The Wayfarer - Part One
The Wayfarer
The traveler had been walking for days when he finally crested the hill at dusk and first set eyes on the small town. He knew it was there, travelers he met going the other way had confirmed his suspicions, but that knowledge did nothing to lessen his excitement at actually seeing it. His fellow travelers also warned him to stay away from the village. He cheerfully listened to their words of warning, bade them farewell and traveled on. It was well into night by the time he walked into the town square and all but a few taverns had long since shut their doors and put out their lights.
The well was his first stop, wishing to refill his water skin now quite empty from his journey. He lowered the bucket into the well, then hauled it back up once full, musing to himself that it was probably easier before the crank broke. After taking a drink and filling his skin, he checked his pack for anything that might fix the crank. What he found was less than he had in mind; a short length of cord, a few small rocks, a hunk of bread and a bit of rusting metal that was once his knife. Sighing, he left the well alone, for the moment, and made his way to the nearest tavern. The sign above the door read “Warg's Head” A dubious title, at best he thought to himself, pushing the door open.
As he entered the place, the first thing that struck the traveler was the cacophonous noise. Its sheer volume was nearly enough to knock him back a few paces. He held his ground, closed his eyes and pressed inward, picking out the individual noises of the bard in the corner by the fireplace, his lute almost as out of tune as his voice, the heated discussion of two gamblers, arguing over which was the winning hand of cards that round, as well as the general din of the myriad individual conversations throughout the room.
Having acclimated to the noise, the traveler opened his eyes to take in the sights, and put faces to the voices. The main room, acting as both dining room and theater, was a large, open space, nearly square, eighty feet on a side, with much of the South wall taken up by the kitchen and bar area. There was a flight of stairs along the East wall, starting the North East corner, on the other side of the room from the door to the street. Scattered about the floor were twenty odd tables, most of which were occupied by groups of three to four people, mostly farmers by the look of their clothing. The room was moderately lit by candelabras above each table, with the fireplace in the South West corner giving off a great deal of light, more than enough for the bard to read his sheet music, if he had had any.
There was a group of 12, sitting at the two largest tables in the center of the room. It looked as though the two rectangular tables, each seating four on the longer sides, had been pushed together, so there were four on left and right, with two at either of the ends. They seemed to be discussing something of great importance to them, though the traveler could not tell what exactly. They looked to be the adventuring type though, a third of them outfitted in heavy armor with bloodstained tunics and boots laden with mud and grime and at least one heavy sword or axe on their belts, half in lighter armor, bow and quiver at their back, rapiers at their side. One wore nothing more than a tough looking leather jerkin as armor with daggers stuck in his belts, among numerous belt pouches. The last looked to be a priest of some kind, dressed in fine white clothing, a holy symbol around his neck.
The other patrons seemed to be split evenly between watching the roastmaster and standing at the bar chatting up the two overworked barmaids. The traveler chose an unoccupied table along the North wall, far from the welcoming fire, he was seized by a great pang of hunger, doubtless brought about by the scent of the pig roasting in the kitchen. He closed his eyes again for a moment, and caught the stench of spilled beer lingering in the air, doubtless from an overly enthusiastic drinker some nights ago. A barmaid brought a plate to a nearby table and his mind seized upon the new smells; the sweet, inviting aroma of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, the fluffy, creamy taste of the whipped potatoes, and above all else, the salty, juicy flavor of the fried ham. All conspired to make his stomach feel emptier and his mouth water.
He ordered a hot meal, and asked about a room for the night. When he learned the rooms were all booked, he decided to sleep under the stars afterall. My fault for choosing a busy tavern, I suppose he mused, taking out a journal to write of his experiences on the road. When the maid brought his meal, the traveler stopped her and asked simply “Why are there so few women here? Besides yourself and your fellow barmaid, I see only the two women in that large group there.”
“D'ya mean t' tell me yeh've no idea? Yeh must be new t' town. Where'dya come from, stranger?”
“I hail from no place in particular. I have recently traveled here from the West.”
“Take my advice then, eat yer meal and go back t' whence yeh came fore summat 'appens to yeh.” With that, the barmaid hurried off to attend to her duties. The traveler pondered her words in silence as he ate his meal. He left a few coins on the table before taking his leave of the Warg's Head.
