Ascension Trial

A raging blizzard rattled the windows and the simple wooden door of the quaint inn. Suddenly the door slammed open bringing the storm inside, flicking the lanterns, and sending a hail of snow throughout the warm room. A figure stood in the threshold fighting the wind. He reached for the door having to put his body into resealing the interior. With a satisfying click the metal chamber fell into place. The stranger, shroud in darkness, pulled tight his hooded cowl. With his features hidden he made his way towards the large fully stoked fireplace. He extended his gloved hands towards the flame. The snow and ice melted off his shivering body, grateful for the warmth after such a cold journey. The dancing light ever so slightly began to creep in, attempting to reveal his hidden features. After a minute of stealing the heat, he turned to find an open table.

It was a simple tavern. Around ten tables made up the main room, all positioned around the four wooden pillars that held up the roof. Only a handful of patrons occupied these tables, most of the locals staying safe at home. A small bar was built in front of the kitchen and there were stairs leading up to the rooms. It was surprisingly well kept for such a small town in the middle of nowhere. He was never truly comfortable anywhere, but the tavern had an appeal. A young comely barmaid was busy running drinks and hot plates of food from the kitchen. She seemed to be the only one working tonight. He watched her drop off the items at the table of two travelers: one a small female human and the other an elven male. She had blonde hair that kept off her face with a simple circlet. He was older, with the makings of a beard. Their gear, a large sword and shield and backpacks giving them away as guests to this town. He didn’t peg them as merchants too prepared for action. Maybe they were here for the job. He spotted a crest on the elf’s armor. He didn’t recognize it, but he had seen crests on armor before. It generally meant they were a knight, representing their family or lord.

Finding a place in the corner, near the fire, he sulked into the shadows. On the opposite side at the back of the room, another set of red eyes found his. He felt as if this leering gaze was seeing through his covering. The other patron eventually looked away when the barmaid cleared his empty plate of food. A few minutes later the barmaid approached him.

“I barely saw you over here, hope I didn’t make you wait long?” she asked, her tender voice soft and sweet. She seemed eager to have another customer on a stormy night.

“No, not too long,” he replied. His tone, silky and unsettling.

She smiled sheepishly at him, it was a friendly gesture but delivered with a hint of discomfort. “What can I get you?”

“A mug of your house and one of whatever those warm plates you brought out.”

“I’ll be right back with that,” she gave a slight nod, avoiding his gaze and quickly sped off. He could tell he made her nervous, he tended to make people nervous. True to her word she returned shortly with a red ale and a plate of sausage, potatoes, and a slice of warm bread. The smell of salt and butter hit him before plate touched the table. It had been too long since he had eaten a fresh meal.

“Thank you,”

“You’re welcome.” She left not wanting to feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. Having not eaten for at least a day he polished off the meal with gusto. While taking a swig of ale, chasing down his meal, he felt those red eyes on him again. The girl came back to clear his plate blocking his stalker’s gaze. Whoever this other figure was, wouldn’t stop staring. He obviously thought him a threat.

“How much for a room?”

“I’m sorry we are full. That man,” she nodded in the direction of the other lone stranger in the corner, “Got the last room.”

He tossed her a coin, “Thanks for the food.” She caught the coin easily in a practiced manner, her eyes wide at the glint of gold. Her catch caught him off guard. He gave her a nod of respect.

“This is too--” She stopped herself and accepted the money. “And again I’m sorry about the room if there was anything I could do...” She gave him an apologetic look.

“Actually can I get two more of whatever he was drinking?”

“Of course. And it’s already covered by your generosity,” she said before hurrying back behind the bar.

He had no interest in braving the blizzard again. Time to make friends, he thought. Gathering his simple pack he finished off the remnants of his current beer, set the tankard down on the wooden table, and made his way over. The other table of two travelers had already made their way to their room for the night, leaving the two of them alone.

“Evening friend,” The hooded figure said.

“I’m not your friend,” his deep voice penetrated the darkness.

