If you mean this one, I also like it.
ML
Member
Attempted Polymath
- Last Seen: 5 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: Mercenary Lord
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 1361 (0.30 / day)
- VMs: 2
-
Username history
- ML 6 yrs ago
- ██████████████ 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Neziul,
Scrawl Banditta,
Ohm,
erikh
Status
Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
hey can i be a guild mod
7
likes
6 yrs ago
hey can i be a guild mod
13
likes
6 yrs ago
new name, same piss poor time management
2
likes
6 yrs ago
if you have a "craving", write a story on your own, that way when you inevitably lose interest and quit you're only wasting your own time
4
likes
7 yrs ago
factory-engines roar like false lions, blood thunders in the dock-pipes
Most Recent Posts
If you mean this one, I also like it.
Asher smiled, his eyes still closed and his breathing carefully modulated. The morning was so much more welcome to him than the cold of night. The fire had burned away during the darkness, but spring was fast approaching, and the days were far warmer now than a few weeks before.
After a time, he sat up, stretched to one side leisurely, and slid a hand across his face. He had some stubble growing: he might have to shave soon. Then he glanced over at the other bed, where his roommate was already awake. "Good morning," he said. Then he noted something was amiss in the room.
The parchment had been moved. Slightly, very slightly, but it had been rolled the opposite way last night, and now it wasn't. He smiled again. "I see you liked my story," he said, pointing to the scroll.
After a time, he sat up, stretched to one side leisurely, and slid a hand across his face. He had some stubble growing: he might have to shave soon. Then he glanced over at the other bed, where his roommate was already awake. "Good morning," he said. Then he noted something was amiss in the room.
The parchment had been moved. Slightly, very slightly, but it had been rolled the opposite way last night, and now it wasn't. He smiled again. "I see you liked my story," he said, pointing to the scroll.
Of all the things Asher could have noted, he instead said, "Here in Sevitel? We're on the border, Johanna, but we are in Enrimor. You're not on home soil any longer." Then he relented. "It seems as if your family is responsible for your current state of affairs, just as mine was." He felt a kindred spirit with this woman, after they had both gotten past that sticky point of contempt for each other. They were in similar financial straits for very different reasons. "Never heard of The Red Palace, sorry."
There wasn't much else to say, but as he sat there, an idea and a statement wormed into his mind. This woman is pretty. More than pretty: in the right outfit and get-up, she would be outright alluring. And with the spine she had displayed to him already...well, perhaps it was time to see if he could enlist in a full-rights partner on his journey. They both sought the same general goal, an ascension from poverty, and what would he and Emerson do with a treasure of emperors, anyway?
"All right," Asher murmured, his mind decided. He turned to face her, a fierce light flickering in his eyes, from the fire, and from his own hopes. "Decades, centuries ago, when the titanic Fortisian tribal empire walked the continent. They owned everything, from the seas to the forests.They amassed tons, uncountable masses of gold and silver, and precious stones, all from within the earth we now walk above. There's still plenty available, do not misunderstand me, but their skill with crafting and mining were unmatched.
"The different factions within the warlord-based kingdom each had their own massive amounts of treasure, with trade between the tribes being based on each tribe's spirit animal. I realize this is likely unknown history for you, so for now just understand that to each of the fourteen tribes, a specific type of stone or material was worth more than all the others. Wars were fought over these rocks.
"Now imagine a king--the first king, really, of this continent. emerged from the dusts of time and gained control of each tribe, one after another. He quietly stole their precious stones away each night, and in the tribes' desperation, they all agreed to join the king. Except for one: the Ronas. Now we call them citizens of Rohnad. Rohnans, whatever you please."
He leaned in slightly, his words becoming more and more excited as he began to pull a scroll from the mess of his personal effects by the foot of his bed. "The Ronas refused to submit to this king's reign of trickery and theft. They retreated to the far southwest corner of Reath, to the point where none but the bravest dared enter the cold. The Ronas, well, they were definitely the bravest. And the most resourceful, with the most accurate hunters and most skilled warriors. They also had a code, a code which restrained them from taking over the other tribes by force.
