1.32

“Excuse me, could you please point me and my companions in the direction of the tavern? We’re not from around here and we’re looking for somewhere to say.” Bodwyn had asked one of the town guards.

The town guard was a youthful looking elven man. His skin was awash with a sallow complexion, and he looked uncomfortable in the basic ring mail armour that was the uniform of the guard. A clumsy looking buckler was strapped to his wrist and a small wooden club dangled from his waist. His solid purple eyes looked like he was glad to have momentary company.

“Err yes. Well that would depend on which one you want to go to. You see there’s two here at Deer’s Point. There’s The Boiling Pot, known for its amazing, weekly potluck soup. I’m gonna go there after my shift tonight. It’s a little more friendlier of the two, the kind that you don’t feel like you’re looking over your shoulder every thirty seconds, if you know what I mean.” An awkward chuckle escaped from between his teeth.

“And what about the other one, a little more dangerous is it?” Bodwyn pressed.

“I wouldn’t recommend it to new visitors, although.” He leaned past Bodwyn and sized up the rest of the group. “You do look like you could hold your own, if something were to happen.”

“I’m sure we could.” Bodwyn cracked a smile and put his hands on his hips.

“So the other one, which I still don’t recommend, is called Winter’s Grasp. There’s some strange magic with that one. Its always freezing, no matter what. My friend Keena swears she saw a ghost there once. One of the patrons probably died there.” Another chuckle escaped his mouth, but with a nervous sound this time.

“Thank you.” Bodwyn let the words hang for a moment, waiting for the guard to respond with his name.

“Logwenne.” The elf smiled as Bodwyn shook his hand.

“Thank you Logwenne. My name is Bodwyn, hey what do you know, our names almost rhyme. And these are my pals Fenrick, Sharampf and Tad. You have a good day.”

Logwenne was so taken by the kindness displayed by the leporid, he failed to notice his coin pouch was taken from his side.

“Thanks for that, please, take this.” Fenrick shook Logwenne’s hand and palmed him a small handkerchief that held twenty gold coins.

As the party walked away from the stunned guard, Sharampf dropped in step with Bodwyn and watched as he tucked the small pouch under his vest. She was certain she had seen him take it, and now her suspicions had been confirmed.

“Did you just take his coin pouch?” Annoyance in her tone.

“Yes, yes I did.” Bodwyn was amazed that he so easily told Sharampf the truth.

“But why?” Sharampf’s face showed a look of concern to her friend. Not in judgement, but in trying to understand.

“I don’t know. It’s just been a bad habit of mine all my life. It started off out of necessity, so I could afford to live.” Bodwyn turned away from her and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Well I don’t think it’s something you should be doing, moving forward. They’re honest people you’re taking from. You should give that pouch back to the guard.” Sharampf’s face twisted to a scowl.

“Unless there’s something personal inside it, I wouldn’t bother. I gave him more than enough money to cover what Bodwyn took, and then some,” huffed Fenrick.

Bodwyn opened the coin pouch and noticed there was only a few copper coins. He didn’t see anything else that could be of value and so he pocketed it under the glaring eyes of the gnome.

“No harm done.” An awkward smile crept along his face. Quickly, he spun around and headed in the direction of Winter’s Grasp.

“Has he done that much since we’ve been a group?” Sharampf asked Fenrick incredulously.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Fenrick lied between his teeth.

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“I’m gonna keep a closer eye on him. I don’t agree with it. What’s done is done, but no more.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Fenrick, Sharampf, and Tad followed after Bodwyn.

When the part arrived at Winter’s Grasp, they could see how it got its name. The building, unlike the rest of the town, was rundown. Where a lot of the buildings of Deer’s Point had started to use bricks mixed in with their timber, Winter’s Grasp was cobbled together with grey, stone blocks.

Moss covered a lot of the stonework. The tavern was covered in so many spiderwebs, people thought it was the webs that kept the building together. A single lamppost with a burning orange flame stood next to the rotting door. Whatever kind of picture used to be on the sign was heavily faded.

“Not exactly a welcoming sight, is it?” said Bodwyn. He refused to look at his companions, afraid that they had been judging him.

“Out of the two that Keelan told us about, why did we choose this one?” Sharampf asked.

“Because it’s the shadier of the two. Most likely gonna find someone here that rubs shoulders with the criminal underground,” said Fenrick.

“You don’t reckon Keelan would’ve known?” suggested Sharampf. “He is a guard, surely he knows things.”

