The Path

[Bikamar]

There was nothing unusual about the Inn of the Drunken Dragon, Greyson thought. Nothing outwardly anyway. His gaze drifted across the public room, taking in the broken mugs and occasional smashed chair, the pools of stale beer on wooden floors well stained through years of abuse. Meandered slowly over the patrons in various states of drunkenness and dress to the fire place where pieces of wood and coal long past their prime sputtered flames that shed barely more light than a dozen candles. Settled on the two women in spotless uniforms and armour who lounged casually against the wall furthest from the entrance.

"Except them", he muttered to himself. Unusual to see anyone in uniform in such a place - at least alive - and these two ladies lack of attempts to hide their status only enhanced their striking features. Strong jawlines, blonde and raven-black hair respectively cut just short of the shoulder with eyes that roamed constantly... and locked with the adventurer's stare.

His eyes flicking back and forth between them, for a few brief moments the two women returned his look, their gaze equally as appraising with ... was that a touch of amusement? before dismissing him and resuming their own surveillance.

Muttering to himself again, Greyson turned his eyes back to his companions and attempted to figure out what he had missed of their conversation. A glance at the enigmatic Dunain told him nothing; Katryn and Windreth had their heads close together and the man they called Moonshadow sat with his eyes closed, meditating.

Greyson sighed. What conversation?

They'd been stuck in this hamlet four days now waiting for something. What, they didn't know. When it would happen, they didn't know either, exactly. Soon. But Moonshadow's predictions had never been wrong before. Every one he had shared had led to those things the five companions craved: adventure and discovery. Through his visions, the group had experienced political intrigue, fought beasts that would have made most flee in terror and come as close to dying as any mortal could without passing through the Final Gate. Their armour and weapons all reeked of magic, prizes recovered as a result of their travels. And they loved every moment of it. Especially Greyson.

But this place, this time... something was wrong. Sitting back in his chair, Greyson tried to figure out what the little voice in the back of his head was telling him. What was it that itched like a hispar's bite - the more he tried to scratch it, the more it itched, but still... nothing! Annoyance creeping in, Greyson set his mug down on the table with a sharp crack.

One and all his companions looked up at him, the same question in their expressions. Opening his mouth to snap his irritation at them, Greyson suddenly realised their gaze had shifted beyond him... and the background noise that was the reassurance of the common room had quietened. Hairs on the back of his neck rising, Greyson loosened his sword in its scabbard and slowly sat up, twisting to look behind him to the entrance of the inn.
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Formerly Twinkertot Phydlesalot
Twink Extraordinaire

and

Bikamar Neebiter
Tractor

[Bikamar]

"Not what one comes to expect from the typical bad guy, now, is he?" Greyson muttered once his heart had slowed to its more normal pace. A slow, deep breathe and the warrior began to wonder what it was about the non-descript, grey cloaked figure standing in the doorway that had so affected him.

The man stood no taller than average, his build obviously slim despite the formless rags that shrouded his frame. Wisps of grey hair escaped from under the hood that barely shadowed his aging face. And yet the simple act of his stepping inside the doorway had stopped all conversation and set the pulses of hardened adventurers to racing.

Turning his back on the newcomer, Greyson looked back at his companions. They had all been affected as he had, the warrior decided. Even the stony-faced Dunain seemed somehow shaken, though there was nothing obvious from his countenance. Never was.

"Well, Moons..." Greyson began and ended as the silence of the room was broken by the sudden attempt by the majority of its occupants to vacant it simultaneously. Spinning to his feet, the wave of evil that had swept the crowd hit Greyson like a hammer-blow and his sword was in his hands even as he took in figure that had followed the grey man into the inn.

Encased in smoky-blue steel armour from head to foot, the figure had to stoop to get through the doorway. Humanoid in form, but dwarfing even the largest of men in bulk, an unnatural light emanated from the eye slits of the helmet it wore. The massive double-bladed battleaxe that protruded above one shoulder seemed to suck the warmth from the air around it.

People fled through whatever exit they could find that was not the doorway blocked by the behemoth. Glass shattered as the more able-bodied dove through windows to escape. Within a handful of heartbeats the common room was virtually cleared. Innkeeper and serving maids cowered behind the bar. The adventurous companions stood around their table, weapons in hand or spells on lips. And two women in startling white uniforms still stood in the same spot they had occupied the entire night, leaning casually against the wall.

Silence fell and another handful of heartbeats passed before Greyson sighed again and slid his sword home. Turning once more back to his friends, the warrior sank down into his chair.

"You know, guys, I think I need another drink".

(please feel free to comment.... much <3 for constructive criticism)
_________________
Formerly Twinkertot Phydlesalot
Twink Extraordinaire

and

Bikamar Neebiter
Tractor