"The king attacked. Oh, he tried to wipe them out, but the Ronas were clever. They never established full cities, instead mastering the art of erecting giant tent-towns in a day; each person built their own home in accordance with a central plan, et cetera. The king could never find the inhabitants of the frigid region, so he established himself ruler and caretaker of the region.
Asher chuckled dryly. "But the Ronas weren't finished. They struck at night, carefully, using the king's own shady tactics against him to protect their land. There were casualties, on both sides, but the king was driven back, and Rohnad was eventually established as a country. That's another story, however.
He unrolled the parchment in front of him, a relatively new piece of writ with a country looking nothing like any of the maps of today. "The king was driven back to the rest of the continent, where I assume he eventually played a role in the founding of Sevitel, and eventually Enrimor. Imagine this: a king in control of thirteen tribes of warlord-controlled people, all of them held together through sheer force of will and conflict among themselves. Eventually, something had to break. I don't know the specifics, but the kind was annihilated, and many of the tribes along with him. Only Rohnad and a few others survived, those wise enough to escape while they could.
"Here's where it get's interesting. Aside from Rohnad, that king and his closest attendants controlled most of the wealth on the entire continent that was above-ground." He broke off in to a slight tangent. "That being said, Emerson tells me that there's still vast amounts of untamed riches and wealth to be had on this continent, and the others besides. Anyway, this treasure trove, it vanished with the king.
"Imagine that," he repeated. "One of the greatest, most stunning collections of art and craftsmanship and treasure to ever exist, lost to history, somewhere on the continent." He was embellishing slightly: he doubted it was such an incredible amount, but it was still likely a massive sum, more than most nobles would ever acquire in their lives. "And I have a clue to it."
Here he pointed down to the jagged border of the ink. "This is a rough etching of the ancient king's capital region. And this," here he traced a red line, "is where I think the treasure might be hidden. At the very least, there has to be a clue there. It took Emerson and I months of studying old tomes and charts to narrow it down even this much. It might not even exist." He laughed humorlessly. "I might just be fooling myself into oblivion. But I can't just let it go." He eyed her carefully, hoping to see some sort of reaction.
"Anyway, I'm sorry to talk your ears off. My excitement got a little away from me." He glanced out the window. "It's getting late, far later than I meant to be up on such a miserable night. I'm going to bed. Don't worry, I won't touch you in your sleep, you have my word." He rolled up the parchment and tossed it back to his things, where is hung out tantalizingly. With any luck, she'd be drawn to it, especially if he read her strange, hungry look correctly.
Asher nodded to the woman, made sure the fire had plenty of wood, and then crawled under the worn, yet surprisingly comfortable and clean bedsheets. Not bad at all, he mused.
There wasn't much else to say, but as he sat there, an idea and a statement wormed into his mind. This woman is pretty. More than pretty: in the right outfit and get-up, she would be outright alluring. And with the spine she had displayed to him already...well, perhaps it was time to see if he could enlist in a full-rights partner on his journey. They both sought the same general goal, an ascension from poverty, and what would he and Emerson do with a treasure of emperors, anyway?
"All right," Asher murmured, his mind decided. He turned to face her, a fierce light flickering in his eyes, from the fire, and from his own hopes. "Decades, centuries ago, when the titanic Fortisian tribal empire walked the continent. They owned everything, from the seas to the forests.They amassed tons, uncountable masses of gold and silver, and precious stones, all from within the earth we now walk above. There's still plenty available, do not misunderstand me, but their skill with crafting and mining were unmatched.
"The different factions within the warlord-based kingdom each had their own massive amounts of treasure, with trade between the tribes being based on each tribe's spirit animal. I realize this is likely unknown history for you, so for now just understand that to each of the fourteen tribes, a specific type of stone or material was worth more than all the others. Wars were fought over these rocks.
