What emerged from the fur cocoon within the inn’s guest-chambers would’ve frightened even the hardiest of adventurers and troubadours. Autumn’s locks of long black hair had tangled during the night into a hellish bird’s nest of nightmarish quality. Luckily, no one was around to be frightened by her bedhair. She ran her fingers through the knots and tangles in a futile attempt to make herself look at least marginally presentable.
Now properly awake, she was mortified by the amount of twigs she’d removed from them yesterday. She had enough cluttering her floor to make a small tree.
Autumn’s underclothes stuck unpleasantly to her skin having absorbed her nightsweat. She disrobed in disgust and sat naked on her bed, basking in the morning rays as the sun kissed her bare skin. Her entire body was a map of discolored bruises. The side of her body that’d impacted the root down in the gorge was black and blue and mottled green.
Feeling her tender side, she was glad to find nothing broken or out of place. Minor miracles. Still, she was sore all over. Taking out her pot of healing balm, Autumn spent some time massaging it into her bruised skin before tending to her feet. The night had done them wonders. They weren’t entirely healed, but they were a fair sight better than before.
Once she was feeling better, and almost human, she rolled over to the end of the bed to fetch her last set of clean clothes from her bag and got dressed. The ones from yesterday still sat within a crumpled pile on the floor, dirty and stinking. Stains and tears thoroughly ruined them and she doubted that even an expert seamstress could save them.
Autumn saluted the fallen. “Ouch,” she whimpered as her body protested the motion.
The washbasin was a horrorshow. The water within was a dirty brown-red, filled with gore and dirt. She’d left her bloodstained bandages to soak overnight, but they needed to be boiled if she wanted to use them again. Not that she was keen to do so.
As for her boots and socks, they were too soaked with blood. They were an absolute mess. The boot leather had absorbed her blood like a sponge, and all the rocks and twigs she’d tripped over had further destroyed it. Currently, they sat at the end of her bed, giving off a powerful stench that sent her reeling in disgust.
She’d have to borrow or buy some soap or lye to wash them.
Taking her hat from her bedpost, Autumn tucked the worst of her unruly twilight hair under it and strode toward the door on bandaged feet. She could hear some movement and talking coming from the main room. Gulping, she schooled her face to project a level of confidence she wasn’t feeling.
After leaving her room, she locked the door behind her and tucked the key into her robes. Not that she had much to steal, but she’d prefer not to lose what she had.
As the focal point of the Duskmoore Hamlet, the inn was always busy in the morning as early rising farmers arrived to share a communal meal. Demons, as a people, were very communal, sharing a great deal of things within their communities from meals to work to even coin and favors when needed. Of course, this tended to wane in larger cities. Still, many households and even small neighbourhoods gathered to share a morning meal.
So, when Autumn entered the main space of the inn, there were a dozen or so demons sitting before an array of food placed upon a center table which they were all partaking in. While a majority had red skin, there were others with orange, purples, and even green casts. From what Autumn could gleam, there didn’t seem to be any prejudice based on the color of their skin.
While every one of them was tall and boasted a farmer’s muscular build, none of them reached the staggering height of the innkeeper, Nethlia. She was a titan even amongst her own people.
Conversations slowly came to a pause as every eye turned to Autumn upon hearing her arrival. They stared at the human in their midst warily.
Thankfully, before she had to muster up the courage to address them, Nethlia came to her rescue. The towering demoness emerged from the backroom carrying a large plate of glistening meat. She took in the quiet room and spotted Autumn standing awkwardly to the side. “Stop staring, you lot! Haven’t you ever seen a human before? If you scare away my customer, I’ll toss the whole lot of you in the river!”
With her scolding, the demons turned back to their meals and conversations. Occasionally, they cast a wary look in her direction, but they otherwise left her alone.
