Without success, and colder than they’ve ever been, the Franclan and Robard made their way to the Plath Inn. By now the sun had almost gone down entirely and the storm still persisted.
The Inn was older than anyone could remember, and was made of large white pine logs thicker than any other building in town. Its windows were massive, and may very well have been the most expensive thing left in Plath. It was a fortress, a comfort, and the pride of the village. It was one of the last nice things they had left, and Franclan and Robard were generally unwelcome.
Franclan opened the door and they quietly entered, hoping not to draw too much attention. Unfortunately, Robard’s failure to close the door in a timely manner invited a large draft of cold air, alerting all the patrons who at once and unison yelled “Shut the damn door!”
Harbeld, the stocky and seemingly always grumpy Innkeeper squinted his eyes to see who had entered. With a sigh, he set down the mug he was washing and approached. “Gentlemen, as I’ve told you before: You can’t loiter without purchase. One drink per hour at minimum, and absolutely no mischief. It’s been a long day for everyone, and we’re no exception.”
The Inn was fairly quiet that night. Most of the villagers didn’t want to brave the cold, and certainly didn’t want to walk home half-drunken to a house with a cold hearth. A few folks they didn’t recognize from out of town sat around a table in the far corner. Mira the tavern wench sat at their table between fetching rounds of drinks, no doubt trying to interest them in the extra services she offered. Ralf, the suave calico cat sat by the window as if he owned the place.
“Little job-stealing motherfucker.” Franclan said as he looked at the cat.
“Ignore him sweet little Ralfie, he’s just jealous.” Robard assured the cat as he pet him.
“What brings you boys in this late anyhow?” Asked the Harbeld.
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Franclan explained in no short detail the events of the evening, hoping to gain a bit of sympathy while Robard sat next to the window, Ralf now purring on his lap.
One of the men from out of town, a large ugly man who’s ego was now propped up by ale and Mira’s charm, offered some sarcastic advice. “When we arrived yesterday we passed by a black gate beyond which there was a path with several intricate iron torches alight, guiding the path back to a large house with smoke billowing from the chimney. Perhaps the resident may have some fuel to trade for the services of a couple rat catchers.”
“That’s the Manse of Ignatius!” Harbeld interjected. “He’s a cruel, twisted and vengeful wizard of flame. Surely he expels encroaching rodents with fire and while has flame aplenty he is not known to be charitable.” Harbeld paused for a moment to catch his breath. “But yes, I agree, I think the two of you ought to go investigate. Perhaps in his old age he’s found mercy.” He said with a satisfied smirk.
Franclan and Robard had heard stories about Ignatius. The kind of stories mothers would scare their into good behavior with. Robard’s own father, Bobard, even claimed that as a youth Ignatius had lit his hair afire for simply loitering about the gate.
Franclan stood proud. “I’m not afraid of some saggy old fireball tosser! It’s probably a bunch of made-up bullshit anyways. Let’s go see if he needs our services, Robard.”
Robard hesitated. “Franc, are you sure? They say he can scorch a human just by looking at him.”
“Stop being such a pussy. If we get scorched, at least we won’t be cold anymore.”
Robard looked uneasy but reluctantly agreed.
The Innkeeper, still smirking, offered one last piece of encouragement: “Aye, Franclan! If anyone can outwit that old wizard, it’s surely you!”
An out-of-towner piled on top: “Best of luck, boys. I’m sure Ignatius is just dying for some company.”
“Fuck off, cowards. We’ll be back within the hour to show you how we’ll we’ve made out. Let’s go Robard” Franclan said as he stood and made his way towards the door.
Under his breath, Robard said “You always say that Franc, but we always end up worse off than when we left.”