"Now imagine a king--the first king, really, of this continent. emerged from the dusts of time and gained control of each tribe, one after another. He quietly stole their precious stones away each night, and in the tribes' desperation, they all agreed to join the king. Except for one: the Ronas. Now we call them citizens of Rohnad. Rohnans, whatever you please."
He leaned in slightly, his words becoming more and more excited as he began to pull a scroll from the mess of his personal effects by the foot of his bed. "The Ronas refused to submit to this king's reign of trickery and theft. They retreated to the far southwest corner of Reath, to the point where none but the bravest dared enter the cold. The Ronas, well, they were definitely the bravest. And the most resourceful, with the most accurate hunters and most skilled warriors. They also had a code, a code which restrained them from taking over the other tribes by force.
"The king attacked. Oh, he tried to wipe them out, but the Ronas were clever. They never established full cities, instead mastering the art of erecting giant tent-towns in a day; each person built their own home in accordance with a central plan, et cetera. The king could never find the inhabitants of the frigid region, so he established himself ruler and caretaker of the region.
Asher chuckled dryly. "But the Ronas weren't finished. They struck at night, carefully, using the king's own shady tactics against him to protect their land. There were casualties, on both sides, but the king was driven back, and Rohnad was eventually established as a country. That's another story, however.
He unrolled the parchment in front of him, a relatively new piece of writ with a country looking nothing like any of the maps of today. "The king was driven back to the rest of the continent, where I assume he eventually played a role in the founding of Sevitel, and eventually Enrimor. Imagine this: a king in control of thirteen tribes of warlord-controlled people, all of them held together through sheer force of will and conflict among themselves. Eventually, something had to break. I don't know the specifics, but the kind was annihilated, and many of the tribes along with him. Only Rohnad and a few others survived, those wise enough to escape while they could.
"Here's where it get's interesting. Aside from Rohnad, that king and his closest attendants controlled most of the wealth on the entire continent that was above-ground." He broke off in to a slight tangent. "That being said, Emerson tells me that there's still vast amounts of untamed riches and wealth to be had on this continent, and the others besides. Anyway, this treasure trove, it vanished with the king.
"Imagine that," he repeated. "One of the greatest, most stunning collections of art and craftsmanship and treasure to ever exist, lost to history, somewhere on the continent." He was embellishing slightly: he doubted it was such an incredible amount, but it was still likely a massive sum, more than most nobles would ever acquire in their lives. "And I have a clue to it."
Here he pointed down to the jagged border of the ink. "This is a rough etching of the ancient king's capital region. And this," here he traced a red line, "is where I think the treasure might be hidden. At the very least, there has to be a clue there. It took Emerson and I months of studying old tomes and charts to narrow it down even this much. It might not even exist." He laughed humorlessly. "I might just be fooling myself into oblivion. But I can't just let it go." He eyed her carefully, hoping to see some sort of reaction.
"Anyway, I'm sorry to talk your ears off. My excitement got a little away from me." He glanced out the window. "It's getting late, far later than I meant to be up on such a miserable night. I'm going to bed. Don't worry, I won't touch you in your sleep, you have my word." He rolled up the parchment and tossed it back to his things, where is hung out tantalizingly. With any luck, she'd be drawn to it, especially if he read her strange, hungry look correctly.
Asher nodded to the woman, made sure the fire had plenty of wood, and then crawled under the worn, yet surprisingly comfortable and clean bedsheets. Not bad at all, he mused.
Asher snorted, and waved a hand. "That's just it," he muttered. "At one time, I had an idea of what I was looking for. I even had a lead, someone who had made it quite clear they knew something about a vast trove of gold somewhere in Sevitel. He was quite the hard man to miss, too. I was tracking him, for a while, but I'm no expert, and once the roads clogged, I lost him in the crowds."