“Sorry about them,” Nethlia apologized as she led Autumn to a lone table, sitting her down on a cushion before placing a plate of meat before her. “They’re just curious, is all. We don’t get many humans this far north, and fewer witches than even that. They don’t mean anything by it.”
“Um, what’s this?” Autumn asked, staring at the meat hungrily.
“That’s a slice of Angoroth steak. You probably don’t get them in the Heartlands, right? They’re the big beasties we raise around here. You probably saw them coming in,” Nethlia explained. She scratched her cheek. “Uh, I assumed you could eat red meat seeing as you ate the snake meat yesterday.”
Autumn had seen the enormous cattle last night as she was stumbling toward the inn. She was shocked that anyone could slaughter such a powerful beast. Although, if it was the demoness before her, then she could believe it. “Uh, I was more asking why you’re giving it to me?”
“Oh! Have you just arrived in the Empire?”
“Uh, yes?”
“That explains it,” Nethlia said. “It’s a tradition amongst my people. The first meal of the morning is a shared meal, paid for by everyone. As a guest here, you eat for free. It’s surprising you haven’t experienced it yet. You must’ve not stayed long in the port before making your way here.”
This was happy news to Autumn. While she had silver to pay, and a gold, she didn’t want to come across as too ignorant. However, Nethlia seemed trustworthy, so perhaps she should use her sort-of-accurate misunderstanding about her to inquire about exchange rates.
After breakfast.
“Oh, thank you then,” Autumn said, before digging in. As it was fingerfood, she quickly pinched up a slice and bit down on it. Flavor exploded in her mouth. She let out a happy groan.
The demoness chuckled. “I’m glad you approve,” she said, grabbing a slice herself to eat.
Autumn blushed. It didn’t stop her from devouring more though. Not much conversation was had for a while between them as they focused on eating. Eventually, as Autumn’s intake slowed, Nethlia started up the conversation again. “So, what brings you hereabouts?”
Swallowing a bite, Autumn chewed to give her time to think. “Just traveling. Wandering, you know? Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find an alchemist? Or a merchant?”
Nethlia shook her head. “Not around these parts. Your best bet is back at Port Emerald or further up at Duskfields.”
“Damn. Do you know how far Duskfields is from here?” She couldn’t ask about the port as she was supposed to have come from there.
“A day or two. If it’s not urgent, we do have a blacksmith in the village. He might not be an alchemist or dedicated merchant, but he does collect a lot of junk that he occasionally sells.”
Autumn hummed, picking at her sleeve. “Its more that I have some alchemical ingredients to sell, but I do have some silver left. But, uh, I don’t know the exchange rate here.”
“Let me have a look.”
Reaching inside her robes, Autumn withdrew one of her silver coins and placed it into the demoness’ palm.
Nethlia looked it over, testing its weight and examined the symbols embossed upon either side. Eventually, she handed it back to Autumn once she was satisfied. “I don’t recognize the stampings, but it feels like good silver,” she said, “I can give you a hundred copper for it. A coin-exchange might give you a better price, but that’s roughly the current exchange between silver and copper.”
Autumn sighed in relief. That was good information to know. Hopefully, the gold to silver rate was similar. “Do you know if anyone is traveling to the city anytime soon?”
“I do,” the demoness nodded. “If you’re willing to wait a few days, I’ll be heading to the city to pick up some supplies. I can give you a ride if you like.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure. I’d appreciate the company. I could also point you to a decent alchemist I know while we’re there.”
Autumn beamed. “That’d be great! I really need to pick up some new stuff. All my clothes are ruined.”
The demoness glanced down at her bare toes. “I noticed.” Looking around the inn, she glanced at the demon farmers steadily leaving. They nodded to her and sent odd looks to Autumn. “Tell you what, I was about to head out to the stream to wash my clothes. Would you like to join me?”
“I would, but I don’t have any soap. I suppose I could just wash my stuff in the water.”
“You can borrow mine.”
