The door opened, letting the storm spray the room with rain, leaves and anything else it could carry. The lightning cast a large shadow into the room and one not so large. Their owners, Homen and Pep, stepped into a well filled room.
“Close the door already!” An angry fat man shouted, “if you were the ones to clean it up every time someone opens the door you'd understand why!”
The two remained calm, took a step forward and closed the door.
“You must be the innkeeper.” Homen walked up to him and extended his hand to greet him.
“And you must be new here. But yes, I am indeed the innkeeper, Ludor is the name. What do you want?”
Homen's hand was not met.
“Why would anyone in a storm like the present one enter an inn like this one?” Smiling he looked up at Ludor the innkeeper, for he was indeed the owner of the shorter shadow, “we simply want a room for the night.”
He held up a well filled pouch and Ludor's face lit up.
“Well you do know the way to my heart, and now that you mention it we do have available rooms for you and your...”
“Associate.”
“I am no one to ask questions, your business is yours alone.”
“We would also like to meet potential swords to come with us westwards when this storm has passed.”
“I see. I will bring the best we can offer.”
Homen and Pep were led upstairs to a room fit their gold, the room with the least amount of filth. Ludor left, gold in hand, to send word to every sellsword famous enough for their reputation to have reach Arad Don days before they actually stepped through a door to one of its many inns. During the night and the following morning several answered this call, never before had this inn's atmosphere been as tense as then. Fourteen men and three women, a group surely capable of taking down armies if enough gold was on the line. Every single one ready to kill the person in front of them, if the right price was paid.
Arad Don, the Red Harbour. This was the only place where merchants as well as mercenaries and cut-throats as these didn't have to keep an eye on the people around them. It was a safe haven. It was the place to turn to if you had large amounts of gold and a problem that could be solved by violence. One could hire whole armies or fleets, once again, for the right price. Everything could be bought here as its inhabitants were mostly people with an unending desire for gold and the complete lack of morals.
But the door of the potential costumers remained closed. The innkeeper's call had been promising enough for them to wait. A day passed and still the inhabitants of the upper room remained unseen, food and drink was brought to them and paid for so handsomely no one asked any questions.
The following day the storm was but a gathering of dark clouds disappearing towards the White Mountains, the door finally opened. Homen walked down the staircase to find a room full of eyes watching patiently, most of them anyway.
“Old man!” A man in the back stood up, “we have waited. The storm is gone and you'd better make sure our time here wasn't wasted!”
“Middle aged man.” He answered calmly, “get out of this inn or I will offer a temptingly large amount of coin to the one that dislodges your head the fastest.”
The man looked as several hands moved to their respective owner's weapons. Without a word he left, casting a last glance at the first man in almost twenty year to dare threaten him.
“Now, with that out of the way.” Still as calm he gestured for the remaining ones to form a line.
“These are the most respectable warriors and mages, the hireable ones that is, that you'll find.” The innkeeper walked up next to him, “not even I know which one to recommend, they are all worthy any amount of gold you choose to pay them.”
“How about the tall one?”
“Ah! You have a good eye. He is a famed warrior from the far eastern highlands, the blood run strong in him for his father too was a great warrior. He even...”
“Argabed imarni.” Hemon said and bowed lightly.
“Argabed orodet.” The mercenary answered and went down on one knee.
Ludor stood dumbfounded.
“You...” he began, “you know him?”
“No I do not know him. But I have travelled long among his people, a certain respect has formed, that is all.”
“I will go with you, asking nothing in return.” The offer came without the mercenary looking up, “I, Rúh, son of Bann, will protect you with my life.”
This didn't fall any lighter on Ludor's poor mind.
“Well seems like it is settled then. Thank you for coming.” Homen waved away the others who, without completely understanding what just happened, left the inn.
“Rise, Rúh, son of Bann.” He walked over to his newly acquired mercenary. “I appreciate your offer and trust you will live up to the praise this innkeeper spoke of you.”
“He will.” Ludor had gathered his thoughts, “that hammer is even more famous than the wielder’s name. No doubt Rúh can tell you of course.”
