The Black Bear Inn was surprisingly busy for seemingly being in the middle of nowhere, though, which made it the only choice for as far as the eye could see in every direction. Furthermore, it was on the main route used to travel along the mountainous northern border of the empire.

Nighttime had fallen. Warm firelight spilled out of the windows of the common room, accompanied by rich smells and deep laughter. Art had found himself a small table tucked into the corner of the room, perfectly situated to spy on all the comings and goings, especially of the men he had been travelling with.

It was late now and Milton had already given his briefing of what they could expect from their future in the guard. Though, Art scoffed at the thought of even calling it that. It was more of an obvious attempt to spook them than anything else. He had filled it with ominous and foreboding bullshit like there being 'more to those lands than meets the eye' or 'things that go bump in the night'.

Art had expected no less, though. His father's guard captain had taken every opportunity to gloat and find pleasure in the younger man's current situation.

He looked up from his drink at the sound of Bronn staggering his way toward a woman seated at the bar. The man had been incessantly irritating since the moment they arrived, trying to start fights with any man and bed any woman who was unfortunate enough to make eye contact.

His newest target had propped herself up on the bar with a palm under her chin whilst the other swirled the wine in her cup. Art could not see her face as her hood was still drawn, an odd thing to do in a drinking room, he had thought. It was undoubtedly a woman though, her stature and figure gave her away along with the long black braid that trailed out from under that hood.

Bronn kept up his pestering, eventually reaching to grab the woman's arm when she turned him down and looked away. As he did so, a flash of silver flicked out from her sleeve and danced under the bastard's chin for only a moment - almost too fast to see.

Art could not make out what was said, yet it was obviously enough to finally deter the man from his advances as he slunk away back to his table.

Strange. I know his strength. He could certainly outmatch me, let alone her.

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Sliding out of his seat, Art grabbed his mug of ale and pushed his way outside. He wrapped around to the back of the building to a spot tucked between the stables and the inn's kitchen. Rummaging in his filthy coat, he pulled out a leather pouch, dug for the last of his tobacco and perched on a stump.

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'Fuck. Now how am I going to find more of you in this icy hellhole?' He spoke to himself.

"Nasty habit, that." A rough, slurred voice spoke from the shadows by the stable.

Art jumped up, startled by the stranger's presence.

It did not last long. Bronn swaggered out of his shadowy hiding place and stumbled towards Art. He seemed to have found a wood axe somewhere among the stable gear, i, and itng in a lazy grip down by his side.

"Silly thing for a young lad like yourself to go wandering about in the dark like this. Might find... trouble if you're not careful." Bronn chuckled to himself.

"..."

"I know why you're here, boy. Sent away by that father of yours, sniffed a little too much and fucked a few too many, didn't you now?"

Art felt a lump growing in his throat, nerves taking hold of him.

"How?"

"How what?"

"How do you know?"

"News travels fast out of the Duke's castle, knew I had to get myself into that carriage nice and quick."

"..."

Bronn took a few steps toward Art, bringing them to an uncomfortable closeness.

"Your father damn near destroyed me life, boy. Him and those mighty morals. Took me job over some... some damn serving whore getting roughed up a bit." His tone was low and urgent, obviously spurred on by the drink in his system.

"So I thought, what better way to pay that old bastard back? And now we're here. I think his grace might appreciate your head dropped at his doorstep, don't you?"

Art was panicking now, he knew the man infront of him had to be a realm above him. The age difference alone ensured that fact. There was no chance of him escaping this unharmed, not with his complete lack of experience. He was too afraid to even move, let alone fight back.

Bronn took a step back and flashed a toothy grin, then swung his axe wide at Art's throat.

Time seemed to slow as the blow came in, inching closer and closer, all he could do was watch. Fear paralysed him, all the hours of training Jorin had forced him through at the castle were abandoned in a haze of nerves and confusion.

Suddenly, a dark blur moved in the corner of his vision, just out of Bronn's eyeline. It outpaced the axe swing with each millisecond, nearing closer and closer.

Art caught a glimpse of another flash of silver as the blurry mass collided with Bronn at an incredible speed, hammering into him and carrying him off into the shadows. The impact had split some part of the mans body open, splattering thick dark blood all over Art's face and throwing him back against the wall of the inn.

He lay there in the frosted grass, staring out at the shadows. They held a thin veil over the figure of the mysterious blur that had saved him. It hunched over Bronn's limp figure, its face close to his neck. Wet noises permeated the surrounding silence as the blur stayed knelt.

Is it... drinking his blood? Oh gods, what kind of beast is it?

The blur stood up. Satiated from its feast; it began moving toward him.

Still on the floor from the earlier blow, Art scrambled backwards as he tried to find his footing. He kept stumbling.

The mysterious creature slowly came into focused as it peeled out of the shadows. He saw its long black overcoat.

The hood was drawn over its head. A long black braid trailed out from under it.