Autumn blinked up at the demoness sitting beside her. She’d been rather charitable to Autumn ever since she’d arrived. Perhaps it was just the nature of her culture, but a warm smile built on her lips at the gesture. After the pain she’d been through, seeing kindness was a balm on her soul. “Alright then. I’ll go grab my stuff.”
Rising from their seats, the pair headed toward the back hallway where their bedrooms lay. Nethlia retrieved a wicker basket from her room and handed it to Autumn to carry their dirty clothes while she carried the washbasin to dump out the grim water. The demoness did raise an eyebrow curiously upon seeing the bloody bandages, but otherwise held her tongue.
They stepped out into the morning sun as it shone down on the dewdrops. Autumn stopped for a moment to appreciate the light and warmth before following Nethlia towards the stream running near the hamlet. She gazed around in quiet contemplation now that there was light to see.
The Angoroths looked even bigger and meaner in the light of day. She jumped as one snorted in her direction.
A laugh sounding through the morning had her turning toward the demoness with a blushing glare.
Nethlia held her hands in front of her placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that these gals are gentle creatures, so it’s funny to see someone spooked by them.”
Autumn glanced at the giant beasts in disbelief, staring pointedly at their four massive horns and glaring eyes. Only someone Nethlia’s size would think that they were ‘gentle.’ She likely could wrestle one without issue.
“Gentle. Right,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Picking up the pace, she crested the hill and finally saw the creek they sought. It carved a somnolent path through the hills, forming its own valley of rocky banks and willow trees. The waters were shaded and cool. They trekked the short distance down toward it and set about cleaning their clothing with quiet intent.
Autumn sat upon a rock along the bank and dipped her toes into the cool waters, letting her abused feet rest.
As a modern girl, she was starkly unused to cleaning her clothes manually. Honestly, she was pathetic at it. So after a few moments of floundering that only accomplished dirtying the stream with blood without really cleaning her things, Nethlia took pity on her and showed her how to use the washboard properly. Under her guidance, her clothes were quickly freed of the grim they’d accumulated.
Downstream eels feasted on the blood in the water, gathering together in great tangles.
A drop of blood leaked from Autumn’s nose to hit the languid water.
Shaking herself out of her trance, Autumn gazed towards the place where the fey forest ought to be. She froze. She didn’t see it. That couldn’t be. Those trees had been massive.
“Uh, hey, odd question, but wasn’t there a massive forest in that direction and a ravine?”
Nethlia paused in her washing, turning an eye to the clear horizon before turning back to Autumn. She shook her head. “Ah, no? It’s just pastureland and farms around here. If you’re looking for ravines, you have to go way further west. Like a week or more of travel. As for forests, there aren’t any nearby.”
“Are you sure?” Autumn asked, lost. It couldn’t be gone. She’d just assumed that the ravine separated the Feywild from…wherever she was now. If it was gone, how was she supposed to get home?
“Mmm, positive. Why?”
Autumn shook her head. “Just something I heard. Is, uh, there a tall hill I could look around from?”
“Sure,” Nethlia nodded. “I know just the one. Once we’re done here, we can go have a look.”
The pair worked quickly. When their clothes were clean, they bundled them back into the basket and set off toward the hill Nethlia knew. Autumn’s heart thundered in her chest anxiously as she climbed the hill, not knowing what she was going to see, or wanted to see.
Upon reaching the hill’s apex, Autumn stood and scanned the horizon. As far as the eye could see, there were just more and more pasturelands. To the north the fields turned gray as farmers turned from livestock to the local staple of wheat called Duskwheat – the main staple of the region. To the far south glittered a green bay that twinkled like an emerald jewel.
Nowhere did she see a fey forest.
A hidden tear trickled silently down her cheek. Autumn quickly brushed it away.
“Emerald Bay,” Nethlia said, nodding to the south. “Welcome to Duskpoint Barony within the northern tip of the Echea Empire. Like I told you, there aren’t any forests nearby. They’ve all been pushed to the northern coast or down south.”
