A light shower came an hour or so before dawn, the mist coalescing into larger droplets that trailed down the warped pane of the small tavern window. When the watery light filtering through it was enough to rouse Morwyn from her slumber she yawned and stretched lazily, feeling a soft hand slip off her waist as she did so. She reached over and traced the back of the other woman's hand with her thumb for but a moment before slowly slipping from under the covers to keep from disturbing her slumber. It was a practiced movement. One she'd done many times before, though it brought her a twinge of shame each time. It would be refreshing not to sneak out the next day, to spend a lazy morning tangled up with someone... but that also meant settling down, not something she was keen to pursue. Not after the last attempt.
Morwyn undid her white-blonde braid as she padded quietly across the room to the washbasin and dipped a cloth into the cool water to wipe away the sweat, liquor, and other scents of the night before. Her reflection in the tall mirror gave her a critical look as she did so, following the trail of love bruises overlapping old scars across her pale skin. Some she remembered vividly- round punctures on her left hip from a worg's fangs, a nick on her chin from a brigand's shield, a deep cut across her right thigh from an axe blow she'd been too slow to avoid- but many more whose memories had long since faded as the scars themselves did. She took her time braiding her hair once more, her gaze lingering on the soft bites and scratches from the previous evening's lover. They were likely to be gone by the time she bothered to look again.
She rubbed her gritty eyes to fight the urge to return to sleep and slipped into a pair of plain black trousers and a black shirt, a long tan tunic held at the waist with a broad belt, and her worn but sturdy knee high leather boots. Morwyn froze and held her breath as a buckle on her sword belt clinked softly against the steel of her cross-guard but the woman in her bed didn't stir at the sound. She slipped the baldric over her shoulder and buckled the waist belt, adjusting them to sit comfortably before cautiously lifting her pack and cloak from their hooks by the door.
With one last glance at the half-covered redhead still tangled in the sheets, Morwyn exited the room with a bittersweet smile. This one she might remember for a few days. Maybe even a week or two. She wondered if any of the women she left behind ever thought about her afterward, then shook her head to escape the creeping loneliness that threatened to rear its head.
Thoren, the grizzled, middle-aged innkeeper, was pouring coffee for a few other early risers when she descended the stairs to the main floor of the tavern. He raised a mischievous eyebrow but said nothing as he moved to pour another mug for her when she approached the bar. She held up a hand to halt him and retrieved a tin cup from her pack, dented and scratched but still quite serviceable.
“Thank you, but I'll just take one for the road,” she murmured, hesitant to disturb the quiet solitude of the morning. It was always jarring to see how sleepy a tavern was after a lively night.
“More than welcome to do so. Saves me washing another mug,” Thoren replied with a smile as he filled her cup with the dark elixir of life. “I trust you had a pleasant stay, despite the inconvenience last night?”
“I did indeed. The room service was... excellent.” Morwyn gave him a smirk before testing the coffee. It was delicious but still too hot to drink from her metal cup. Her expression grew serious as she continued. “You didn't pay her to join me, did you, Thoren?” The man put a hand to his chest his jaw dropped in mock horror at the accusation.
“Of course not! I would never do such a thing. Besides, after you turned in for the night she was just the first of three to ask which room you were in. And the only one I know for a fact isn't married. Should've seen the look on their husbands' faces! Apparently last night's theatrics drew some attention to you.”
Morwyn relaxed a bit, her smile returning as she warmed her hands on the cup before her. She had never been one to start a bar fight but didn't mind the occasional exception. Her knuckles were bruised and throbbed painfully but she didn't mind. It had been satisfying to watch Thoren drag the two drunkards unceremoniously out onto the street. Served them right for the foul things they'd said to one of the young barmaids.
“Thoren, I've got to ask. Why have you been so kind to me? Clearly it isn't the mountains of gold I've spent nor the peace and quiet I bring to your establishment.”
The man went quiet, his jovial expression melting away to one tinged with sorrow. He placed both hands on the bar and studied the floor intensely for a long moment.
“That problem you took care of last week? He took my sister from me some years back. I knew it to be true but the guards could never prove what he'd been doing like you did. I'd have throttled him myself if I didn't have other family to look after, so I appreciate what you've done for us.”
