The 'Slimy Toad' Inn

Close to where the road left the little town, on the main road leading North, there was the inn with the most famous beer in the region: the 'Slimy Toad'. Barliman, the barkeeper, is a short round man, red in the face, always redy and willing to talk and undisputed master of preparing roasted turkey in a kettle. There are plenty of seats in his inn, the beds are clean and the stables large. Who tires of the road, wants a good beer, a rich meal, a place to spend the night or just to find out the latest news stops by the inn.

It's a winter afternoon, a couple of days before the winter solstice. Piles of snow have covered the road and there a few chances for visitors to show up. The few small rooms, separated from the big hall, are empty. A fire cracks in the fireplace, but there are only a couple of customers, the usual ones from the village, seated at the tables nearby. They are content to lift their beers to their lips from time to time and to lead an interrupted, almost monosilabic conversation.

The frozen numbness that reignes outside has stretched over the people as well. Even the joyful Barliman seems lost in thought. He stands behind his counter, busily rubbing a beer glass with a clean cloth, not seeming to notice that it is already sparkling clean, reflecting the fire.

It would seem that the day will end in the same quiet as the previous one, without anything of notice happening in the little town.

Darkness had already descended over the town when the inn's door opened, rousing the little bell hanging above it in a happy jingle that contrasted strongly with the rather gloomy atmosphere in the inn. In the howling of the snowstorm outside, the few existing customers raised their glances to see who'd get out of the house in such a weather. However, the newcomer wasn't a local. A dark silhouette slipped in and shook the snow from the long, dark-green cloak that shielded it against the raging wind. The stranger withdrew to a table farther away in the shadows and sat down. Barliman quickly made his way to him.

"A beer... and a healthy dinner."

With this order, he sent the barkeeper away with a movement of his hand and steered his entire attention to the table in front of him. He was staring intently at the wooden knots in it, so that Barliman had no choice but to go to the counter to get the beer and to see to it that dinner was made ready.

Since the stranger didn't seem in the mood to talk, the locals had to content with studying him from a distance. Maybe they would've been less eager for conversation with him, had they known that the stranger was Thorn, thus called with spite, fear or admiration, for he was a thorn in the side of anyone who had too many coins in their bags or rings on their fingers with which they didn't want to part willingly. This was one of his many occupations. Another one had brought him to the Slimy Toad this night, though.

'Snowstorm, snowstorm, snowstorm... yuck! I have had it with this weather. I want a strong drink and some agreeable company so that my soul feels alive again'. That's what the Barbarian was muttering, wrapping his bearskin close around himself and bending forward as he marched. He had left his village three months ago. He was 21, and according to his clan's tradition he had to set out into the world to prove himself. He didn't mind the cold as much as the fact that because of it, he hadn't met a living soul on the road. He hated loneliness and for too long now that was all he had known.

His face began to glow when in the distance he saw the lights of a house. Coming near the sign above the door, he read "The Slimy Toad". 'Hmmm... As long as they don't serve them for dinner, it's okay'. Inside... various folk. 'Ah, the innkeeper'.

"A pot of beer and a well done roasted pig's calf", he said in a booming voice. The innkeeper cowered a bit in front of the bulk of the Barbarian in front of him, but he relaxed a bit... or tried to, seeing his friendly smile.

He sat down and drank eagerly from his beer, then he starting taking bites from the hunk of meat in front of him and thought: 'A woman is all I still need, then I'm ready for whatever comes my way.'

Thorn raised the cup to his lips and took a thoughtful sip. He seemed the only one unimpressed by the arrival of the Barbarian. He had seen his kind before, even if they hadn't seen him, when he had emptied a cave of their most precious furs. He had made some nice money then. The hint of a smile brightened his face a few moments at the thought of that memory, then he focused on the stranger again.

He measured him with his eyes and seemed satisfied. He was well built. And he didn't seem the kind who draws the axe out for every trifle. Brawns have their role, but it's better when they come with brains. Thorn motioned the innkeeper to bring him another beer and then leaned back, his eyes half-closed. The shadows in which he had sat down were covering him rather well and the stranger seemed to preoccupied with his meal to notice him. He got ready to wait in silence for the right moment to get his attention.

She entered quietly in the inn and her light steps, though with high-heels, were strangelly silent. You could see on her face that she was tired. Maybe she had been walking for a day, maybe she hadn't slept for a night... She breathed deeply and asked for a drink and a room. Then Rissa retired to a shadowy table to watch the others, easily hitting the table with her claws. 'Not exactly a distinguished world' she thought. She looked at the Barbarian, then at the elf-looking like one... 'I don't want anything of interest today'.

Strong paces could be heard from outside. Yeah, maybe a horserider... actually, only the horse. He tried to be gentle with the door, but losing his patience, he slammed it on the wall. All his back and legs were covered by a black cloak, the tail however had a strategic hole to come out. Under a wing he held a book (caught by some means) and on the other, an heavy scythe. He stood in the middle and slowly watched everybody... slowly, and deeply, like he was reading souls. He didn't care that it was not polite. Then he went to a table far in the back, placed the weapon nearby and slammed the book on the table. He asked for some akren'nia, and the innkeper brought him a small package with this thing. Ias placed one on his lips and light steam (not smoke) started to evapour. With one wing, he pointed something on a map from the book. The innkeeper nodded, he didn't know. Ias wasn't sure where to find that artifact. He could go mad soon....

concentrat asupra fripturii barbarul tresări deodată. auyul lui fin

Rissa:

The woman knew akren'nia. It was like a drug, but it didn't affect the body and it had the effect of truth serum. She didn't know the book, however. 'Something death.. you don't see too often a horse and a scythe'. On the other side, the Barbarians weren't strangers to her. 'A Barbarian can be a night-fun'... but she wasn't cool with the idea. 'One-night only... heh'. She relaxed in her chair.

Ias

The alicorn watched the map nervously and grew angry and tired. Then he placed his head in the book and like falling asleep, he covered the table with his wings. He was silent.

Suddenly the doorbell went off again. Most of the people in the inn raised their heads and they saw a man in a dark purple hooded cloak coming in and shaking off the snow without looking around. He went directly to the innkeeper, exchanged a few words, then sat down at a table in a corner. In a few moments, a well dressed fat man, sporting a big moustache came in. He sat down at the stranger's table and they started talking. Taking out a few objects, they seemed to be exchanging goods. Some of the locals talked of 'dirty business', but none dares say anything aloud. After about half an hour of whispered mutterings, the strangers got up and left.

Ias

A sudden cold came in. An assasin spoke with the innkeeper. Ias wasn't interested, though for the moment he did raise his head to look up front.

duro'than trase o ultimă duşca din halba de bere, se şterse la gură satisfăcut şi se ridică decis să dezlege misterul străinei. fu c