Gregory's Quest

The rain fell softly, as it had consistently for the past several days, filling the air with a smell of salt and mud. On the edge of town stood a curious building that long ago outgrew its original purpose. Originally a small log home, the center of the structure sagged against the expansions that framed it. A patchwork of masonry and timbers showing how the structure had grown along with the village it served. Above the door hung an iron sign, “The Commoners Landing.”

Weather like this made travel difficult in the south coast. The road, muddy in the best of conditions, was now a stream flowing steadily into town. Despite this inconvenience, a man in a cloak trudged slowly towards The Commoners Landing. He stopped at the door. Boots heavy with mud, cloak smelling of damp, and aching from the cold he sighed. He knew not what he hoped to find here as he had no coin for a room. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. He hadn’t realized how late it had become. Across from the door was a bar, lined with wooden stools which all stood empty, their previous users all retiring to bed or the benches that lined the walls. A stone fireplace offered a warmth that filled the room, despite coals glowing lazily as they too fell for the night. The traveler looked around the room. “Four, two sleeping, one to soon join them, and one barkeep.” He thought to himself. Careful not to further break the quiet of the room he walked to the bar and took a seat. “I hope you not expecting any bed. My rooms be all full,” the barkeep spoke in a hush, “Not charging for any floor space in here though. With the rain and all.” The traveler surveyed the room again, making note of hall leading to the rooms. His hood still raised, he spoke without looking up at the barkeep, “Thank you sir. I ensure you I shall not being staying more than a night.” His voice was quiet, nevertheless the barkeep seemed startled and seemed to examine him more closely.

“Not a need to rush off. Feel free to stay and dry out a bit.”

While he enjoyed the idea of not traveling in the constant rain he could not help but feel a sense of urgency about his travels. He reached into his cloak and grasped at the folded parchment that had started him on this journey. “In town, might I be able to find a scholar?” Desperately the traveler asked the barkeep.

“Depends on the kind you looking for. Think there is a history man working the papers at the dock.” As he spoke, the barkeep took a metal stein out from under the bar and filled it with a frothy gold ale. The sound of a snore began to come from one of the others in the room, “Appears as though the third has fallen a slumber as well.” The traveler thought to himself.

“It be late. Have an ale and some rest. Not any sense looking for a scholar at this hour.” The barkeep sat the ale in front of the traveler, who took it reluctantly and stood from the stool. “Thank you again sir. I shall speak to the historian at the docks in the morning. Would you by chance know of their name?” The Traveler asked, looking for any information to satiate his longing for understanding.

“Rest. Can tell you more in the morn.” The barkeep stated sternly as he left the room for a bed of his own. The traveler sipped his ale and found himself space on the floor. He did not have much with him with which to make a bed; Nevertheless, it would be better than the nights before spent sleeping along the trail, foraging for food. He sat there on the floor for some time reflecting on this. How had he come to travel with so little? He took mental inventory of his belongings as he had every night of his travels. He had his cloak, his boots, his pants, and his tunic. His belt still wrapped snugly around his waist, holding a small coin purse and a steel dagger. The dagger being his only means of defense, he was grateful he was finally sleeping inside again. He reached into his cloak once more and took out the folded parchment, careful not to crease or bend it might he damage what it carried. On the outside was a name, his name, Gregory Free. Slowly he unfolded and opened the parchment, revealing its contents. A single black feather, the feather of a raven, rested inside along with a single instruction ascribed to the parchment, “Find the amulet.”

Gregory stared at the parchment, as if waiting for it to reveal some hidden secret to him. It did not. He knew it would not. He had examined this parchment every night on the trail and he had only been left with more questions. Why? What amulet? Where did this mysterious parchment come from? And why is it, despite being carried through the seemingly endless rain, that it had remained completely dry? He carefully folded the parchment back into the envelope that he had received so long ago, tucking the feather and parchment back into his cloak. “Hopefully Raven’s Landing will hold answers.” He thought to himself as he laid down and watched the glowing embers twinkle out.