Morwyn took a long sip of coffee to collect herself. It wasn't quite as hot now but still scalded her tongue a bit. She couldn't bring herself to look up at the man.
“I'm sorry, Thoren. I didn't know.”
He placed a calloused hand gently over one of hers.
“Don't apologize. You gave our town the closure we've been denied for years. The captain's reward was a pittance for putting an end to that bastard. It's the least I could do to try and help you how I could.”
Morwyn met Thoren's eyes and saw the gratitude in them was genuine. That look made the loneliness, the danger, and the hardships of the road worth it in the end. It was the reason she found more satisfaction as a sell-sword than any other employment she'd pursued. She certainly wasn't in it for the money. Her coinpurse, which never held enough to weigh her down for long, was a testament to that.
“Speaking of,” Thoren continued, shrugging off the darkness of the conversation, “after you retired for the evening I took up a collection. Told some folks what you'd done for us since you kept it fairly discreet. This is for you.” He placed a small pouch on the bar. Morwyn hesitated for a moment too long and he pushed it into her palm.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. From the weight it had to be gold. Not much, but more than she figured a small community like this could easily afford and more than she thought she deserved. “I still need to move on to find more work. I won't be able to spend this here.”
“Of course we are. Though only a few like myself are related to his victims and only a handful of others had the coin to spare, we want you to know we are grateful to you. And some wished to express their appreciation for your bravery in other ways.” Thoren's mischievous smile crept back to the corners of his eyes.
“I'm not sure I follow...” Morwyn replied as she slipped the coins into her pocket. Thoren glanced meaningfully at the stairs to the second floor. Morwyn followed his gaze and felt heat rise up her neck as his meaning took hold.
“Oh.”
“I may have embellished the stories you've told me... just a bit.”
“Oh, gods.”
“And it seems the mayor's daughter was especially impressed by your heroics.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Thoren let out a deep laugh, startling the other patrons at the bar and nearly causing Morwyn to knock over her coffee. His eyes twinkled with impish delight at the predicament he'd spun for her. She stood up quickly, slinging her pack over her shoulders and fastening her cloak about her neck before heading toward the door. The last thing she needed was an angry noble believing a nomadic sell-sword had seduced his daughter with tall tales and absconded in the morning.
“Don't forget your coffee, miss!” Thoren called after her between fits of laughter. Now blushing deeply, Morwyn hurried back and snatched up her cup, spilling hot liquid over one hand in the process. She groaned through gritted teeth and slowed her pace slightly to avoid another accident, slipping a gold coin on the counter before making her way to the door.
“Thanks, Thoren. Good day!”
His continuing laughter followed her beyond the threshold. She threw the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out into the light mist, a rueful smile gracing her lips as she tried to walk briskly, sip her coffee, and keep an eye out for any red-haired nobles walking the street all at the same time.
It felt good to be on the road again. The beginning of a new journey always lent energy to her step in a way that few other things could.
As she'd quietly packed her clothing and few personal possessions that morning Morwyn had taken stock of her supplies and was disappointed to see that she only had enough food for two or three days. She wanted to restock before leaving town because, if memory served, the next town over was a week or more away by foot and there was no way she could afford a horse on her meager budget. There was a cookshop she'd frequented in the previous days just down the road, but she wasn't sure if it would be open quite yet.
As she finished her coffee and stowed the cup on a leather loop on her pack, she regretted not getting breakfast back at the tavern. It was too early for any of the townsfolk to be out and about, though a passing guard gave her a nod of recognition before ambling on down the quiet cobblestone street. Morwyn turned a corner to reach the main thoroughfare and her shoulders sagged a bit in disappointment. The windows to the cookshop were shuttered, the door closed.
Morwyn stopped underneath the overhang that ran along the side of the street, retrieved her second to last smoke, and held it between her lips. She produced her tinderbox and with a few quick flashes of flint on steel she sent several sparks into a piece of charred cloth. One took hold and began to spread with a muted red glow. She placed the paper-wrapped lungwort to it and puffed to set it alight, then licked the tip of her index finger and pinching the ember out to preserve the rest of her fire starting material. As usual the first few drags both dispelled her grogginess and made her head spin, though it did help to quell her growling stomach.
