00 → OOC: Second Birth Dream
A puff of smoke blew from the brazier by the door. A draft of wind danced a scarlet glow across the burning coals. The newcomer, wrapped in a wide-brimmed hat and travel-stained cloak, stirred the dank air in the common room with his arrival. Spatters of rain struck the threshold. Somewhere on the bruise-coloured horizon, thunder rumbled.
The wayside inn was abraded by age, the tiled floor grooved and greyed by the shoes of ten thousand wayfarers. Lantern and brazier smoke had darkened the walls and ceiling. Low tables of rough-hewn wood stood clustered across the rush-covered floor, hemmed with hempen cushions that served as seats. Heated wine and tea were carried to the few patrons seeking shelter from the storm, with bowls of rice to fill their bellies and warm against the cold.
"Fine autumn storm," said a raspy woman's voice. She sat her table alone, her wild cascade of red hair sheened by the candlelight.
"It is," the newcomer agreed. He seated himself near the door beside the brazier. The hands he extended into the heat were sun-browned and cracked with fresh scars.
"The dragon god's restless," muttered a man in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders hunched so he sat hump-backed over his half-devoured supper.
Voices broke out; laughter rose to float husky and merry above the braziers.
"There's a mummer! Will you prance for us, too?"
"How deep into that jug are you, friend?"
A group of four or five men were still chuckling into their wine cups. They were sun-stained and battle-hardened, bristling with weapons and the marks of glory and suffering.
"The dragons are gone, talespinner," one of them said in a gentler timbre. "Gone to swim in the sky. There's none in these storming waters anymore."
His companion raised the jug on the table and poured each of them a new sip of wine. "There's still that king in Seiju ruling in their name."
"And the people of Seiju are so full of hot air they'll float off to the sky without a drop of dragon blood."
"Shut your mouth. My wife's from the capital, and you'll not find a better woman between the four seas." They were four or five voices, blustering, laughing. If you tried to listen too closely, they began to meld one into the other.
"You've heard the legends of the lake at the foot of Mount Koh, though?" asked another.
"Old women's mutterings."
"What about the sisterhood? The Fire Dragons taught them the arts of sword and bow."
"Those women posturing about armed like men?" Derision rippled in the speaker's voice.
"Watch your words," the red-haired woman snapped. She had a fine-wrought blade resting beside her seat. She rose into a crouch with springy grace, but before the sword could sing out of its sheath, the newcomer spoke. His voice was soft but it carried through the room like the sweep of a wing.
"You're none of you wrong."
The room fell silent. An earthenware cup clinked dully on a table. The woman cast him a queer sidelong glance, but her blade remained in the scabbard, now laid across her knees.
He sipped at his wine, evidently quite relishing the cant of the collective attention to himself. "But here's a tale I heard tell, near Mount Tenku in the north.
"Of old, the dragon gods allied themselves with the families of worthy mortals. The dragons of fire chose brave women as their companions, and the heavenly ones bound their power to the houses of kings. For a thousand autumns there was peace.
"Then a king of the Dragon Family broke his promise to wed a woman of the Black Dragons, a wise and cunning clan, for he loved another. For desire he sundered the old accords and brought ruin upon his house." His voice dropped with what might have been regret. "As the scorned woman exacted her revenge, the king's family paid the price in blood. His line was ended, his kingdom shattered, and the dragons of Heaven became hunted like beasts of prey. They passed out of all lore and into the deepest shadows of the land."
A murmur of conversation, the renewed clatter of dishes, swelled across the room like an expanding breath, as it everything had contracted around the speaker and was now released with his stillness.
"You're a well-informed fellow," said one of the mercenaries; at present, a scar-faced man with shaggy, wolf-grey hair. "Ever heard of the Three Wanderers?"
"Talk, talk, talk," carped one of his younger companions, brandishing his empty cup. His cocky grin twisted into a visage of exaggerated annoyance. "I'd rather hear about the Three Wine-Bearers!"
"Mouthing off to your elders again, I see," the scar-faced man scoffed. "You didn't answer my question, master sage."
"I'm hardly a scholar." The storyteller's voice husked with amusement. "Surely I've heard the whispers. Whether I'd put any weight on them, that's another question. Which ones would you believe, anyway? That they're the ancient keepers of Dragon Family secrets? Or that they spirit away children to twist them into half-breed monsters with old magics?"
The man hummed in his throat, sipping at his heated wine.
Hand clasped over fist, the storyteller drew himself to his feet and bowed to him. Unburdened, unarmed, he went to the door. "Be that as it may, I bid you goodnight. Long way yet to go tonight."
The wolfish mercenary raised his cup in a farewell, then turned back to his companions. The story was done; soon enough, someone would begin another to while away the night.
The traveller cast a look at the dreamer with his own eyes, drew his hat deeper over them, and walked away into the rain.