Cedric stepped into the “Huntsman’s Haunt” Inn and immediately felt like he was home. It was clean, with a wooden furniture and a few patrons sitting around relaxing, many of them eating and drinking, and the ambient noise of their chatting filled him with the sense of people relaxed. The smell of warm, freshly baked bread seemed to fill the space, and the clink of glassware was a welcoming sound. He felt like he could just sit down and let it wash over him, and spend hours just soaking it up, preferably with a drink of his own. The bar sat against the far wall, where a tall half orc was pulling a beer for a waiting dwarf, and the two chatted amicably while the mug filled with the honey coloured ale. Despite it being midday, a few candles were lit both on the tables and against the walls, illuminating the multitude of hunting trophies and tapestries depicting huntsmen on quests that lined them. A well worn staircase led up, where Cedric was sure that the rooms would be equally used but clean.
He’d come across the inn while heading to the market square. He’d taken a wrong turn, but followed his ears to the bustling and noisy commerce hub. While approaching the square from the wrong direction, following a minor, but still big and almost crowded road, he’d come across the lodge in sight of the square. It was placed slightly back on the road, leaving it a little quieter than some of the other inns he could see in the distance, all of which had a constant stream of patrons going in and out. But what had really attracted him to the building was the carved and painted sign above the door that read “a home for adventurers, workman and hunters. Those that work are welcome!” Cedric’s hand had wandered to the hammer at his chest, and thought of The Smith, whom it represented. The minor diety who forged day and night to make the weapons and tools of the other gods. The Smith was often given the moniker of “The one who worked”. Cedric had felt his mind was made up, and before he knew it his feet seemed to take on a life of their own, and he was standing in the doorway. As he was pushing open the well oiled door, he glanced up and his mouth curved upwards into a small grin. He spotted the symbols for a bathhouse, a bar and a kitchen, and felt himself grow more confident he’d found the right place. The thought of finally washing the road dust off himself filled him with a glimmer of excitement.
“Welcome in!” the half orc acknowledged him with a polite but quick call, before turning back to his customer to take payment. Cedric wandered over to the counter. “How are you today, my friend?” the half orc asked, turning towards Cedric as the other dwarf lumbered off with an ale mug in each hand, back to his waiting friend. The half orc paused upon seeing Cedric, and adjusted the spectacles he was wearing. “Uhh…sorry mate” the man began, his accent slipping from professional to a more casual one, and Cedric suddenly remembered he looked so grubby that even the guards told him he needed a bath. The half orc cleared his throat quickly, and Cedric opened his mouth to speak, but the other man beat him to it. “Be welcome in these halls, cleric and may your labors stay prosperous” the barkeep said, in a deep, clear voice, that had clearly rehearsed the line many times.
Cedric’s mouth stayed open, but this time in surprise. The Smith was a minor diety, but a well known one. Despite that, he did tend to get lost among the sea of other minor gods and dieties across the land. Most people would recognize his symbol, but the traditional greeting was not something to be expected, especially on the other side of the continent from the center of it’s worship, and in a port city no less, with plenty of sea and storm gods to choose from. “Sorry again, friend” the barkeep continued, this time back in a more casual tone. “We don’t get many clerics of the Smith here, but the owner insists we welcome them properly. I forgot the words for a second, to tell you the truth.”
“Not at all! I was just a little surprised, but not…not in a bad way. I haven’t been greeted like that since I left home, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it. It’s uh, it’s been a long road” Cedric forced out, punctuating the last statement with a quick gesture at his travel worn clothes, his voice slightly rasping with emotion. He felt off guard and even strangely emotional at the greeting, along with the feeling of welcom the inn was invoking in him. “I do appreciate it though. I was hoping to get a room for a few nights, but potentially longer, and a bath as soon as possible. I was also hoping to get a hot meal and something to drink”.
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The half orc grinned, which showed off his tusks in a way that reminded Cedric of a predator. But it reached his eyes, which were filled with the satisfaction he’d had himself plenty of times. It was the joy of knowing that you could fulfill a request, and it was what the clergy of The Smith taught of as a sign you’d spoken well.
“That I can do. My name’s Olric. We’ll get you sorted!”
The conversation swiftly delved into an introduction and quick rundown of the inn's prices. Reasonable and well within Cedric’s budget, but he was well aware he had to begin working sooner rather than later. Another bartender, this time a human woman with long reddish brown hair and stern eyes, had jumped behind the bar, so Olric offered to show Cedric to his room personally, and then guide him to the small bathhouse the inn boasted. Olric paused at the foot of the steps, twirling a key on a ring in his finger. “One thing though…and I’m sorry if this is too blunt” Cedric paused, wondering if he’d be asked again about his age, or perhaps what he was doing in the city, or maybe why a cleric of The Smith was in an adventurer inn. “There’s free soap in the washroom. A lot of people feel odd about helping themselves. Please, just…use it. You smell awful” then Olric turned on his heel and started walking, and Cedric hefted his bag and followed, nodding to himself. He really couldn’t wait to get clean.
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Later that night, with a full belly and about a pound of dust and road grime gone from his skin, Cedric lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows cast by the small candle that was slowly burning down, as he felt his mind wander. Have I made the right call? He pondered to himself. The room was small; a bed, a small wardrobe and a desk and chair with barely any space to move, but it felt palatial compared to what he’d grown up with. I felt so sure about what I wanted, and I’ve worked hard, but what if I’m not enough? What if I become an adventurer and mess up? What if somebody gets killed? He felt the thoughts start to buzz around, and become more insistant as they started to consume him. What if I’m not good enough? What if I wasn’t paying attention during my studies and I lucked my way into being a cleric? What if I did make it, but being a cleric isn’t enough? What if I cause somebody else to go through…that? He felt the thoughts finish closing in, taking up every inch of his mind. He started to feel the heat on his skin again, and felt like he could hear the yelling, snarling and clashing of steel. It was dull, as if it was far away, but it felt like it was getting closer. If I let somebody else go through that I couldn’t live with myself. He felt his mind whirl, and his heart’s pace quicken.
He shoved the covers back, and sat up on the bed, back as straight as if there was an iron ramrod in place of his spine. But that hasn’t happened yet. He let that thought echo in his head. "But that hasn't happened yet" he intoned, this time out loud. Cedric closed his eyes, and pushed the ruminations to the side. He knew from bitter experience that they wouldn’t go away that easily, but this wasn’t his first night struggling with insomnia. He felt the thoughts still there, and he tried to ignore them. It wasn’t easy. It was like having a wolf in the room with him. One that he knew was watching him, and knew he knew, but the moment he looked at it it would leap at him and gobble him up, never to be seen again. He grabbed his belt from where it sat slung over the chair, and started to polish it with a cloth he pulled from his traveling pack. Eight revolutions clockwise. Eight counter clockwise. Dust the leather one way. Dust it the other. Flip it over, and wipe it off there. Now repeat.
He felt the rhythmic motions fill him. It was an old ritual, but one that he’d been doing for years. It changed from time to time, but what mattered was the intention, and the slow, deliberate movements. As he felt himself ease into the work, it felt easier and easier to keep the ruminations at bay. He focused on his hand and the cloth, and the feeling of each finger connecting to his palm, connecting to his wrist, and how he could use them to move the cloth. After a while he lay down again, pulling the blankets up close, and this time he felt sleep come easily.
“Whatever happens, happens. And I need to take it as it comes” he whispered to himself, as he his eyelids started to pull closed, feeling like they were suddenly filled with lead. As he drifted off to sleep, even he thought his voice sounded shaky and unconvincing.