She finished her smoke as she watched droplets of water fall through a hole in the clay tiles of the overhang to splash on the weathered boards of the boardwalk beneath before moving onward. No sense waiting for the shop to open. She'd had lean days on the road before and knew how to scrounge enough wild food to keep her on her feet, especially now that it was late spring.
An unexpected bustle of movement caught Morwyn's attention as she neared the last of the rough stone buildings that made up the town proper. A gaggle of perhaps three score travelers moved quickly to pack their camp into several wagons not far beyond where the cobblestone street gave way to a muddied earthen road. As she approached she could make out the squat form of a dwarven woman lifting a large rolled tent to the back of a wagon where a laughing elven man took it and disappeared beneath the taut canvas. Several children ran circles around the next wagon in high spirits, though upon further inspection she saw that it was four human children playing keep-away with a stymied halfling's cooking pot. At the far end of the caravan, a towering human with a wild gray beard conversed with a brutish, thickly muscled orc with long black hair and gray skin who sported an eye patch and blackened half-plate armor.
Morwyn's curiosity began to swell. She hadn't seen such an eclectic gathering since before she left her home island far to the west and had to remind herself not to stare. Though most races of the mainland were amicable enough with one another these days, it was certainly odd to encounter such a diverse group traveling together.
“Wonder what you're up to,” she whispered to herself as she passed them on the opposite side of the road, tugging her oiled cloak tighter around herself to keep the rain at bay. The chill didn't bother her, it never had, but wet clothes wouldn't do when she planned to walk through the day if she could.
*Heading east, the same as you, young lady.*
Morwyn flinched and looked over her shoulder. The voice sounded as if it came from right beside her, yet no one had crept up behind her as she was lost in thought. She glanced back to the caravan and locked eyes with the tall, bearded man. He gave her a smile and a friendly wave, though something about the way he looked at her sent goosebumps prickling up her back. The man was positively ancient yet appeared unbowed by his age, and his deep brown eyes seemed to bore a hole through her very soul as he appraised her from head to toe. With an involuntary shiver, Morwyn awkwardly returned his wave and turned to continue her journey.
She only made it a few steps before the voice spoke in her ear again and she nearly yelped. She was certain she felt a thread of magic in the words, or at least one carrying the words to her. This wasn't the first time she'd felt the silent hum of the arcane, but never in such a way.
*Leaving so soon? Do you not wish to know what we are up to?*
Morwyn stopped abruptly once more, this time without turning to face the old man, as her wariness and curiosity battled for dominance. In her experience it usually didn't bode well if the magically inclined took a particular interest in someone... but she felt compelled to find out why he would bother to listen in on and also reach out to a stranger in such a way. After a few deep breaths, she whispered a response to gauge the direction of the conversation.
“If you'd like to speak to me, come over here and do it in person.”
Without a moment's hesitation, the elderly man broke off his conversation with the orc and crossed the thirty or so yards between them with a purposeful stride. Morwyn tensed, easing her right hand around the hilt of her sword beneath her cloak.
“No need for that, young lady,” the man said, his voice as deep, weathered, and kind as the warm smile he wore. It resonated differently coming from his mouth than it did through whatever magic he'd used before. “Apologies for my rudeness. I can get ahead of myself sometimes. I am Rennock.” He held out a hand for her to shake but slowly returned it beneath his deep blue cloak when Morwyn didn't extend hers in response.
“Do you often start conversations that way? Eavesdropping and startling strangers on the road?”
“Yes, I do,” he said confidently. The odd man's smile didn't falter in the slightest. He clasped his hands in front of himself as he waited for her to continue. She could tell he was bursting at the seams with anticipation, though for what she couldn't begin to guess. He gave off a strangely youthful exuberance for one so elderly and appeared so earnest that Morwyn found it a bit endearing. She relaxed her grip on her sword, though in the back of her mind she knew she should be on guard. This man truly was a strange one, but didn't seem to harbor any ill intent that she could discern.
“Well then, let's have a proper conversation and avoid any more... surprises. I'm Morwyn Shrike. Pleased to meet you. Rennock, was it?” She tentatively held out a hand, which he took with a firm but gentle grip.
“Yes, I am indeed Rennock. And the pleasure is all mine, Miss Shrike. I think you are just the one we need.”
Morwyn frowned, the sense of foreboding growing in the pit of her stomach once more. She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean? We've only just introduced ourselves. You don't know the first thing about me.”