He sighed, leaning back on his hands. "Hunting for fortunes isn't anything like the storybooks tell you it is. I should know. They leave out the freezing knights, or the bandit raids you aren't prepared for. The kind that leaves you naked and hungry in the middle of nowhere. They leave out the pain, the discomfort, the actual, mind-bending brushes with death. You know, that one lucky handhold isn't always there."
He glanced back at her, noting with some confusion her total change in demeanor. "Tell me some more about yourself. I'm not the only one with a story to tell, I'd wager."
He sighed, leaning back on his hands. "Hunting for fortunes isn't anything like the storybooks tell you it is. I should know. They leave out the freezing knights, or the bandit raids you aren't prepared for. The kind that leaves you naked and hungry in the middle of nowhere. They leave out the pain, the discomfort, the actual, mind-bending brushes with death. You know, that one lucky handhold isn't always there."
He glanced back at her, noting with some confusion her total change in demeanor. "Tell me some more about yourself. I'm not the only one with a story to tell, I'd wager."
Did she ever shut up, Asher wondered, but he allowed none of his irritation to show on his face. "Let's just say that I tend to read into others' personal lives too accurately for their liking, and sometimes I don't know when to keep my mouth shut. Like around you, for example." He ran a hand over his face, sighing.
"I'm looking...to put it bluntly, I'm looking for treasure. Riches, gold, something, anything. I can't say why, but I'm really good at following clues, and to bring Emerson up to the level of wealth he deserves would be a blessing I'd cherish forever. It'd be nice to have some money of my own, as well. But tracking the only people who have clues on roads filled with refugees is difficult, if not impossible." He stared into the flames, waiting for a flash of inspiration. His main lead had been lost to him once he entered the main road.
"I'm looking...to put it bluntly, I'm looking for treasure. Riches, gold, something, anything. I can't say why, but I'm really good at following clues, and to bring Emerson up to the level of wealth he deserves would be a blessing I'd cherish forever. It'd be nice to have some money of my own, as well. But tracking the only people who have clues on roads filled with refugees is difficult, if not impossible." He stared into the flames, waiting for a flash of inspiration. His main lead had been lost to him once he entered the main road.
Asher snorted. "Maybe not, but at least you have a name. Emerson gave me mine." Regardless of her shame or misfortune, she still spoke like someone accustomed to the upper-class lifestyle, and that irked him. "I don't know what kind of good humor you're hoping to hear. Sevitel is in the middle of civil war, and I'm not any closer to my success because of it. What I seek is no easier found when hundreds clog the streets."
She wasn't wrong about the fire, however. The Enmorian winter had scarcely ended, and the early spring weather was still chilling and cold at night. After a second of more deliberation, he shifted to in front of the blaze, sitting beside the striking woman. "You don't have to worry about any trouble from me. I'm on borrowed time from the barkeep as is. Another patron and I had a little issue a few minutes before. I also have morals. And standards," He added the last bit as a jest. The night was too cold for so much misery."
"What's your plan in Enrimor?" He asked, partially to distract her if she took offense from his statement.
She wasn't wrong about the fire, however. The Enmorian winter had scarcely ended, and the early spring weather was still chilling and cold at night. After a second of more deliberation, he shifted to in front of the blaze, sitting beside the striking woman. "You don't have to worry about any trouble from me. I'm on borrowed time from the barkeep as is. Another patron and I had a little issue a few minutes before. I also have morals. And standards," He added the last bit as a jest. The night was too cold for so much misery."
"What's your plan in Enrimor?" He asked, partially to distract her if she took offense from his statement.
Asher glanced up from the floor, fixing Johanna with a long hard stare. "We're not a rich family. I'm practically the only member of the Thyne family that I know of. My parenst gave me up a long time ago. Times were hard for the poor." A pointed sarcasm leaked into his tone. "I'm sure you understand."
He fell silent for a time, watching the fire flicker and dance. "I can't say that I ever expected a member of the rich to be stuck in a place like this, alone. Is your family with you?"
He fell silent for a time, watching the fire flicker and dance. "I can't say that I ever expected a member of the rich to be stuck in a place like this, alone. Is your family with you?"
