's daughter, too sunny to be genuine. Maybe she was aiming to impress the caravan guards. Maybe the dancing fire brought her back to the games of a recently abandoned childhood. Either way, the cold, damp circle around the fire agreed that telling stories would be the best way to pass the cold, damp night. One of the caravan guards spun a knife on the floor to see who the gods wanted to speak first. The blade pointed at...