Rennock chuckled as if he were privy to some joke that she didn't understand. He gestured to her with one gnarled hand.
“You are an armed individual taking to the road by yourself in the wee hours of the morning in bad weather. You wear no guild crest, soldier's insignia, or courier's uniform, so you are likely a freelancer looking for work in the next town over, which you would know is several days away. You are confident in your ability to travel rough and to protect yourself from any threats you find along the way, else you would not be traveling alone, nor on foot, nor would you carry that blade with such familiarity. You are alert and wary, as you should be, yet you harbor curiosity and are open to opportunity or we would not be having this conversation in the first place.”
Morwyn raised an eyebrow as she frowned at the man. The speed of his analysis, his confidence, his correctness... this entire exchange was extremely unnerving.
“You're an observant one, Rennock, I'll give you that. But what does that have to do with you and your caravan?”
He turned to inspect his people and wagons and placed his hands on his hips. An awkward moment passed before he turned to face her again, his expression a little more serious, if only slightly.
“We have quite a perilous and long journey ahead of us. I am leading these fine folk far to the east, to begin new lives in my homeland. They require an escort to see them safely to our destination.”
Morwyn immediately noted that Rennock said they require an escort, not we. She wasn't sure what to make of that, or the fact that he claimed his homeland was far to the east. As far as she knew there were no neighboring countries in that direction, only an untamed and unforgiving frontier. She'd only been on the mainland for a handful of years however, and most of that in the countries further north and west of the Southlands. It all sounded very odd, but then again, the entire encounter with Rennock was odd. It would have been more strange to her if his destination made sense.
Behind Rennock, the big orc leaned against a wagon and tapped his boot impatiently as he watched them with his one crimson eye. For the first time Morwyn noticed two other armed and armored individuals beside him- a dwarf woman with a heavy crossbow strapped to her back and an elven man wielding a long and intricately carved spear. Looking back to the orc she didn't see any visible weapons, though from his sheer size and demeanor she didn't think he required one to be a threat.
“It looks like you've already got an escort,” Morwyn said as she gestured to them. Rennock began to walk briskly in their direction and Morwyn felt a strange compulsion to follow him.
“Right you are! They shall be your comrades in arms during our journey. We have Argoth, the large gentleman over there, along with Eronir the spearman, and of course Lady Trux with the crossbow. Argoth has made this journey with me many times before. He is in charge of security.”
Morwyn had to stretch her pace slightly to keep up with Rennock. She was fairly tall for a woman, so it was slightly disconcerting to her how much she had to stretch her stride to keep up with the old man. And just why was she following him anyway? He was clearly cracked. Gods, she was cracked too, for hearing him out.
“Wait just a second, Rennock. I haven't agreed to anything.”
The old man smacked a palm to his forehead, knocking his hood slightly askew yet seemingly oblivious to the fact. He gave her a sly smile.
“There I go getting ahead of myself once again. We have not even discussed your compensation yet! You will be paid half in advance, and half upon reaching our journey's end. I believe you shall find the sum to be satisfactory.”
One of Rennock's hands disappeared beneath his cloak and he retrieved a large leather pouch. He tossed it to her with a casual flick of the wrist and she caught it with both hands as it thumped into her stomach. She winced, then peeked in the top of the pouch. Her eyes went as wide as saucers when she saw a mixture of gold and platinum coins inside. It was far and above more money than she'd ever seen at one time in her entire life.
“What in the hells is happening?” she asked to no one in particular, then continued to follow... Her new employer? A lunatic magician? Perhaps both? Definitely both. Things were getting out of hand to be sure, but her previous plan had been to endure abject poverty by herself until she could find steady employment. Apparently, that hardship had only meant skipping breakfast today. As they drew near to the massive orc, he stood tall and gave Rennock a toothy grin. In contrast to Rennock's almost soothing tone, Argoth's was thickly accented and resembled a bag of gravel being tossed down a mountain slope.
“If you're done recruitin', Ren, we're ready to head out. Is this one gonna be part of my crew?”
Both men turned to look at Morwyn expectantly. She was at a loss for words for a moment, looking from each of them to the coin purse still clutched to her chest, then back to them once more.
“I suppose I am...”