It seemed that he could get no rest. Only moments after his calm cautiously returned, the door swung open. He jumped, sure that he was about to have to fight. He relaxed, slightly, when a woman stood in at the door. Perhaps she was a serving girl.
Then she entered, and alarm once again swept into his mind. She was his room-mate. Oh, gods. He tensed up as she sat on the other bed. I know that there's not a lot of room, but surely I could have been paired with a man.
Her name was Johanna. An interesting name. Quite pretty, in fact. What wasn't as pretty was the threat. And the dozen more he could see boiling in the back of her mind. After a few moments of cautious preparation, he reached out and gingerly took hold of her hand. "Nice to meet you, miss. I'll keep my hands to myself tonight, don't you worry. My name is Asher. Asher Thyne." If she knew his name, he reasoned they'd never see each other again after that night, so there was no harm done.
While he spoke, he carefully absorbed her image in his mind. She was definitely attractive, though he suspected she'd be even more so if she would smile or at least stop scowling. Her features were well formed.
Her words spoke determined, of a tightly controlled mind. She definitely sat with rigid discipline, a kind of stature he'd only seen on two types of people: the wealthy or those who pretended to be.
Asher could almost hear Emerson's voice. "That's all very well and good, my boy, but what else can you tell about her with that information?"
He frowned. Well, she was in an Inn for refugees, yet she carried herself as if she were nobility. That likely meant that she either wasn't welcome at home, or had been displaced by the war in Sevitel.
Yet she didn't seem to be the type of noble who had been pushed away from money and wealth. For one thing, she was sitting in silence, not complaining about the lack of her own room, or how she was too rich for these base conditions. That meant she was either brought up well, or used to such situations.
He decided to hazard a guess. If he was right, wonderful; if not...well, he'd never see her again anyway. "Has your family been without money for long?" The question was probably the best way he could have put it, but he still winced internally that he hadn't come up with something that felt more natural.
Then she entered, and alarm once again swept into his mind. She was his room-mate. Oh, gods. He tensed up as she sat on the other bed. I know that there's not a lot of room, but surely I could have been paired with a man.
Her name was Johanna. An interesting name. Quite pretty, in fact. What wasn't as pretty was the threat. And the dozen more he could see boiling in the back of her mind. After a few moments of cautious preparation, he reached out and gingerly took hold of her hand. "Nice to meet you, miss. I'll keep my hands to myself tonight, don't you worry. My name is Asher. Asher Thyne." If she knew his name, he reasoned they'd never see each other again after that night, so there was no harm done.
While he spoke, he carefully absorbed her image in his mind. She was definitely attractive, though he suspected she'd be even more so if she would smile or at least stop scowling. Her features were well formed.
Her words spoke determined, of a tightly controlled mind. She definitely sat with rigid discipline, a kind of stature he'd only seen on two types of people: the wealthy or those who pretended to be.
Asher could almost hear Emerson's voice. "That's all very well and good, my boy, but what else can you tell about her with that information?"
He frowned. Well, she was in an Inn for refugees, yet she carried herself as if she were nobility. That likely meant that she either wasn't welcome at home, or had been displaced by the war in Sevitel.
Yet she didn't seem to be the type of noble who had been pushed away from money and wealth. For one thing, she was sitting in silence, not complaining about the lack of her own room, or how she was too rich for these base conditions. That meant she was either brought up well, or used to such situations.
He decided to hazard a guess. If he was right, wonderful; if not...well, he'd never see her again anyway. "Has your family been without money for long?" The question was probably the best way he could have put it, but he still winced internally that he hadn't come up with something that felt more natural.
We're all set to go, aw yeah.
To be fair, Asher probably shouldn't have said what he did. Of course, to be fair, the refugee shouldn't have punched him in the gut. Fair is fair.
