Out of Character:
News travels fast in Althanas, bad news faster still.
I've been aware of the impending crisis in Salvar for a while now. When your ideal way to wrap up an evening is by seeing what the local watering holes have to offer, you hear talk. Ethereal Sway this, King Rahaxea that; no matter which tavern I camped out in. From the way that these people were talking, something big was going to go down--it was just a matter of when.
I was still in Radasanth when I started hearing the rumors. After mulling over the possibilities for several days, I decided that the frozen continent would prove to be a good opportunity to raise some cash, and perhaps gain some notoriety along the way. I stuck around the Coronian city a while longer; my funds were too low to make the trip then. I dug around a bit, slitting a few throats here and there until I had the necessary gold for the boat ticket.
A few weeks later I set foot on the snowy, barren landscape for the first time in my life. Traveling by foot along Iorlan's Canal, I came across a small town called Dronost. It wasn't a big place by any means--a main street capped by an elegant yet cozy cathedral on one end and a regal manor at the other. Wooden shacks crammed the mile and a half stretch of road, while the canal ran on one side and snow covered farms lay on the other. The streets were empty, save for the uniformed guard posted outside of the manor.
Even so, the tension in the town was so thick that it made me sick to my stomach. The rumors were right, things were going to blow up here; Not just in Knife's Edge, but all over the country. As I continued walking down the main road, my footsteps crunching softly in the white powder, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had eyes all around me, watching me cautiously, waiting patiently for me to make one wrong move. I paused, looking around.
Nobody. There was nobody there. The only movement was my breath dissipating into the cold, crisp air. Reluctantly, I continued to walk. I spotted a building that had all the signs that it was a tavern: Windows tinted by years of tobacco smoke, a small murmur of noise escaping through the cracks in the door, and a wooden plank above the door clearly marked "tavern".
I quickly made a bee line towards the building, softly opening the door. It was a low-rent establishment; the mirror hanging behind the bar was cracked in places, two of the tables were held up by barrels instead of proper legs, and the air smelled of mold and stale alcohol. With my grand entrance, the dozen or so patrons immediately put their hushed conversations on hold, opting to stare at me with blank expressions. I surveyed the tavern, returning their kind gaze with one of my own.
My hand released the door, which swung with a creak back into its natural position. "What." My thin, raspy voice seemed to echo throughout the small room. Despite my cold exterior, these villagers were starting to freak me out. Perhaps I stumbled into the wrong town... Our eyes still deadlocked on one another, I reached into my satchel and pulled out one of my trusty vials of blood. I quickly popped the cap off and drank it; the metallic taste of the crimson liquid calmed my nerves somewhat.
My heels clicked on the wooden planks of the tavern floor as I made my way over to an open stool at the bar. The patrons slowly returned to their conversations, opting to ignore my presence. The bartender, made chubby and bald by the waning years of his life, approached me. In a tone that suggested that he didn't trust me at all, he asked, "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
"I'd like a Bloody Mary, please."
He cocked his head to the side. "A what?"
I sighed. How could you tend bar and not know what a Bloody Mary is? "Never mind. How about a screwdriver then?" The man looked at me in a manner that told me he didn't know what a screwdriver was either. I closed my eyes, doing little to hide the disappointment in my voice. "What do you have, then?"
The man looked at the nearly empty shelves on the wall behind him, his eyes falling on a small group of identical brown bottles. "Whiskey."
"Is that all?"
"Yep. I'm afraid we don't get much demand for anything else around here."
I turned on the stool, looking upon the patrons with disdain. You poor bastards have no taste in drinks, I wanted to tell them. But considering that they mirrored my stare, I kept my trap shut. I didn't want to start anything; I'd risk getting hurt before I made it to Knife's Edge.
"Alright then, how about a double shot of whiskey to start me off."
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