Autumn was a stranger in a strange land. She needed to be careful. Who knows how the people of this world treated outsiders like her. The demons around here already looked at her funny for being a human. Likely being a witch didn’t help matters.
Until she could figure things out, she’d keep her cards close to her chest.
Honestly, things could be worse. At least she’d managed to clean her boots and socks. Rather than wallow in her grief, Autumn decided to do something to take her mind off her predicament. Do something to occupy her hands. She looked down at her missing fingers.
Speaking of hands. With her missing two of her fingers on her dominant hand, she was having a hard time holding things. And she’d frequently jolt at the sensation of her phantom fingers touching her. No simple balm would replace what she’d lost. But maybe she could make something that would? She had been decent in shop class.
Her eyes lingered on the cattle’s horns. Maybe she could ask if the villagers had any spare lying around that she could make a prosthetic with? She’d only need two finger’s worth and some spare leather. If it worked, it’d grant her greater functionality and improve her quality of life.
Autumn coughed lightly to gain her companion's attention. “Uh, about the blacksmith you were talking about earlier, do you know if they have any spare cow horns or leather. I was thinking about making myself a prosthetic for my hand,” she said, showing Nethlia her bandaged fingers.
“He should do,” Nethlia nodded. “We usually sell them at the market once a month, but Ozron, that’s the blacksmith, might have some small bits and pieces in his workshop he might part with. That man is older than everyone else and tougher than a pair of leather boots. He’s been here since I was only knee-high.”
“Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Nethlia guided Autumn back to the hamlet, stopping in front of the house directly across from her inn. Like the rest of the village, it was weather-worn with an old patchy roof that looked twice-broken and thrice-fixed. A door hung awkwardly in the doorframe as if it’d been jammed in and never moved. Thankfully, they didn’t enter the building, rather they went around to the back where Autumn and peeked upon a forge the night before.
Hammering reached their ears as they rounded the corner, resounding with a methodical rhythm. The song of creation. A small blacksmithery stood within the backyard, stained with soot and smoke. Crates of discarded junk and off-cuts littered the yard.
Silhouetted by a blazing forge hunched an elderly demon, hammering away at a piece of red-hot metal placed upon a heavy anvil. He worked in smoke, unbothered by the heat.
Nethlia reached out and pounded on the wooden pillar beside them, rattling it with thunderous force, causing it to creak and shake. “OZRON!” she bellowed. Dust billowed down around the demon as her voice carried into the forge like rolling thunder.
“Keep ya horns on, you big oaf! You’re gonna bring my house down around my ears if you keep pounding on it like that!” Orzon, the blacksmith, bellowed back. He paused his hammering as he turned toward the pair darkening his door.
He emerged from the falling soot, shaking off his apron. The demon was truly ancient, hundreds of years old at the least. Unfathomable age had bent his back and lined his face more than the bark of a tree. One of his pale horns had been broken in half at one point. One thick, wiry hand clutched a heavy forging hammer while the other bore a pair of tongs clamped around a red-hot piece of metal.
Even at a distance, Autumn could feel the heat wash over her. With a grunt of annoyance, the demon thrust the metal into a barrel of oil beside him. The quenched metal hissed and spat, unleashed a cloud of steam up.
Pure red eyes squinted at Autumn and eyed her hat suspiciously before he rounded on the demoness beside her. “What are you doing bringing a witch here, girl?! Didn’t your mother ever teach you about cavorting with witches? No good’ll come of it, mark my words!” His voice was like the slow rumble of grinding rocks.
“Oh, leave it off, old man. She isn’t like that. In fact, she wants to purchase some of this junk you got lying about,” Nethlia replied to the demon.
“Junk?! Junk?! This ain’t junk, ye daft cow!” Orzon fumed. “Get going withcha!”
Nethlia didn’t move. “Only if you agree to help her out.”
“Fine! Now, whatcha want?”