He added the last part after receiving a look from Homen that seemed kind, but the one that it was aimed at would easily notice the real meaning of it, he took a step back.
“I thank you too, you did well finding such a good follower for me and Pep. But as you surely can see I have no more business with you. We paid for the room and the food, so from my perspective you have no reason talking to me any more.”
All this with a smile and tone of voice that told Ludor that his services had been appreciated but if he had any will left to live it would be wise to mind his own business from now on.
“He speaks true, this sledge was my father's, it served him until his last breaths and was passed down to me.” Rúh picked up the thread, “it is called Diman.”
Diman was truly a beautiful weapon. It was a light grey color with the slightest hint of blue. Both faces had spikes in each of their four corners. The sides of the head had carvings picturing scenes of long forgotten battles. Its long carved handle equally beautiful. It all crowned by a spike, a hand's width tall, jutting out of the head.
“My father lived by the Frozen River, it runs from the town of the Hodekim down through the highlands where it turns west towards the sea. Amongst our people the Battle of the Brook marks the beginning of a new era, when the goblins and the trolls of the north were beaten and never again raided our lands.”
Homen walked over to a table, listening with great interest, and invited Rúh to join him.
“In that battle my father fought with Diman in hand.” His enthralling voice could've put any storyteller to shame, “during the day goblin archers had harassed the men gathered at the stream, the only place where one could cross the river for several days march north or south. But they all knew the attack would not yet come, they knew the goblins waited for reinforcements. As trolls cannot move during the day the real battle would not take place before the sun went down.”
Homen ordered two pints of the inn's best. Made it three as Pep had decided to finally join them. Then asked Rúh to continue.
“As the sun set they could see larger shapes moving amongst the trees across the stream, the trolls were awakening. Soon enough they stormed through the shallow water, but the men stood firm. They clashed and the losses were great on both sides, but they held the line. The goblins had chosen to let the troll attack alone, their brute force was expected to scatter our line, and indeed it did look grim. Rain began to fall. My father had been scouting further north when the attack had begun and was running back, but the night was dark and the rain made it hard for him to find the way. As he reached a large rock he walked up on in hope of seeing the battle, he was dismayed by what he saw, the trolls were winning. It was at that moment he raised Diman above his head and let out a war cry worthy of the old chieftains. He was not heard over the rain and the sound of the battle, but flashes of lightning lit the night sky behind him and his great shadow was cast upon the trolls. They all stopped and stared at this new foe and as he jumped down from the rock and ran towards them, sledgehammer on high. Many turned in fear, screaming names of fiendish gods in their foul language and the panic spread among them as many believed him to be a demon summoned by our men to aid them. As my father brought Diman down unto the fleeing trolls all knew the battle was won and the stream was safe again. But none could've hoped for my father's reputation to spread through the ranks of our enemies as it did. To this day no goblin nor troll has set foot close to the stream.”
Homen sat silent. He had enjoyed every second of listening to Rúh's story. Pep, hadn't been listening, he had missed the beginning and didn't bother trying to get up to speed. Instead he had tried to see how many pints he could empty, without forcing them down that is, before it ended. He had seven pints in front of him. He had calmly enjoyed each and every one of them. It had stopped at seven only because the innkeeper had began to refill the seventh one after he had lost a costumer because he had ran out of new pints.
“Rúh, son of Bann, I'll be honored to have you with us, Pep would too if he could convey such feelings.” Homen stood up, “we're leaving as soon as you are ready.”
He walked back to the their room. Rúh stayed, he had nothing but Diman, he needed nothing more. Pep stayed, asked for refills for all of the pints, he needed nothing more.
Homen soon came down the stairs, all his belongings in a bag over his right shoulder. He looked at his two associates, let out a smile that would've caused more questions than it answered if aimed at someone not a mercenary. Rúh stood up, grabbed his hammer and was ready to leave. Pep still sat, his back against Homen, he still had three pints left. Homen was used to this and walked out, Pep would catch up to them sooner or later. The sun was almost able to shine through the lingering clouds. He trusted Rúh with his life, there was no question about it. He felt safe to continue his travels, this was no change from before of course, but in his opinion safe was a good feeling. Homen walked on, the road stretched out beneath his feet.
