. . ......... My journey is my destination. . . . . |
Winter 512, the 17th day
"Well, petch", said a man whose face was hidden behind a grey hood. Snow was begining to fall around Aldavas, and once again there was no inn in sight. Cloth held tightly to body, the hooded figure's head whipped back and forth as it walked down the street. "There has to be something. Anything!". The man under the cloak cried out. He was met only with the muffled echo of his own voice as it danced off the empty street. The snow was falling harder now. Perhaps a blizzard was on its way. The man cringed slightly as he recalled the last blizzard he was in. Fear of a frosty death pushed his cold body foreward, stopping only to brace himself as the cruel iced wind blew through him. Each step reminded him of the time the cold had nearly taken his life, and each snowflake was a frigid claw reaching out to take his life. The man's breaths were heavy now with panic, his wild fearful eyes swept the streets. Am I to die? Out here in the cold, alone? No, I can't stop. There must be someplace! The man raced down the street, eying every building, looking for some reprieve from the blizzard's onslaught. A patch of ice on the ground stole his footing, and he fell hard. Tired, beaten, and terror stricken eyes looked up and down the street he had fallen before. A few building's down from where the man had fallen was a building with a sign. "The Withering Rose", the man read outloud to himself. A Tavern!, he had heard tale of this place but this was his first time seeing it. The cloaked man wasted no time standing up and running to its door. A tavern meant warmth, and wamrth meant that his body heat would rise, and his body heat rising meant....not death! The man fubbled with the door and a horrifying thought that the door was locked and the tavern was closed, crossed his mind. Short breaths of panic shot from the hood. It can't be closed. It can't be! By Caiyha's mercy PLEASE don't let it be clo- Click! His hand found the latch on the handle that he needed to press, and the man almost tumbled foreward due to the weight he had pushed against the door to open it. Stumbleing to find his footing, the man looked up to see half of the patron's and stare looking at him.
"Hehe, I'm glad you guys are open. What with the blizzard and all."
One woman gave the man a confused look and walked towards a window. She glanced quickly out side and then turned back to him. "There ain't nothing but a little snowfall outside." Under the hood the man's face turned so red that one might mistake it for a beet. Noticing his embarassment the women added, "Well I suppose it is heavier than most any other snow we got this winter." She looked him in the eyes. "Say, whats a young man like you doing alone in a place like this."
Pride wounded, the man looked out to see the eyes of the patrons on him and sheepishly replied, "My name is Svan, and it seems I'm your entertainment tonight."
"Well, petch", said a man whose face was hidden behind a grey hood. Snow was begining to fall around Aldavas, and once again there was no inn in sight. Cloth held tightly to body, the hooded figure's head whipped back and forth as it walked down the street. "There has to be something. Anything!". The man under the cloak cried out. He was met only with the muffled echo of his own voice as it danced off the empty street. The snow was falling harder now. Perhaps a blizzard was on its way. The man cringed slightly as he recalled the last blizzard he was in. Fear of a frosty death pushed his cold body foreward, stopping only to brace himself as the cruel iced wind blew through him. Each step reminded him of the time the cold had nearly taken his life, and each snowflake was a frigid claw reaching out to take his life. The man's breaths were heavy now with panic, his wild fearful eyes swept the streets. Am I to die? Out here in the cold, alone? No, I can't stop. There must be someplace! The man raced down the street, eying every building, looking for some reprieve from the blizzard's onslaught. A patch of ice on the ground stole his footing, and he fell hard. Tired, beaten, and terror stricken eyes looked up and down the street he had fallen before. A few building's down from where the man had fallen was a building with a sign. "The Withering Rose", the man read outloud to himself. A Tavern!, he had heard tale of this place but this was his first time seeing it. The cloaked man wasted no time standing up and running to its door. A tavern meant warmth, and wamrth meant that his body heat would rise, and his body heat rising meant....not death! The man fubbled with the door and a horrifying thought that the door was locked and the tavern was closed, crossed his mind. Short breaths of panic shot from the hood. It can't be closed. It can't be! By Caiyha's mercy PLEASE don't let it be clo- Click! His hand found the latch on the handle that he needed to press, and the man almost tumbled foreward due to the weight he had pushed against the door to open it. Stumbleing to find his footing, the man looked up to see half of the patron's and stare looking at him.
"Hehe, I'm glad you guys are open. What with the blizzard and all."
One woman gave the man a confused look and walked towards a window. She glanced quickly out side and then turned back to him. "There ain't nothing but a little snowfall outside." Under the hood the man's face turned so red that one might mistake it for a beet. Noticing his embarassment the women added, "Well I suppose it is heavier than most any other snow we got this winter." She looked him in the eyes. "Say, whats a young man like you doing alone in a place like this."
Pride wounded, the man looked out to see the eyes of the patrons on him and sheepishly replied, "My name is Svan, and it seems I'm your entertainment tonight."