The next morning the traveler was up bright and early, as he was everytime he slept under the sky, if only because he could hardly sleep later than the sun. His first order of business, after packing up his bedroll and attending to nature's call, was to check the scrap pile behind the local smithy's shop for anything he could use to repair the well. A short length of tubing here, an odd spring there, and he had the pieces he'd need. Most of the town was still asleep, so he quietly set to work and by the time the shops began to open, he had finished and was using the crank to draw up a fresh bucket of water to drink. His work done, he packed up his meager, makeshift tools and set out to find breakfast. He wasn't sure where to go, but he knew his nose would lead him in the right direction.
He found a few other early risers opening their shops in the market square, a couple seemed to be small cook stands. One in particular caught his attention, and not just because it was closest. This particular stand bore a sign proclaming it "Alloc's Breakfast Goods" which could hardly be passed over this early in the morning. The traveler approached the wagon and pondered the menu verus the coins in his pocket while conversing with the man in the wagon, presumably Alloc.
"Nice morning, innit?"
"Yes. It is a fine morning. Tell me, what goes in to the 'Alloc Deluxe?'"
"You 'ave fine taste, m'friend. Best dish on me menu. It's me own recepie for biscuits, wit some bacon 'n bacon gravy. Keep ya goin' 'till well past noon it will."
"Very well, my friend. If it is as good as you say it is, I will be back tomorrow."
Alloc chuckled and turned away to fix the traveler's breakfast. "You're not from 'round 'ere, are ya? Talk in a funny sorta way, like you're not 'zactly sure they's the right words." "As I have fine taste, you have a good ear. I came here last night. From the West."
"Th' West, eh? No caravans come in last night ... how'd you get 'ere?"
"I walked."
"You walked?!" Alloc exclaimed, nearly dropping the plate of food as he handed it to the traveler. "Nearest town's at least tree day's ride if ya push th' 'orses 'ard enough. Must be at least a fortnight afoot."
"You are correct again. I saw the sun rise a dozen and three times on my journey."
"Why? Why dinnea ya get a ride wit a caravan? Musta been atleast two of 'em passed ya."
"Yes, they did pass me, and they offered to let me ride with them, but I refused. After trading for supplies, they went at their pace, and I at mine."
"But why in the Gods' names did ya walk?"
"It is what I do. Thank you for the excellent meal and conversation, Alloc." With that, the traveler left a few coins on the counter of the wagon, and walked away.
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The traveler had been walking for days when he finally crested the hill at dusk and first set eyes on the small town. He knew it was there, travelers he met going the other way had confirmed his suspicions, but that knowledge did nothing to lessen his excitement at actually seeing it. His fellow travelers also warned him to stay away from the village. He cheerfully listened to their words of warning, bade them farewell and traveled on. It was well into night by the time he walked into the town square and all but a few taverns had long since shut their doors and put out their lights.
The well was his first stop, wishing to refill his water skin now quite empty from his journey. He lowered the bucket into the well, then hauled it back up once full, musing to himself that it was probably easier before the crank broke. After taking a drink and filling his skin, he checked his pack for anything that might fix the crank. What he found was less than he had in mind; a short length of cord, a few small rocks, a hunk of bread and a bit of rusting metal that was once his knife. Sighing, he left the well alone, for the moment, and made his way to the nearest tavern. The sign above the door read “Warg's Head” A dubious title, at best he thought to himself, pushing the door open.
As he entered the place, the first thing that struck the traveler was the cacophonous noise. Its sheer volume was nearly enough to knock him back a few paces. He held his ground, closed his eyes and pressed inward, picking out the individual noises of the bard in the corner by the fireplace, his lute almost as out of tune as his voice, the heated discussion of two gamblers, arguing over which was the winning hand of cards that round, as well as the general din of the myriad individual conversations throughout the room.
Having acclimated to the noise, the traveler opened his eyes to take in the sights, and put faces to the voices. The main room, acting as both dining room and theater, was a large, open space, nearly square, eighty feet on a side, with much of the South wall taken up by the kitchen and bar area. There was a flight of stairs along the East wall, starting the North East corner, on the other side of the room from the door to the street. Scattered about the floor were twenty odd tables, most of which were occupied by groups of three to four people, mostly farmers by the look of their clothing. The room was moderately lit by candelabras above each table, with the fireplace in the South West corner giving off a great deal of light, more than enough for the bard to read his sheet music, if he had had any.