“Hank was brought here against his will. It’d be secret, hush hush kind of stuff,” informed Fenrick.

“Check out the windows, they’re covered in frost,” said Bodwyn. “Why would someone put an enchantment on this place to always stay cold? It’d keep possible business away.”

“Some would be attracted by the novelty of it all, I suppose,” said Fenrick.

“Probably keeps the snobby rich away?” posed Bodwyn.

“We’ll have to be careful in here.” Sharampf tensed up as Fenrick pushed the door open. “Keep a close eye on our pouches.” Bodwyn felt Sharampf’s eyes bore into the back of his head.

Though the exterior of the tavern was quite run down, the interior looked much better.

The tavern was dimly lit by floating candles that never melted and a fireplace in the corner. It was just enough light for people to see where they were going, but facial features at a distance would’ve been unrecognisable.

A stuffy musk permeated the single room, mixed with the frosty cold, there was an unsettled atmosphere that hung about the air.

The overcrowded room that had been bursting with rowdy laughter and conversation turned dead silent as the room eyed the new customers.

Bodwyn was sure he saw some glints of gold in people’s mouths and the fur at the back of his neck stood on end.

Fenrick barged through his companions and immediately approached the bar. A gruff looking gremlin stood behind the bar. Large tusks protruded from his lower jaw, and he was cleaning a grimy mug with a stained cloth. A loose-fitting apron hung from his body.

“Your lot don’t look like the usual type what belongs here,” growled the gremlin. Fenrick felt all of the eyes in the room upon him.

“A round of drinks for everyone.” Fenrick slammed his coin pouch on the bar top and grinned at the gremlin.

“Oi, youse all heard the little fella, drinks for all!” the tavern roared with a harmonious cheer. They all raised their mugs in the air and Sharampf and Bodwyn were shocked to see the mugs magically fill.

“I’m wondering if you can help me.” Fenrick had waited for the row to return, and his group were no longer the focus.

“Oh yeah? Smart move with the drinks. Wachoo after?”

“I need you to keep this quiet, please.” Fenrick handed the relevant gold needed for the drinks, then handed over another three pieces.

“Yup.” The gremlin pocketed the three gold pieces and didn’t move his eyes off Fenrick.

“Looking for someone who’s tied up in some dodgy stuff. Brought back here against his will. His name is Hank.” The gremlin’s eyes lit up at mention of Hank. “You know him?” Fenrick leaned in slightly. Bodwyn, Sharampf and Tad joined him at the bar.

“I knew him, thought he was dead?” Fenrick registered the gremlin’s genuine look of surprise.

“No, I can assure you he’s not.”

“Well, if he’s back here, it’d be because of Ianthe. She’s someone you don’t want to mess with. Seems to revel in violence. Scares everyone she does.”

“And where can I find this Ianthe?” Fenrick asked.

“You want to find her? Are you crazy?”

“We promised someone we’d rescue Hank.”

“Hope you’re getting paid well for it.”

“We’re not,” said Bodwyn.

“What can you tell us about her?” Fenrick asked.

“Not much. But over there, in the corner, is one of her compatriots.” He gremlin pointed to a sole figure in the corner of the room. “If you can convince him right, he’ll take you there willingly, if not, don’t be surprised if you go to her knocked out.” Fenrick and the others headed toward the figure.

As they approached him, he refused to look at them. For a rough and tumble tavern, the human male was remarkably well dressed.

He wore a long sleeve white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just short of his elbows. Over the top was a red vest with brass buttons that covered a black, narrow tie. Black pants with pinstripes ended with brown leather shoes. A thin moustache lined under his crooked nose that looked as if it had taken a few beatings. A combed and parted haircut finished the clean-cut look. An unlit cigarette hung between his taut lips.

“You know Ianthe?” Fenrick asked. The man cocked his head and looked at the group.

“That’s a very specific question.” He rest his hands on the table in front of him and Fenrick noted the mangled and calloused hands of a fighter, and he looked young, late twenties at most.

“We’re looking for Hank, a favour to someone who cares about him.” Fenrick’s own baleful eyes levelled with the man’s eyes, one brown and one yellow.

“You’re looking for trouble?” the man clicked his hands and a little flame sparked to life and lit his cigarette.

“If it has to be that way, then we are.” Fenrick could feel the tension rise in his friends. Tad nudged his knee. The man stared at Fenrick and then looked at the others.

“Okay, follow me.” The man stood and left the tavern with four followers.