Arctic winds of a midnight breeze swept over rolling hills of swaying grain that spread out as far as the eye could see. It flowed over grazing fields where slumbering cattle dreamed. On and on the winds blew, flowing unhindered until it came upon a great rift in the earth. A yawning chasm to the abyss and from its hungering maw came a pale hand that clung to the grasses beyond.
Autumn was birthed into the world, one wheezing breath after another.
For what felt like hours, she had climbed, timidly testing each unstable handhold or root to the top. She pushed through the pains and weight upon her until ultimately; she was free. Over the edge she crawled, moving as far away from the canyon as she could.
Shaking open leaden limbs, she collapsed into the grass and dirt. Her lungs burned within her aching chest as she panted. A laugh burbled up from within her. Forged of nervous panic and unbelieving terror. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she unleashed the maddened cry into the silent night.
Her only witness was an unfamiliar night sky and the two moons hanging in the ebony.
They were not the crooked moon of the Feywild with its twisting madness, but a more innocent, normal-looking pair. A white cratered moon sheltered a smaller blue one that was shyly peaking out from behind its brother. Untainted by light pollution, the stars shone brilliantly above, forming unknown constellations in the inky expanse above. A bright nebula of twisting red cosmic gasses filled the spaces between.
It was beautiful.
Autumn took her time just lying on the cool grass as she regained her wits and observed the alternative universe open to her.
Her admiration of the heavens had to end. Like a zombie, Autumn staggered to her feet. Every single muscle felt torn and bruised. Her thighs burned, her arms shook, and her back twitched with a painful rhythm.
Aching in pain, she took the time to scan her environment.
Under the bright moonlight, vast fields of pastureland and swaying crops greeted her. Hills rolled softly on, with only small clusters of trees breaking up the skyline. From what she could see, these woods were normally sized, at least for earth. They were not the vast city block-sized creations of the Feywild.
Autumn held onto the hope that they meant she was out of the maddening plane.
Herds of hulking animals watched Autumn warily, frightened by the cackling witch, who had suddenly sprouted forth from the ground. Twice as large as any cow she had seen, the bovine-looking creatures sported four massive horns and four glinting eyes.
Autumn avoided the large herds guarded by snorting bulls that distrustfully stared at the stranger.
Indications of domestication lay over the hills and fields; stone troughs of water dotted the hills and wooden tags hung about the beast’s necks. The strange symbols translated themselves to her. Each denoted a particular owner.
A twinkle of faint light shone in the darkness far off in the distance; a candle beckoning her weary bones. She hoped it was just a candle or campfire and not a lantern lure of some horrible creature; it was the last thing she needed.
As she stumbled her way forward, she didn’t notice the burning eyes filled with an unspeakable madness that stared at her retreating form.
The Fair Maiden watched as the young witch grew smaller and smaller.
Red eyes blinked open beside her, one after the other until the entire forest glittered with malevolent twinkling lights.
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Under the soft pale moonlight, the sight of a young witch stumbling through farms and fields would give any who saw it pause. Up and down hills and valleys, the figure had marched, dogging clusters of angry bovine landmines.
It was lucky for Autumn’s dignity that no one was around to see her as a dirt road caught her unawares and she impacted it with her face. The calm rather tempted her to just sleep here and rest her weary bones, but with the giant cows about, she was not keen on being trampled upon or eaten by the giant wolves that might hunt such beasts.
Regardless of the fact it had slapped her in the face, this sign of civilization encouraged Autumn.
Picking herself up, she followed the dusty road towards the light that grew ever closer.
Her lumbering pace brought her to a small rural village. Calling it a village was generous, as it only consisted of four medieval-looking homes built upon a crossroads. A rest stop for farmers on their way to a market. Well-kept herbal gardens sat in front of the homes and fires billowed within the walls, judging from the smoke that lazily escaped the tall chimneys into the brisk night air. One of the four homes was larger than the others. A single-story building dabbed in white sat facing the crossroads, the door at an angle. From the wall hung an old sign that had been painted with care many times over.
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Duskmoore Inn, it read.
Outside the inn, in a dusty yard, several well-worn tables sat with spilled tankards resting upon their surface.
Autumn’s parched mouth stung at the sight. Her water had run out long ago.
Within a window, the glow of the candlelight that had drawn this hungry moth still shone. From inside, the tantalizing smell of cooking meats wafted, causing her to salivate and her stomach to growl like a furious beast. Only a faint bustle of noise caught her ear in the dead of night; no one else seemed to stir within the hamlet.
With twigs filling her messy hair, Autumn stumbled through the door and into the welcoming warmth of the awaiting inn.
The air that greeted her was smokey with the sweet smell of incense and the lingering acrid pipe smoke of a lively evening. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the dim illumination cast by the low-burning candles set about the chamber. Thick cobblestone met her underfoot, worn smooth by footfalls and many spilled drinks. On the left-hand wall a stone fireplace cheerfully burned, warming her chilled skin, while an iron cauldron sat beside it, stained with the remains of a hearty dinner.