Capstone Inn: a refugee inn on the border. With the war in Sevitel, Capstone was well past its' capacity. Asher could see it from a mile away; people were even sleeping in the stables. Unfortunately, he had nowhere else to turn to. His food was almost gone, and he hadn't really thought to bring any gear to set up camp. He'd assumed that he'd walk by day, and stop at Inns or friendly households by night.
Of course, this idea had been put into place just after he set out from home, and just after the war in Sevitel exploded. Now, with Sevitians clogging the major roads near the border, Asher shuddered at the thought of another night inside. But he didn't really have much of a choice.
At least the place was clean. Obviously the Inn's owner prided himself on keep the tavern nice and proper. Everything from the cups to the decorations had a squeaky clean feel to them. That is, the decorations that still hung on the walls: most had been removed due to excessive overcrowding. The nails where the paintings sat and the empty display shelves were all to apparent to Asher's trained eye. At least the people had the good sense to keep the noise to a manageable level. The night was still young, after all, and there was only so much alcohol to go around.
He took a spot at the bar, narrowly beating out a dozen others. "Give me something strong and mature, if you can spare it. Otherwise I'll take anything you have that isn't rotgut." The barkeep nodded, almost overwhelmed, and staggered off with a dozen plates balanced across his body.
The man beside Asher grunted. He was a large fellow, with more than a little bit of extra weight. "Poor bastard. Rough night for him."
"Aye," said Asher. "But his pockets will be full tomorrow, at least."
"True enough." The big man turned to face Asher, then. "I've not seen you 'round here before. Are you new in town?"
Asher glanced around momentarily. "No...no, not exactly. I've been this way before. I'm only here for the night, anyway." He broke off as a woman came up to the big man and wrapped her arm around his. "Who's this, darling?" His wife, then. Or lover, at least. And yet...
"I don't know, myself. What's your name, stranger?"
"I'm called...Edgar. Edgar Thyne." Asher didn't exactly trust the man. After all, they'd only just met. "Is this your wife?"
The man beamed. "That she is! This is Moira, my darling woman." He kissed her heartily on the cheek.
She giggled and returned the affection, but Asher noted the flash of annoyance in her eyes, and the stiffening in her bare arms for that fraction of a second. Without thinking, he blurted, "You two are quite the couple. You must have been so happy together."
The big man glanced his way. "What d'you mean by that, 'have been'?"
Asher's blood chilled. He'd done it again. Emerson had warned him time and again to think before he spoke. "Well, I...erm...nothing, just a slip of the tongue."
The man fixed a terrifying glare at him. "I don't think so. You have something to say, so spit it out."
There was no other course of action, unfortunately. Asher steeled himself, praying to whichever of the gods might be listening, then continued. "Well, it's just...she doesn't exactly love you anymore, does she?" He quickly amended, "At least, not as much as she once did."
Moira the wife stiffened in her husband's arms, and her eyes flashed across the room. Asher's eyes followed hers, and another, more muscular man came into view. He was certainly dressed as though he expected something steamy that night.
The big man's face contorted in shock, then rage. "You've got some nerve, you bastard. Don't you dare impugn the honor of my Moira!" He raised a fist, and Asher flinched back. He knew how to handle a sword, and a knife, and a hunting bow, but he had none of those things with him, and the man was twice his sized.
"Wait!" Asher cried desperately. "Wait! Over there." Asher pointed at the other man, who blanched and fled, but not before the big man had seen him.
The man whirled on his wife, his face twisting into horrible rage. "You promised, Moira! you promised never again! How could you? I trusted you, whore!" The room slowly fell to quiet as the tirade continued, this time from Moira.
"Don't you dare to call me that, Richard! I would never, and frankly I'm horrified you could even think that of me!" She pushed him lightly with one hand.
Richard peeled back in fury. "You bitch!" he hissed. "Don't try to point this as my fault! I know what your games are, and I won't be fooled by you again!"