He needed nothing more.
-RcaH
“And you must be new here. But yes, I am indeed the innkeeper, Ludor is the name. What do you want?”
Homen's hand was not met.
“Why would anyone in a storm like the present one enter an inn like this one?” Smiling he looked up at Ludor the innkeeper, for he was indeed the owner of the shorter shadow, “we simply want a room for the night.”
He held up a well filled pouch and Ludor's face lit up.
“Well you do know the way to my heart, and now that you mention it we do have available rooms for you and your...”
“Associate.”
“I am no one to ask questions, your business is yours alone.”
“We would also like to meet potential swords to come with us westwards when this storm has passed.”
“I see. I will bring the best we can offer.”
Homen and Pep were led upstairs to a room fit their gold, the room with the least amount of filth. Ludor left, gold in hand, to send word to every sellsword famous enough for their reputation to have reach Arad Don days before they actually stepped through a door to one of its many inns. During the night and the following morning several answered this call, never before had this inn's atmosphere been as tense as then. Fourteen men and three women, a group surely capable of taking down armies if enough gold was on the line. Every single one ready to kill the person in front of them, if the right price was paid.
Arad Don, the Red Harbour. This was the only place where merchants as well as mercenaries and cut-throats as these didn't have to keep an eye on the people around them. It was a safe haven. It was the place to turn to if you had large amounts of gold and a problem that could be solved by violence. One could hire whole armies or fleets, once again, for the right price. Everything could be bought here as its inhabitants were mostly people with an unending desire for gold and the complete lack of morals.
But the door of the potential costumers remained closed. The innkeeper's call had been promising enough for them to wait. A day passed and still the inhabitants of the upper room remained unseen, food and drink was brought to them and paid for so handsomely no one asked any questions.
The following day the storm was but a gathering of dark clouds disappearing towards the White Mountains, the door finally opened. Homen walked down the staircase to find a room full of eyes watching patiently, most of them anyway.
“Old man!” A man in the back stood up, “we have waited. The storm is gone and you'd better make sure our time here wasn't wasted!”
“Middle aged man.” He answered calmly, “get out of this inn or I will offer a temptingly large amount of coin to the one that dislodges your head the fastest.”
The man looked as several hands moved to their respective owner's weapons. Without a word he left, casting a last glance at the first man in almost twenty year to dare threaten him.
“Now, with that out of the way.” Still as calm he gestured for the remaining ones to form a line.
“These are the most respectable warriors and mages, the hireable ones that is, that you'll find.” The innkeeper walked up next to him, “not even I know which one to recommend, they are all worthy any amount of gold you choose to pay them.”
“How about the tall one?”
“Ah! You have a good eye. He is a famed warrior from the far eastern highlands, the blood run strong in him for his father too was a great warrior. He even...”
“Argabed imarni.” Hemon said and bowed lightly.
“Argabed orodet.” The mercenary answered and went down on one knee.
Ludor stood dumbfounded.
“You...” he began, “you know him?”
“No I do not know him. But I have travelled long among his people, a certain respect has formed, that is all.”
“I will go with you, asking nothing in return.” The offer came without the mercenary looking up, “I, Rúh, son of Bann, will protect you with my life.”
This didn't fall any lighter on Ludor's poor mind.
“Well seems like it is settled then. Thank you for coming.” Homen waved away the others who, without completely understanding what just happened, left the inn.
“Rise, Rúh, son of Bann.” He walked over to his newly acquired mercenary. “I appreciate your offer and trust you will live up to the praise this innkeeper spoke of you.”
“He will.” Ludor had gathered his thoughts, “that hammer is even more famous than the wielder’s name. No doubt Rúh can tell you of course.”
He added the last part after receiving a look from Homen that seemed kind, but the one that it was aimed at would easily notice the real meaning of it, he took a step back.
