Barrel strained his eyes and leapt back with a loud, bellowing burp as something came into view on the right. The horses stopped abruptly- obeying his ungodly command without fail, as they always did. Asrael was yet to decipher the mystery of the small, fat man’s psychomancy, but the reasons for the abrupt stop were made clear as he looked to his left and saw the faint outline of something in the mist.
Neda shifted around where she sat with one knee on either side of his lap and looked deep into his eyes with a dreamy expression- poking herself with the rigid protrusion in Asrael’s pants, while Ellie sat in the corner and shielded her pained hand and elbow.
“T-that’s...” Kester strained his eyes at the end of the cart and saw a sign at the front of the tall, wooden building stating: “The Rotten Lung”. He gasped as he realized: “That’s an inn! Assie- it's an inn!” The two hands Asrael had used to keep the woman relatively at bay tightened around her hips to provoke a pleasured moan as the necromancer heard yet another perversion of his name.
“That may well be, but my name is not Assie and how do you know what-” Kester did not wait for his scolding. Instead, he jumped down from the ledge and stretched his pained legs- soon to be followed by the whimpering Ellie. Both disappeared into the fog- leaving Barrel to check on his horses, while Neda preoccupied herself with her displeasured mount. He pinched the bridge of his nose and briefly pondered conversing with the harlot.
Over the course of their journey, the girl had become nearly intolerable in her advances- touching him and making her unwelcomed comments at every occasion. When she steadied her grip on his shoulders, he could no longer contain himself from asking: “What is wrong with you? Ever since we left Pilta, you have been-…” She formed an o with her lips and cocked her head, as if not understanding his question. Then again, he was no expert in the female reproductive season, so he imagined it might be a normal finding.
“Are you in season? Might I get you a scratching-post? Better yet, perhaps I should get Kester?” This earned him a reaction, in the least. She folded her arms and sat down on his member- painfully bending it against his thigh.
“I don’t understand what any of that means. Can’t you just... y’know... make me your pa’namph, already?” He still had not discovered what, exactly, that word meant- nor did he care to. But the suggestion was clear. In an uncharacteristically patient maneuver, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head with a solemn frown.
“That will not happen.” Again, she looked away to scoff and mumbled: “You’d do it with that thing and not with me?” Asrael dropped his jaw and raised a finger to poke her forehead with a fierce grimace.
“I did not willingly do anything with her! Must I remind you that Lita can warp one’s mind with minimal effort!?” This time, it was Neda’s turn to gasp and shouted: “You use her name now!?” He rolled his eyes and attempted to push her off of his lap, but to no avail. She doubled down and locked her legs around his knees- determined to see this conversation through.
She accused: “You love her, don’t you!? Is that it!?” Asrael intensified his efforts to free himself of the crazed blightlander while shouting: “No! I do not love her- I still despise her as much as ever! But the vision-”
“Here we go again with your vision! I don’t care about your vision- I don’t care about her! I just want you to convince me you don’t have feelings for her! Give me something, Assie!” Had he been wise, he might’ve said he had feelings for the white-haired intruder that had warped his mind, but something about making such a blatantly disingenuous statement felt peculiarly... wrong.
“And how would I go about doing that!?” Asrael questioned.
“Bart and Maribelle said that eating together’s a good activity for a pair. I’ll let you go if you eat with me- in there. Maybe you could try to convince me, then.” Was that all? He ceased struggling for long enough to signal his defeat with a cautious nod. His green eyes met the hopeful red as he spoke: “Fine. I would very much like to spend the night, either way. Eleanor’s skin is blistering and I believe Kester may be at the end of his wits... not that you are much better off than either of them.” Neda leaned back to clap her hands together excitedly and stood up to extend a hand towards the necromancer.
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“Deal!” She shouted as she helped him to his feet and set off after the other two- leaving Asrael in the company of the driver, the horses and the camel.
Stepping out from beneath the woolen blanket was an uncomfortable sensation, as the drizzle immediately began to pelt his cold, pale skin with the freezing droplets. He jumped down to the permanent mud and looked to either side of the road to find that there were, in fact, several buildings around their cart.
