4th of Sundus, Year 385 of the 4th Age
The radiant dawn peeks out from under the curtain of night, waking the good citizens of Mysthaven from their slumber. Like any other day, they dress and eat breakfast before heading off for their daily tasks; school, work, lazing about. But for one young man, his day begins quite differently than he's used to.
Rising from his stupor in the smallest and cheapest room of Abby's Astounding Alehouse, he stares at the ceiling for a brief moment of contemplation. Now what? Get out of bed? That would be easy; this was the cheapest room for a reason. But he was so tired, he barely noticed the soiled sheets, the thickness of the mattress that seems now more like rock than wool, or the smell of manure from just outside his window. It is only with the soft sound of dripping water that he arouses himself from the bed, peering out into the street to find the morning sun temporarily hiding behind a thin sheet of grey rain.
He reaches for the washing bowl on the small table in one corner of the room, holding it out the window to fill with rain before washing his face in the cool water. Staring into the reflection is a man of twenty summers, his young face nearly flawless if plain looking, marred only by a scar under his left eye. His short but messy hair, once entirely the color of milk chocolate, now bears a white streak around the front near his forehead, but at least his eyes match the rest of his hair.
The rain drizzles down outside in a denser pour, people covering themselves with wraps and thick cloaks to keep out the rain, some outright holding their possessions over their heads to prevent the growing torrent from drenching them. The young man looks out the window one last time, noting the darker storm clouds beginning to gather. It's going to be a long day.
He begins to gather his belongings in preparation for the day; book, staff, scrolls, clothes, pack, pouches full of various materials. All check. With a sigh, he hoists the pack up onto his back, taking one last look around the room before exiting. As the door closes behind him, he heads down the stairs to the front door of the alehouse, stepping out into the rain and covering his head with the hood of his cloak.
**********
The rain seems to pick up with the wind as a snow haired woman awakens from her slumber. "Rise and shine, darkling!" Comes the call of the tavern owner from the doors of the stables where she laid her head to rest the evening before. With a yawn and a stretch, she rises, dark skin blending well into the unlit interior of the stables. Stumbling toward the door, she pushes it open and winces, her sapphire eyes adjusting to the sudden change in lighting.
Holding a hand over her face, the woman heaves a sigh of relief as the clouds darken even more, no longer quite so blighted by the blasted sun. Standing in the open light, her ashy grey skin loses its tension in the pouring rain. "Pardon me, sir!" She calls out to the tavern owner, flipping him a coin of solid gold. "What might you have to eat here?"
With a look of shock, the man gasps, looking from the coin to the woman and eyeing her cautiously. "Well, um, we-we've got sausage and biscuits with dragon gravy-" He's interrupted by the bright smile on the woman's face, which startles him. Dark elves only smile when a truly wicked thought enters their hearts, or so it is said.
"Dragon gravy? What is that? Gravy made by dragons? Gravy made of dragons?"
The genuine curiosity in her voice gives him pause, and he shrugs. "Neither, lass. It's just gravy with spices, that's all." The immediate look of defeat she gives almost puts the man off his guard again, before he clears his throat. "Come on inside, you'll catch your death out here. I'll make you a plate and see what you think of it."
Gleefully, the dark elf follows him into the tavern, plopping down at a table in a corner of the room and awaiting her meal. The sounds of the morning stop abruptly with her entrance, but the way she exudes such a blatantly bubbly attitude seems to set the patrons at ease. Soon enough, the owner sets a platter down, steaming hot sausage gravy piled high atop two large freshly baked biscuits.
The dark elf stares at it with bulging eyes, looking up to the man like a child given a surprisingly large present for their birthday. "That's-That's all for me?"
"We always make `em like that. Dig in." He stands and waits while the woman carefully scoops up some of the gravy and biscuit combo with a fork, maneuvering it to her waiting jaws and biting down, only to sigh with content. "Such delightful flavors, such robust spice, not like the food back home!" The owner gives her an odd look before walking away, satisfied. A happy customer is one who won't wreck his business.
**********
To say that the halfling slept poorly is to be too kind. Hard rooftops with little chance to keep the rain off save for a set of stolen tarps, very little material for any actual bedding, and tattered clothes keeping the elements out just enough to keep moderately warm. None of these a good night's rest make.
The short man opens his eyes to pouring rain spewing off the eaves above and right onto the tarp covering his shivering form. With a grunt of exasperation, he stands, wrapping himself up in the fresh cloak he "acquired" just last week. The furs lining the inside keep him warm, at least, and it's not so brightly colored as to attract the wrong kind of attention. The rain is still not appreciated.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Gathering up his gear, the halfling looks over the edge of the roof, watching other people come and go before he darts over to the alleyway. Climbing down carefully using the system of boxes and ladders he's so far managed to keep hidden from prying eyes, the little sneak moves out into the crowd, looking for his next score; some food, some coin, a better shelter. That hideaway was poorly chosen. The next one needs decent cover and a good vantage point.
He nods to himself eyeing the individuals around him. Who might be the next to have some small item removed from their person? The nobleman, so sturdy and tall, with such a hefty purse? The barmaid on break with a few breakfast snacks in her apron? Or perhaps the-
His thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of shouting, several armed guards rushing toward a man on the run, a coin purse clutched tightly in his grip as he nimbly dodges citizens, sliding under and leaping over obstacles in his path. The halfling raises an eyebrow, mildly impressed. Too bad the poor sod didn't get away unnoticed. His face is wholly visible, not even partially hidden from view, and he's making such an obvious racket, the guards will be trailing him for miles.