“I thank you too, you did well finding such a good follower for me and Pep. But as you surely can see I have no more business with you. We paid for the room and the food, so from my perspective you have no reason talking to me any more.”
All this with a smile and tone of voice that told Ludor that his services had been appreciated but if he had any will left to live it would be wise to mind his own business from now on.
“He speaks true, this sledge was my father's, it served him until his last breaths and was passed down to me.” Rúh picked up the thread, “it is called Diman.”
Diman was truly a beautiful weapon. It was a light grey color with the slightest hint of blue. Both faces had spikes in each of their four corners. The sides of the head had carvings picturing scenes of long forgotten battles. Its long carved handle equally beautiful. It all crowned by a spike, a hand's width tall, jutting out of the head.
“My father lived by the Frozen River, it runs from the town of the Hodekim down through the highlands where it turns west towards the sea. Amongst our people the Battle of the Brook marks the beginning of a new era, when the goblins and the trolls of the north were beaten and never again raided our lands.”
Homen walked over to a table, listening with great interest, and invited Rúh to join him.
“In that battle my father fought with Diman in hand.” His enthralling voice could've put any storyteller to shame, “during the day goblin archers had harassed the men gathered at the stream, the only place where one could cross the river for several days march north or south. But they all knew the attack would not yet come, they knew the goblins waited for reinforcements. As trolls cannot move during the day the real battle would not take place before the sun went down.”
Homen ordered two pints of the inn's best. Made it three as Pep had decided to finally join them. Then asked Rúh to continue.
“As the sun set they could see larger shapes moving amongst the trees across the stream, the trolls were awakening. Soon enough they stormed through the shallow water, but the men stood firm. They clashed and the losses were great on both sides, but they held the line. The goblins had chosen to let the troll attack alone, their brute force was expected to scatter our line, and indeed it did look grim. Rain began to fall. My father had been scouting further north when the attack had begun and was running back, but the night was dark and the rain made it hard for him to find the way. As he reached a large rock he walked up on in hope of seeing the battle, he was dismayed by what he saw, the trolls were winning. It was at that moment he raised Diman above his head and let out a war cry worthy of the old chieftains. He was not heard over the rain and the sound of the battle, but flashes of lightning lit the night sky behind him and his great shadow was cast upon the trolls. They all stopped and stared at this new foe and as he jumped down from the rock and ran towards them, sledgehammer on high. Many turned in fear, screaming names of fiendish gods in their foul language and the panic spread among them as many believed him to be a demon summoned by our men to aid them. As my father brought Diman down unto the fleeing trolls all knew the battle was won and the stream was safe again. But none could've hoped for my father's reputation to spread through the ranks of our enemies as it did. To this day no goblin nor troll has set foot close to the stream.”
Homen sat silent. He had enjoyed every second of listening to Rúh's story. Pep, hadn't been listening, he had missed the beginning and didn't bother trying to get up to speed. Instead he had tried to see how many pints he could empty, without forcing them down that is, before it ended. He had seven pints in front of him. He had calmly enjoyed each and every one of them. It had stopped at seven only because the innkeeper had began to refill the seventh one after he had lost a costumer because he had ran out of new pints.
“Rúh, son of Bann, I'll be honored to have you with us, Pep would too if he could convey such feelings.” Homen stood up, “we're leaving as soon as you are ready.”
He walked back to the their room. Rúh stayed, he had nothing but Diman, he needed nothing more. Pep stayed, asked for refills for all of the pints, he needed nothing more.
Homen soon came down the stairs, all his belongings in a bag over his right shoulder. He looked at his two associates, let out a smile that would've caused more questions than it answered if aimed at someone not a mercenary. Rúh stood up, grabbed his hammer and was ready to leave. Pep still sat, his back against Homen, he still had three pints left. Homen was used to this and walked out, Pep would catch up to them sooner or later. The sun was almost able to shine through the lingering clouds. He trusted Rúh with his life, there was no question about it. He felt safe to continue his travels, this was no change from before of course, but in his opinion safe was a good feeling. Homen walked on, the road stretched out beneath his feet.
He needed nothing more.
-RcaH
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