Those Masters leaving the barn soon realize, with their feet sinking into the fragrant grass, and sprouting roses beneath them, that the morning's dew has set in, and the sun has begun peeking over the circular mountain range around Odal. Its rays begin to bathe the heavily forested valley in light, as each Master soon realizes not only how hungry they have become, but how tired the entire ordeal has left them, and the scent of cooking meat and fish nearby is beyond alluring. Beyond wild ferns, and worn oak, a blanket of fog nearly smothers the small village of Linden, colorful Slavic houses line up in an orderly queue, broken up by an Inn, a Bed & Breakfast, and a puny Smithy situated in between the two. Already a sinewy man with a brazenly shaven beard is sitting back in a dirty olive lawn chair, his feet are kicked up on his worn anvil as he fits vibrant feathers on a vanilla colored arrow, covered in designs consistent with a Magi-smith's craft. He huffs a pipe in silence, listening to a small record player balanced on a second, smaller red lawn chair, the vinyl record rotates quickly, playing a track by 'Dio'. Judging by the glorious opening riff echoing through the slick brick roads of Linden, he's listening to 'Rainbow in the Dark'. Eventually, a small white haired girl skips out of the ancient door behind him, hopping down the stairs, and onto the gravel below, she then runs over to the vintage record player, and manages to drag the surprisingly resilient device off of her chair. She dusts off any black powder and soot from her assigned seat, and takes her place, kicking her feet upon a slightly smaller anvil from her father's.
The two sit in silence, nodding slowly to the rambunctious beat and tempo of Ronnie James Dio, blanketed by the shade of the circus tent above them, a rather average sized, short haired black woman swings open the heavy door to the Inn beside them, the strange pair of blacksmiths pay her no mind as they enjoy the early morning; even when she starts batting down a rug of the Persian variety with a cricket bat. "Fenrir, would you turn that down?" she asks the Blacksmith with an easily recognizable Scottish accent, Fenrir just waves his hand dismissively at her, and says "No, Jacklin." a crashing wave of gray smoke disperses from his lips, which barely part as he speaks. Jacklin lets out a frustrated huff, and drags her expensive Persian carpet back inside the hulking inn. She lays it down with leisure, in front of a carefully constructed counter, covered with keys that rattle on their own, and brightened by a towering silver lamp. Once she's satisfied with the straightness of her tremendously expensive carpet, Jacklin stands up again, stretching with a tremendous yawn, she finally relaxes, and hops over the counter, taking her seat on a renovated bar stool hidden behind it. She pulls an old fashioned Ipod from her back pocket, with a pair of headphones to block out the loud classic rock outside, and confides in sorting out the rusty keys in front of her; all of which begin shaking violently at her tenacious touch. "Blast these feckin' keys." she grumbles aloud, sorting them with much angry huffing, and vexed growling.
Just past the Smithy, the Bed & Breakfast starts waking up, and its owner, Eme, comes rushing out with a smoking pot, she sets it down with a worried gasp, several children, all dressed up in aprons that are several sizes too large, all follow suite, they seem younger than the blacksmith's daughter, and much more timid; clinging onto their mother's blouse as they peer at the smoldering pot with wide, blue eyes. Eme shoos them back inside, ushering them in in flustered German, she then directs her attention to Fenrir and his daughter, who's begun rearranging her father's tools "Could you please turn that down?!" she requests in shaky English, which Fenrir promptly replies with "No, Eme." as if this had become a daily routine. Eme just stomps her foot in protest, and rushes back inside the small Bed & Breakfast with gusto, charging through the short entrance hall, and past the long dining table beyond it, and into the kitchen. Already all of her children are getting out more cooking supplies for their mother, greeting her with smiles, and exuberant waves, which Eme responds to in kind with a reassuring "guten Morgen!" and a forced smile, she soon gets back to the stove she was originally working on, until her oatmeal had burst into flames - somehow - and returns to the eggs and bacon she had been cooking. The breakfast foods she had been preparing all share the same massive metal pan, sizzling on the butter she had lathered underneath them earlier, she grasps both handles - with her bare hands - and drags the steel platter to the island counter in the center of the kitchen, beside a sizable jug of warm milk, and a pile of pancakes. She claps her hands with an excited "Gut!", and snaps her fingers, snuffing out the raging fire under her wood stove with that simplistic incantation, she then waltzes over to the opposite side of the kitchen, to a large three tub metal sink, mounted on another counter, which is monitored by a golden rosary hanging from a large metal stake.
Just as Eme begins to relax, a loud series of energetic foot steps comes cascading down the hardwood footsteps to the second floor of her house, a man in a hula shirt, and a pair of baggy shorts arrives in the dining room, readjusting a pair of purple aviators. "Guten morgen!" he sings with an excessively American accent, before he picks a small messenger bag up from the end of the table, and the loud mouthed American slings it over his shoulder, spinning on his sandal-clad heel. "Adieu!" he exclaims "I'm out to get those groceries you've been asking for." is all he says before he's out the door, and Eme is peering into the empty dining room, trying to find the words to warn her patron that she made breakfast for him, but fumbling on the execution. Outside, the American gives Fenrir and his daughter a high five, and tosses a pebble at the humongous front window to Jacklin's diner, chuckling with a playful grin as Jacklin opens the gaping portal, and throws a tacky pen at him. It misses him by a centimeter, and lands on the brick road around him with a quiet 'clatter', he ignores this as he starts jogging to the next town over: Idalia, which is host to the bustling shopping district he's looking for. There's crippling vacancies in both the Inn and the Bed and Breakfast, and surely bed and board come cheap here in Odal... right?
Vec