There was a group of 12, sitting at the two largest tables in the center of the room. It looked as though the two rectangular tables, each seating four on the longer sides, had been pushed together, so there were four on left and right, with two at either of the ends. They seemed to be discussing something of great importance to them, though the traveler could not tell what exactly. They looked to be the adventuring type though, a third of them outfitted in heavy armor with bloodstained tunics and boots laden with mud and grime and at least one heavy sword or axe on their belts, half in lighter armor, bow and quiver at their back, rapiers at their side. One wore nothing more than a tough looking leather jerkin as armor with daggers stuck in his belts, among numerous belt pouches. The last looked to be a priest of some kind, dressed in fine white clothing, a holy symbol around his neck.
The other patrons seemed to be split evenly between watching the roastmaster and standing at the bar chatting up the two overworked barmaids. The traveler chose an unoccupied table along the North wall, far from the welcoming fire, he was seized by a great pang of hunger, doubtless brought about by the scent of the pig roasting in the kitchen. He closed his eyes again for a moment, and caught the stench of spilled beer lingering in the air, doubtless from an overly enthusiastic drinker some nights ago. A barmaid brought a plate to a nearby table and his mind seized upon the new smells; the sweet, inviting aroma of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, the fluffy, creamy taste of the whipped potatoes, and above all else, the salty, juicy flavor of the fried ham. All conspired to make his stomach feel emptier and his mouth water.
He ordered a hot meal, and asked about a room for the night. When he learned the rooms were all booked, he decided to sleep under the stars afterall. My fault for choosing a busy tavern, I suppose he mused, taking out a journal to write of his experiences on the road. When the maid brought his meal, the traveler stopped her and asked simply “Why are there so few women here? Besides yourself and your fellow barmaid, I see only the two women in that large group there.”
“D'ya mean t' tell me yeh've no idea? Yeh must be new t' town. Where'dya come from, stranger?”
“I hail from no place in particular. I have recently traveled here from the West.”
“Take my advice then, eat yer meal and go back t' whence yeh came fore summat 'appens to yeh.” With that, the barmaid hurried off to attend to her duties. The traveler pondered her words in silence as he ate his meal. He left a few coins on the table before taking his leave of the Warg's Head.
The next morning the traveler was up bright and early, as he was everytime he slept under the sky, if only because he could hardly sleep later than the sun. His first order of business, after packing up his bedroll and attending to nature's call, was to check the scrap pile behind the local smithy's shop for anything he could use to repair the well. A short length of tubing here, an odd spring there, and he had the pieces he'd need. Most of the town was still asleep, so he quietly set to work and by the time the shops began to open, he had finished and was using the crank to draw up a fresh bucket of water to drink. His work done, he packed up his meager, makeshift tools and set out to find breakfast. He wasn't sure where to go, but he knew his nose would lead him in the right direction.
He found a few other early risers opening their shops in the market square, a couple seemed to be small cook stands. One in particular caught his attention, and not just because it was closest. This particular stand bore a sign proclaming it "Alloc's Breakfast Goods" which could hardly be passed over this early in the morning. The traveler approached the wagon and pondered the menu verus the coins in his pocket while conversing with the man in the wagon, presumably Alloc.
"Nice morning, innit?"
"Yes. It is a fine morning. Tell me, what goes in to the 'Alloc Deluxe?'"
"You 'ave fine taste, m'friend. Best dish on me menu. It's me own recepie for biscuits, wit some bacon 'n bacon gravy. Keep ya goin' 'till well past noon it will."
"Very well, my friend. If it is as good as you say it is, I will be back tomorrow."
Alloc chuckled and turned away to fix the traveler's breakfast. "You're not from 'round 'ere, are ya? Talk in a funny sorta way, like you're not 'zactly sure they's the right words." "As I have fine taste, you have a good ear. I came here last night. From the West."
"Th' West, eh? No caravans come in last night ... how'd you get 'ere?"
"I walked."
"You walked?!" Alloc exclaimed, nearly dropping the plate of food as he handed it to the traveler. "Nearest town's at least tree day's ride if ya push th' 'orses 'ard enough. Must be at least a fortnight afoot."
"You are correct again. I saw the sun rise a dozen and three times on my journey."
"Why? Why dinnea ya get a ride wit a caravan? Musta been atleast two of 'em passed ya."
"Yes, they did pass me, and they offered to let me ride with them, but I refused. After trading for supplies, they went at their pace, and I at mine."
"But why in the Gods' names did ya walk?"
"It is what I do. Thank you for the excellent meal and conversation, Alloc." With that, the traveler left a few coins on the counter of the wagon, and walked away.
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