Gesturing to a chair, “Mind?” He got a grunt in return but decided to take it as confirmation, pulling a chair out from under the table, the wood scraping across the floor, piercing the silence of the empty tavern. He leaned onto the table, features still hidden. The other man kept his head down, most of his body in the shadows. The only visible feature was his long black hair tied back revealing a set of pointy ears. At this time the girl returned with two more mugs of the red ale, the froth spilling over as she set them down. He grabbed his beer and took a swig. His attempt to smooth over this greeting wasn’t going as planned, as the second beer remained in place. “Any chance you are here for the same reason as me?” he asked trying to get a feel for this stranger.

“Depends.”

“Well, I just figured this small town doesn’t see much of... your kind, hence the hiding in the shadows.”

“My kind...and what’s your reason?” A slight uptick of annoyance in his tone as his eyes glanced up briefly before returning to focus on the grains of the table.

“Same as yours, we like the shadows. See, I think we are both here for the same reason. Why else would we be dumb enough to travel in that blizzard to a small shit hole like this.”

“Humph. You sure talk a lot.”

“How else do you make friends?” He smiled from under his cowl. No response from his new acquaintance. “Let me get straight to the point. I think the two of us will mutually benefit from working together.” Before any response, he continued, “Before you shut me down I get the sense you are more of the solitary type, as am I. Normally I’d relish the challenge of besting anyone else after a reward but this storm has caused me to rethink my strategy and as much as I like gold, I like living more.” There was a long pause as he waited for anything, hoping his speech was enough for the stranger.

“The name’s Garrok.”

‘Now we are getting somewhere’, he thought. “Rothox, it’s a pleasure,” he extended his hand. His new companion grasped it with a mighty grip. While still locked in place Garrok pulled him in close with ease, almost pulling Rothox off his seat.

“If you fuck me, I’ll kill you...friend,” he whispered a growl into his dark hood. Rothox got a better look at Garrok’s features. He had dark skin and where two tusks should be there was only one with a scar down the missing tusk side of his cheek. His eyes were brown but the light from a nearby lantern reflected that devilish tint of red.

“I like you,” Rothox replied still waiting for his hand back. Garrok released his hand as he stood, towering over Rothox’s slender six-foot frame. Garrok was another five inches taller with thick shoulders and a broad back. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up to his elbows revealing corded forearms, each was covered in what Rothox knew were old battle scars, he had a few himself. The scars on Garrok varied in age and depth but one caught his attention, it was fresh, maybe a week old. Rothox knew this half-orc had fought his entire life. He could sense that he would make a strong ally. Before he could say anything else Garrok left. Rothox was still seated as he made his way upstairs to the rooms above the tavern. Rothox followed him up the stairs after a couple of seconds. Garrok opened the door to the last room and went to close it. With a quick dash, Rothox caught the door with his foot.

“I thought we were a team?”

“For the job, which starts tomorrow.” Garrok snarled and Rothox removed his foot and the door slammed shut.

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. Turning to leave he noticed the barmaid was lingering at the top of the steps having seen his rejection of a bed. She shook her head and moved towards him, stopping halfway down the hallway.

“Come on you can sleep in here.” She produced a key and opened the door to a small storage closet. Inside were a few cleaning supplies and extra bedding for the rooms. It was cramped, but he was able to use some of the extra bedding for a makeshift bed on the floor. Rothox thanked her with another coin. Placing his pack on the floor he removed a small black book and a piece of graphite, then positioned his bag as a pillow to rest against.

Better than nothing, he thought. He thumbed through the pages until he reached a blank one a third of the way through and began to recount his day’s events. A habit he had picked up a few years back from an old friend. His mentor had always kept a journal, saying, ‘your memory will fade but the written word lasts forever.’ Since then he always wrote down the important details of his day. After jotting his thoughts down, he removed a throwing dagger from his belt and stuck it to the doorframe just above his left shoulder, for quick access, another habit. He felt his eyelids begin to sag as exhaustion took over his body and he settled into a long night.