Autumn was too late for the evening service.
Sitting before the warm hearth was a massive fur rug of a creature Autumn had never seen before. Packed beside it were plentiful cushions. Glancing about, it seemed that these were the preferred seating, as the inn was devoid of chairs. The small dining room had several small low tables that were currently stacked to the sides of the room. Unclean plates and half-filled tankards of ale still lay scattered about, piled up and ready to be cleaned.
Above the burning fireplace sat a stuffed and mounted boar that gazed down upon the room, its savage tusks gleaming in the firelight.
To her right, as she entered, was a time-worn bar. Generations of spilled drinks had stained the wood. It separated the front dining from the back kitchens. Behind the bar were several shelves filled with drinks; wooden casks of ale and beer sat tantalizingly close, while glass bottles of wines and ciders reflected the dancing light of the fire.
Timidly, Autumn approached the weathered bar and cast a look at the closed door, where sounds of movement emerged.
Mounted upon the wall in pride of place as an enormous weapon that Autumn recognized as a polehammer; a type of two-handed Warhammer. An iron hammer head held a long-beaked hook upon its reverse. Each side was scratched from a lifetime of combat. The haft was made up of a bloody red hardwood, giving it a brutal aura. It was well-loved as it shone with lacquer in the firelight.
Three loud knocks reverberated upon the bar-top. Autumn flinched as in her exhausted state, she had knocked with more force than she had intended.
Immediately, the sounds that had been emerging from the back kitchen ceased before the sounds of loud footsteps approached.
Autumn regretted her actions as she waited as she knew she looked like a mess; mud and sap had coated both her clothes and her already impossible-to-untangle tresses, which had also formed into a birdnest of epic proportions. To make matters even worse, she hadn’t been able to shower or bathe in who knows how long.
It would be a look for sure.
As the owner of the footfalls and presumably the inn approached, Autumn shuffled in place. All too soon the backdoor opened with a slight creek and both occupants took in the sight of one another, blinking in surprise as they did so.
What surprised Autumn was that the woman before her wasn’t human. She didn’t know why she had been expecting that, given her track record so far.
A seven-foot-tall demonic woman greeted her eyes, full of red skin and pointed horns. The demoness wasn’t just tall but packed with rippling muscle as well that gleamed with sweat in the dim candlelight; a warrior’s build if Autumn had ever seen one.
From her forehead grew a pair of horns that curved out and upwards, making her seem even taller. They were a deeper red than the rest of her skin, almost black. From between them ran a head of shiny black hair, shaved at the sides but left messy on top, and trailed behind her in a braid. Her face was lit by the candles and fire in sharp relief. Her eyes were fully golden, without even the hint of a pupil, and faintly glowing. They sat above cheekbones sharp enough to cut with; it gave her a rather severe look that complemented her long elf-like ears.
A white top dusted with flour struggled to contain a set of mountainous breasts while a pair of tight red hide pants clung to herculean thighs larger than Autumn’s waist. Over top sat a loose cooking apron sat marred with food stains.
The Amazonian demoness eyed the gawking witch with trepidation and concern. It wasn’t every day a disheveled witch stumbled into her inn in the middle of the night. Resting her calloused hands on her waist, she waited for the witch to speak.
Autumn had never seen someone as large as this woman in all her life and had never seen a demoness aside from in art; she was a little lost. In all her excitement for civilization and the warmth of a meal, she had forgotten that she had little experience with conversation or talking to strangers, let alone an attractive demoness. So she just kinda stood there staring blankly up at the towering innkeeper as heat began creeping into her cheeks.
Luckily, her embarrassment was short-lived as the demoness broke the silence.
“Welcome to the Duskmoore Inn. It’s a bit late but I suppose I could cook something if you are hungry. Meals are twenty copper while a room is thirty. Hot water I’ll throw in for free.”
The demoness’ voice was rather rough but held a warmth to it, yet the sudden sound still made Autumn jump. Fumbling, she reached into her robes for her money pouch filled with those odd coins. Autumn had no clue as to their value or conversion, so she placed her bronze and a single silver upon the counter.
“Umm…are these coins any good here?”
Autumn’s voice was dry and scratchy.
The innkeeper picked up a bronze and examined it, turning it over to investigate the symbols on either side.
“No sorry. I’m no money lender. I can only accept empire coinage.”
The demoness apologized before sliding the coins back.
“You could probably get these exchanged in town.”
Seeing the distraught look upon the disheveled witch’s face, the demoness took pity on the girl and pointed to the bloody prize bound to the canvas pack.
“Tell you what, if you let me keep the skin off that Goldbrow, I’ll cook you up something with it and let you have a room too. Oh, and the name’s Nethlia. Friends call me Net.”