The argument continued to rage, rising in speed, anger, and loudness. Asher felt compelled to try and right the wrong. "Richard, sir, please. Be reasonable with your--"
Richard's fist drove into Asher's stomach, pushing all the air from his lungs. "You've done enough! You've ruined us, you have. What right did you have? You couldn't have kept your mouth shut?" Another fist was raised.
Asher straightened slowly, truly looking over the man for the first time. He would pay for what he'd done. "Alright, Richard," he hissed. "Your wife doesn't love you anymore because you're a spineless drunk who's more worried about losing her than making her happy. You spend so many nights here that it's a wonder she hasn't left you altogether. You have nothing to say for yourself that will make you in the right, especially because you have a mistress of your own!" The last part was a guess, but it was an educated one. When Richard had discovered his wife's affair, his first reaction had been confused surprise, not anger.
Richard's mouth gaped. "How did you--" then he noted his wife's anguished expression, and in his rage he turned to the one man who had ruined his entire night, and embarrassed him in front of three dozen people. "I'll make you pay!" He leapt forward, and Asher's life flashed before his eyes.
Well, he'd go down fighting. Fists up, guarding the body. Turn in sideways to eliminate points his enemy could hit. Wait for it...
"ENOUGH!" Suddenly the barkeep was there. And, suddenly, both Asher and his assailant looked very very small. The bartender was absolutely massive. At least six and a half feet, with not an ounce of fat on his body. "Richard, get out. I want no part of your shenanigans. Stranger, you're going back to your room. Now. You paid for it, you get it. Get."
The man didn't even have to finish speaking before Asher nodded gratefully, relieved to still have all his bones, and practically sprinted up the stairs. He pushed into his room, slammed the door, and sank down on his bed. There was no bolt, but he could barricade it with something at least.
When his pulse slowed, he eventually took in the room around it. It was small, but cozy, with two windows, a fireplace, and a pair of beds. Asher sighed as he realized that he'd have to share the room with another. "Just my luck." He settled back down on his own bed, still trying to calm his racing mind.
Capstone Inn: a refugee inn on the border. With the war in Sevitel, Capstone was well past its' capacity. Asher could see it from a mile away; people were even sleeping in the stables. Unfortunately, he had nowhere else to turn to. His food was almost gone, and he hadn't really thought to bring any gear to set up camp. He'd assumed that he'd walk by day, and stop at Inns or friendly households by night.
Of course, this idea had been put into place just after he set out from home, and just after the war in Sevitel exploded. Now, with Sevitians clogging the major roads near the border, Asher shuddered at the thought of another night inside. But he didn't really have much of a choice.
At least the place was clean. Obviously the Inn's owner prided himself on keep the tavern nice and proper. Everything from the cups to the decorations had a squeaky clean feel to them. That is, the decorations that still hung on the walls: most had been removed due to excessive overcrowding. The nails where the paintings sat and the empty display shelves were all to apparent to Asher's trained eye. At least the people had the good sense to keep the noise to a manageable level. The night was still young, after all, and there was only so much alcohol to go around.
He took a spot at the bar, narrowly beating out a dozen others. "Give me something strong and mature, if you can spare it. Otherwise I'll take anything you have that isn't rotgut." The barkeep nodded, almost overwhelmed, and staggered off with a dozen plates balanced across his body.
The man beside Asher grunted. He was a large fellow, with more than a little bit of extra weight. "Poor bastard. Rough night for him."
"Aye," said Asher. "But his pockets will be full tomorrow, at least."
"True enough." The big man turned to face Asher, then. "I've not seen you 'round here before. Are you new in town?"
Asher glanced around momentarily. "No...no, not exactly. I've been this way before. I'm only here for the night, anyway." He broke off as a woman came up to the big man and wrapped her arm around his. "Who's this, darling?" His wife, then. Or lover, at least. And yet...
"I don't know, myself. What's your name, stranger?"
"I'm called...Edgar. Edgar Thyne." Asher didn't exactly trust the man. After all, they'd only just met. "Is this your wife?"
