The temperature was beginning to drop rapidly as the sun fell. Even in the late summer months, Njord was always extremely cold due to its northerly location and proximity to ocean. This was compounded by the constantly overcast sky. While residents were used to the climate and dressed appropriately, Diane was still wearing her same purple and gold hemmed dress she’d arrived in.
As she and Thistleman followed the winding road, the path began to narrow. There were a few stragglers coming in from hunting or fishing trips but before long, the streets were empty. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared and night fell, a freezing cold wind blew down the narrow alley. Some of the streetlamps began to illuminate in piecemeal fashion. Due to the poor economy of the neighborhood, the mana stones of some had not been replaced. Others flickered with a dying light as they reached the end of their supply.
Just as she was beginning to lose hope that they would find an appropriate and affordable inn, Diane saw a small sign hanging off one of the buildings. The sign read ‘The Skeever and the Bear’ and had a small picture of a bed next to it, indicating an inn. The building itself didn’t look too run down, and unlike a few other establishments they had passed by, there were no shady characters standing outside. A warm yellow light poured out of its windows, which were protected by metal bars and the sound of laughter could be heard within.
“Thistleman! Here, this is where we are going to stay tonight.”
“It definitely smells pretty good, so it should definitely be plenty safe!”
“Let’s hurry inside and get out of this cold!”
Behind the bar stood a giant humanoid, over six feet tall. His arms, legs and chest were almost completely covered in brown fur, except for his face. His eyes were larger than a normal person’s and were brown like his fur, while his front teeth were larger and sharper than a normal human’s and they could see a pair of sharp top and bottom incisors when he opened his mouth for a big yawn. Behind him, right above his butt, a small brown puff ball of fur made up his tail, protruding over the top of his trousers. He wore a large plaid shirt. Behind him a massive woodcutting axe was mounted over the kitchen’s fireplace.
He was holding a piece of cloth as he cleaned a large pewter mug. The barman was an ursine called Jotuun and was co-owner of the inn with the small woman who was busy ladling the remaining soup from a large cauldron into a container for storage. She was much shorter than Jotuun, standing at just under five feet tall. Her face was elongated, much like a large mouse, with a pink nose and black eyes. She was covered in grey fur but had on a pink dress and a white, stained apron. Behind her, a long tail poked out from a hole cut in to the back of her dress. She was a skeever who went by the name of Ryme.
About a third of the tables in the dining area were full with demi-humans and humans. There were even a couple of large orc laborers, each taking solitary tables. Two humans sat at the counter, each enjoying their ale and dinner. The walls were decorated with pictures and mounted monster heads, lit by mana lamps
Jotuun watched from behind the counter as a small, dirty girl, wearing a fancy yet fairly damaged purple dress, pushed the door open with the help of a small boy who was dressed in tattered peasant clothing. The girl seemed to stare in surprise at the demi-humans, and then himself.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Jotuun, can you be a dear and greet the guests? I’m a little busy over here.”
Ryme spoke sweetly and with a melodic tint. Jotuun nodded and lumbered up to the girl and boy as the door swung shut behind them.
“Welcome to the Bear and Skeever. Jotuun, Bear. Ryme, Skeever. Come sit. Leftovers only, but warm.”
“Thank you, Jotuun, but I would like to pay for a room first.” She passed Jotuun the pouch with her remaining forty-eight copper coins.
“How long can I get with this much?”
“One week. Dinner after sunset, breakfast at sunrise. Don’t miss. Now come, sit.”
Jotuun reached down behind Diane’s head and grabbed the collar of her dress, effortlessly lifting her as he carried her to bar and the plopped her onto one of the stools.
“Thistleman, don’t laugh at me! How come you didn’t grab him too?”
“Could tell. He follow food. You prideful. Would say no.”
Thistleman nodded. “Yep, yep, you hit it Uncle Bear!”
Diane turned as she heard chittering of laughter. The skeever smoothly slipped two bowls of steaming stew in front of the kids. Diane eyed the bowl ravenously.
“I’m Ryme, nice to meet you!”
“I’m Diane, and this here is Thistleman. He is my servant who I found in some bushes. Although saying his full name is a little long, so I kinda wanna give him a nickname.”
“How about you call him Thistle—a nice, easy nickname that suits how thin he is!”
“Thistle, I like it!”
“Okay,” Thistleman said grudgingly. “Thistle it is then”
He decided that enough was enough for one night. For the sake of his pride and sanity, he decided to just go to sleep. His head hit the counter, and he made damn sure to promptly start snoring.
“Oh, the little dearie passed out from exhaustion.”
“Hm. Don’t waste food. Diane, you eat. Then clean and rest. I’ll take Thistle up now.”
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When Diane came in to the room after taking a quick bath, she saw Thistle had rolled himself off the bed and was sprawled, snoring, on the floor. Ignoring him, she curled up in the warm sheets and grabbed a pillow.
All the emotions she had been bottling up came bubbling to the surface. Hal, Sir Gregory, her father, the coachman, the bandits she had killed… She was scared. She was so very scared. She didn’t know what to do next. Worst of all, she felt so alone, so very alone.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, everyone,” she kept repeating quietly to herself as she sobbed.
Then she heard Thistle rustle a little as he turned over in his sleep. She turned to look at him. No, she wasn’t alone. Hal was wrong about at least one thing in his life, not all peasants will abandon you. She felt calm start spreading through her chest, allowing her to submit to her exhaustion and finally sleep.
As her eyes closed, Thistleman opened one eye to look at her. He had a strange expression, almost as if in pain or confusion. He silently mouthed the words “Sleep soundly” before he closed his eyes again. Outside the door, a small shadow quickly flitted in the direction of the dining room.
The hills outside of Njord were particularly windy and cold that night. A beautiful woman stumbled towards a door into the hillside, her left hand fumbling to open the latch. As the door opened, she was greeted by dim torchlight. The woman had three deep cuts across her midriff and blood was dripping from her face and shoulder-length black hair.
She closed the door behind her and stumbled to a nearby chest at the foot of one of the six beds in the cave. Amala pulled out a light red potion and poured it on her wounds. The bleeding stopped and she pulled out a large roll of bandages. She wrapped her wounds as best as she could manage before placing the bandages back in the chest.
Amala dropped onto a bed and covered her eyes with her left arm. Everything had gone so wrong. She had barely escaped from the dire wolf, and could still remember its razor sharp teeth shredding her arm and clamping onto the bone. She’d had to dislocate her arm so she could flee. In the process, the wolf’s claws had ripped through her unprotected stomach. She ran as fast as she could back to the group, and the dire wolf started chasing after. She returned to the carriage only to find everyone dead and the horses gone. In a sense, she was thankful as the dire wolf had gone after their corpses—an easy meal.
Now, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. What good was an archer who could no longer use a bow?