“Barrel... where are we?” Asrael questioned his associate. Barrel jumped in place in a brave attempt to loosen the harness of one of his horses, jiggling his entire, wet body as he leapt. Following a burp towards the camel, Yurgen took lazy steps over to bite the small, fat man’s pants and provide him with the boost necessary to reach the metal implements embedded in the leather. As he loosened the buckles, Barrel informed:
“I tink we in Grummer. Hard to tell wif de fog.” Barrel spoke and jumped back down to the mud to allow the camel to help him on the next set of buckles. Asrael bit on his lower lip and closed his eyes to focus on the webwork of foreign memories beyond his own mind. They were close- another day, at most.
“You ever been here?” Barrel continued. Asrael nodded- he most definitively had, at some point in his late childhood, but when- he hadn’t a clue.
“My Master used to take me with him whenever he travelled for his research. I’ve been most places around the Empire, but I cannot remember a place so... foggy.” Barrel’s flesh jiggled as he nodded in turn.
“Ye, boss. Weather’s more extreme after dem rifts opened. Dis town ain’t so small, so is strange we ‘avnt seen much ufit.” Indeed, Asrael did find it strange that the inn would be the first they’d see of the town, but struck the thought away as Barrel let loose another series of burps to his horses- ordering them to follow after him to where he imagined the stables would be.
Determined not to lose any more of his precious intellect in talking to their driver, he bid the small, fat man adieu with a dismissive wave and set after his companions- up the half-rotten steps and paused before the door to look through the glass. Curiously, the interior of the inn seemed as warm as it seemed cozy- however derelict, save for a fine counter and a glass pane over a display of cakes and foods. In there, he saw his companions- two of whom eyed him with their usual apathy, whereas the third- the blightlander, waved at him and nearly bared her breasts with her enthusiastic motions of her hand.
He swung the door open and was immediately struck by how clear the interior was. He could see clear across the inn’s firelit atmosphere- past the numerous, well-tended-to tables and out the misty window on the other side. The air was warm and dry as he stepped in and hurriedly closed the door in his wake to take a deep breath through his nose. The atmosphere had a taste- pastries, sweet pastries and cooking meats, somewhere beyond the counter. It was eerily reminiscent of somewhere he had been before, but could not properly place where and how he knew that smell.
“Assie! Come look!” Neda yelled as the necromancer approached from her side to look beyond the counter, where a beautiful, young woman smiled back at them- awaiting their order. Behind the golden-haired, brown-eyed woman with the kindly smile, a rugged, old baker was in the middle of filling custard into buns by the use of a conical instrument with a bag in its back.
Asrael rolled his eyes and stepped up to the counter- momentarily frightening the girl with his unsightly appearance. “We are cold and wet. We need rooms for the night- how many can you spare?” She blinked several times- hoping they were jesting. She wondered for a moment, whether she could turn the unsightly stranger and his bare-chested, dark-eyed companion away, but a glance at the young girl with her shattered arm melted her heart.
“I-I’ve got three rooms, Sir... T-there's another tavern down the road, maybe you-” Asrael shook his hand dismissively before his head and reached into his coat to retrieve one of the many pouches of golden coins they had liberated from Titus’ Garrison. He slung the soaked, worn, leather pouch to the finely polished, varnished countertop and muttered: “Two nights should be enough for Kester to dry and repair my clothes. Perhaps, in the meantime, we can find a proper, working carriage.”
“T-two...” The barmaid swallowed and looked down at the pouch of coins with dread, all the while feeling the boring, dark eyes from the bare-chested, muscled man. Neda excitedly leaned over the countertop to watch the joyous baker insert the apparatus into the bun and squeeze it full of the whiteish cream. The sight made her feel... odd. Hungry, yes, but it also made her feel comfortably warm in her lower abdomen. Looking over her shoulder, she locked eyes with the terror-stricken necromancer whose hopes were that she would not say anything to further unnerve the pale, terror-stricken barmaid.
As if she could sense it, she leapt over the distance between them- clacking her worn shoes against the wooden floor to whisper into his ear: “After we've eaten, maybe you could treat me like that bun.” Naturally, her lack of grace was as pronounced as ever- shocking the baker and the maid alike. Ellie- ever the diplomat, forced her lips into a warm smile and moaned- exaggerating the pain in her hand until the attention faded from the mismatched couple. Safe, in the knowing that this, would be a long couple of days.