The man beamed. "That she is! This is Moira, my darling woman." He kissed her heartily on the cheek.
She giggled and returned the affection, but Asher noted the flash of annoyance in her eyes, and the stiffening in her bare arms for that fraction of a second. Without thinking, he blurted, "You two are quite the couple. You must have been so happy together."
The big man glanced his way. "What d'you mean by that, 'have been'?"
Asher's blood chilled. He'd done it again. Emerson had warned him time and again to think before he spoke. "Well, I...erm...nothing, just a slip of the tongue."
The man fixed a terrifying glare at him. "I don't think so. You have something to say, so spit it out."
There was no other course of action, unfortunately. Asher steeled himself, praying to whichever of the gods might be listening, then continued. "Well, it's just...she doesn't exactly love you anymore, does she?" He quickly amended, "At least, not as much as she once did."
Moira the wife stiffened in her husband's arms, and her eyes flashed across the room. Asher's eyes followed hers, and another, more muscular man came into view. He was certainly dressed as though he expected something steamy that night.
The big man's face contorted in shock, then rage. "You've got some nerve, you bastard. Don't you dare impugn the honor of my Moira!" He raised a fist, and Asher flinched back. He knew how to handle a sword, and a knife, and a hunting bow, but he had none of those things with him, and the man was twice his sized.
"Wait!" Asher cried desperately. "Wait! Over there." Asher pointed at the other man, who blanched and fled, but not before the big man had seen him.
The man whirled on his wife, his face twisting into horrible rage. "You promised, Moira! you promised never again! How could you? I trusted you, whore!" The room slowly fell to quiet as the tirade continued, this time from Moira.
"Don't you dare to call me that, Richard! I would never, and frankly I'm horrified you could even think that of me!" She pushed him lightly with one hand.
Richard peeled back in fury. "You bitch!" he hissed. "Don't try to point this as my fault! I know what your games are, and I won't be fooled by you again!"
The argument continued to rage, rising in speed, anger, and loudness. Asher felt compelled to try and right the wrong. "Richard, sir, please. Be reasonable with your--"
Richard's fist drove into Asher's stomach, pushing all the air from his lungs. "You've done enough! You've ruined us, you have. What right did you have? You couldn't have kept your mouth shut?" Another fist was raised.
Asher straightened slowly, truly looking over the man for the first time. He would pay for what he'd done. "Alright, Richard," he hissed. "Your wife doesn't love you anymore because you're a spineless drunk who's more worried about losing her than making her happy. You spend so many nights here that it's a wonder she hasn't left you altogether. You have nothing to say for yourself that will make you in the right, especially because you have a mistress of your own!" The last part was a guess, but it was an educated one. When Richard had discovered his wife's affair, his first reaction had been confused surprise, not anger.
Richard's mouth gaped. "How did you--" then he noted his wife's anguished expression, and in his rage he turned to the one man who had ruined his entire night, and embarrassed him in front of three dozen people. "I'll make you pay!" He leapt forward, and Asher's life flashed before his eyes.
Well, he'd go down fighting. Fists up, guarding the body. Turn in sideways to eliminate points his enemy could hit. Wait for it...
"ENOUGH!" Suddenly the barkeep was there. And, suddenly, both Asher and his assailant looked very very small. The bartender was absolutely massive. At least six and a half feet, with not an ounce of fat on his body. "Richard, get out. I want no part of your shenanigans. Stranger, you're going back to your room. Now. You paid for it, you get it. Get."
The man didn't even have to finish speaking before Asher nodded gratefully, relieved to still have all his bones, and practically sprinted up the stairs. He pushed into his room, slammed the door, and sank down on his bed. There was no bolt, but he could barricade it with something at least.
When his pulse slowed, he eventually took in the room around it. It was small, but cozy, with two windows, a fireplace, and a pair of beds. Asher sighed as he realized that he'd have to share the room with another. "Just my luck." He settled back down on his own bed, still trying to calm his racing mind.
© 2007-2026