So, with bitter distaste for the acrobatic but unskilled thief, the halfling whips out a handful of tiny metallic spheres and scatters them across the cobblestone. The poor thief never stood a chance, skidding and falling flat on his back, the hard stone beneath knocking the wind of out him. The guards soon catch up, enveloping the thief in their iron grip and hoisting him to his feet. Before he can be noticed, the halfling disappears into the crowd. Time to find a place to eat in peace, preferably with a view.
**********
Another figure sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room in a daze. As her vision focuses on her surroundings, she shivers from the cold air. Collecting a robe from the wardrobe, she throws it on to shut out the cold before opening her curtains. The rain pours less severely than it did earlier in the morning, but it still leaves her chilly as she looks down at the streets below.
A year ago, this would have been like a dream. Now here she is, standing in a room most in her station would envy for the cozy bed alone. Taking a moment to enjoy a warm breakfast served by the inn's staff, she thinks back on her life and sighs. Adventuring life isn't so bad after all.
Until she looks at her face in the mirror; crimson skin, emerald eyes and raven hair. But the most prominent features are definitely the curved ram-like horns on the sides of her head and the long tail that extends down to her ankles. A tiefling, or devilkin as some like to call her kind; mortals born of those who bound themselves through blood or contract to devils. Her skin, horns, and tail have been marks of shame for as long as she could remember.
Adding to her problems is the sword. Propped up against the wall sits a long blade of steel with a curved tip, like the scimitar of a giant, the edge almost seeming to shimmer in her vision. She eyes it for a long moment before getting her armor on and looking into the mirror one last time. Draping a cloth over the handle of the curved sword, she hefts it into the sheathe on her back, strapping a short sword to her hip and a shield to her right arm. Ready for another day, hopefully a good one.
**********
The young man stops at the main square, checking his position before heading north. He stops again only to pop into the local post office, setting a letter down in the deposit bin. Moving onward, he walks the streets, pulling his cloak closer as the rain begins to let up, the sun shining only the barest amount. Time to find a job, just enough to keep his belly full until he gets word back from that letter.
The sounds of laughter draws his attention to an old brick and wood building, partially run down yet still holding up well enough. As he enters, the source of such jovial discourse becomes clear. It's an adventuring guild. They're always happy to tell each other the tales of their triumphs and failures over a shared drink and meal. Such is the way here, it seems. But this place is more boisterous than he expected.
And so in walks the young wizard, scanning over the crowd until he finds the job board. He looks it over with a grimace. "Find my cat" this and "Pluck my weeds" that mostly. Then comes the real stuff. "Goblins along the river south of town, deal with them ASAP" or "Need 20 rat tails for a potion experiment, pays well". That's much more like it. For a moment, he worried that adventurers were just glorified gardeners.
"Find anything good?" Comes a voice from behind him, causing him to jump before he turns around. A tiefling, crimson of skin with bright emerald eyes and raven hair, dressed in chainmail. She looks him in the eyes for a moment before turning back to the board.
"Not yet, no." The man finally manages to stammer a response, clearing his throat.
"Rat tails, goblins. Oooh, a troll! That's gonna be worth a decent sum, I bet." The tiefling holds a finger to her chin in thought. "But they're dangerous. Powerful but dumb, and they regenerate very quickly. Maybe some other time." She studies the board some more, then adjusts one request paper to get a better look. "...Axebeaks? What're those?"
"Big angry birds with big angry beaks." Comes a voice from behind and below. The two turn to find a short man, a halfling by the looks of him. Dull blue eyes scan the board as he scratches his auburn sideburns. "They're not so tough, if you get the drop on em, but they're fierce when it comes to their territory."
"Interesting. At least they'll be a breeze." The tiefling responds, reaching out to grab the request paper only to have three other hands shoot out in kind; the human, the halfling, and a dark elf woman with sapphire eyes, ash colored skin, and snowy white hair.
"Hey, gimme! I wanna see the angry birds!" The elf whines.
The tiefling snorts. "I saw it first, you know!"
The human rolls his eyes and steps back from the growing cat fight, while the halfling reaches a hand out as the ladies bicker and snatches the paper.
"This job says it pays 20 sovereigns. That's a pretty nice sum, even split 4 ways. Why don't we just all do it together and save ourselves the trouble of nearly dying if we go one at a time, hm?" The halfling raises an eyebrow at the two women and shrugs his shoulders.
The human nods his head. "The little man has a point."
"The 'little man' has a name, too. Tyrion Summerwind, at your service." The halfling bows low and pulls his hood back to reveal the dimpled cheeks and rosy coloration of his race.
Thrown off by the child-like face, the tiefling just stares for a bit before shaking her head. "Well, yeah, I guess you've got me there. Sorry, I was being a bit-"
"Childish?" Responds the elf with a smile. "It's ok. I was too. Name's Anna. Anna Leyawin."
"Hope of Loheim." The tiefling holds out a hand, which the elf shakes.
"That's a long name, Hope." The elf giggles.
The red skinned woman folds her arms and shrugs. "I don't have a family name, so I go with the town I was raised in."
"And you, 'little man'?" The halfling turns to the human, who looks away sheepishly.
"Amadeo Ravenwood." He mumbles. Outside, the rain begins to part, the sun fully shining through the grey sky.