Mory story...
James enters the inn’s stable at sunrise, his saddle and packs slung over one shoulder; the hilt of his sword sticking up over the other, his shield hanging down his back. Laying his gear aside, he gives a soft, low pitched whistle. The roan stallion at the far end stirs, and lifting the latch on its stable door with its nose moves eagerly toward its partner, nuzzling James affectionately. Smiling, the young knight reaches up to scratch Alexander behind the ears.
Even with pressing matters ahead of him, James does not hurry in the actions that follow. Each piece of tack: bit, bridle, saddle blanket and saddle proper are laid upon the stallion with care, as the knight speaks softly to his mount, in the Celestial tongue. He wasn’t sure if Alexander could understand it, but over the year it had becomes an important bonding ceremony that the two did every morning.
Completely absorbed in this familiar act; he nearly jumps out of his skin when a heavy hand claps him on the back. Spinning around, his hand instinctively gone to the hilt of his sword, James finds himself eye to eye with his orcish companion, whose broad grin had caused crones the world over to quake in fear.
“So where are we going?” the barbarian asks in a cheer filled manner, that belies the slightly hung over look on his face. Stunned and slightly overwhelmed by the orc’s powerful morning breath, a potent mixture of rotting mutton, whiskey, and…well orc, it takes Korag repeating himself for the question to sink into James’ mind.
“Wha…what do you mean we?!” James finally stutters.
“We’re heading out right? Some grand quest? A dragon to slay…or perhaps…” he adds with a sly wink, “…there is a certain damsel in distress.” Again that hand comes down on James’ shoulder, and he winces visibly.
James shakes his head, “No, Korag…nothing like that.” He rubs his shoulder with one gloved hand, “My family needs some help with something and there is no we…I am going alone.”
Korag bursts out laughing, and slaps James once more nearly knocking the slender warrior off his feet. “I think not, my friend, I have a feeling that adventure and profit can be found where ever you are off to, and I intend to be a part it. Besides,” he growls, “that blasted Halfling robbed me blind last night and then pegged me with the tab, and there is no chance in the Nine Hells that I am going to pay Nat’s bill.” Without another word, Korag turns to his own mount, which at that moment was playfully terrorizing another patron’s horse.
James opens his moth to protest, but his indignation merely comes out as a sigh. Issuing a soft command to Alexander, and shaking his head he turns back toward the inn. Arguing with Korag was like pounding your head against a rock. All it did was give you a headache…that and possibly a broken nose. His aunt’s words echo in his mind… a matter most delicate…
“Some how I think my job just got a whole lot harder.” Behind him the spirited roan snorts in agreement, while Korag saddles up Niz’dhan and begins to sing. James catches something about eye gouging, and an ogress’ posterior before the stable door closes behind him.