Recovering the Lost Convoy

[Kade Underbough]

A heavy rain beat down on the rotted roof of Shandra’s Tavern, having rolled into town from the southern Comb Mountains. Thick droplets crashed, splattered, and rolled to the ground as if made of syrup rather than the atmosphere above, caused by a decade long buildup of residue. Cleaning for sake of a homely appearance had long ago been tossed aside; the ale house still served its purpose well. A droning wind tried to tear its way into the wooden planks holding the building together and it was a wonder that it didn’t succeed. Holes littered the outer wall, from the fists of angry drunkards sent home each night. The place was in desperate need for repairs, but not that night.

Inside, Sandra herself was standing behind her bar, receiving her patrons’ orders from her three waitresses as well as delivering her own. Sunset had just dawned on the town, Farrian, and nearly all inhabitants could be found in her twofold lodging and restaurant. Men and women alike laughed and yelled at the top of their lungs, all competing against each other, seemingly trying to have the most fun amongst them. Many of the men were abrasive, unabashed as they tried to swoon one woman after the next. It was truly a soldier’s town and the women gave proof to that, putting each man in his place as soon as they grew bored of them. Whether through a verbal insult that could temporarily hush a crowd, or a direct blow to the tenderest of bodily organs that would send a crowd into an uproar of applause and laughter, the women let everyone know exactly who was in charge.

A grey haired man and his very young accomplice sat close to the back of the giant room. The young man, not quite in his adult years, tried to absorb his surroundings, but it was too much. He lacked the experience and the understanding to deal with all the commotion found in places like Sandra’s. The older man, wearing a mixed apparel of leather and steel armor, looked the polar opposite, a giant grin spread across his face. Three empty tankards sat at various places on the table, along with an assortment of shredded meats, cheeses, and some unknown green substance supposedly added to give the meal some flair. The grey haired man’s rosy cheeks gave him away as the culprit to have emptied the tankards, the teenager halfheartedly drinking the stagnant water in his mug. They had both eaten a small amount, but for the most part the meal sat untouched. A quick scan of the barroom would tell any observer that skipping out on the food could be considered the norm.

The door to the building opened, but the entering party came in at first unheard and unheeded. Even the influential Balin, captain of the guard in Farrian, would take some time to gather the silence he and his partner needed to deliver their message. His partner stood upright, allowing his regal armor to tell anyone nearby of his importance. A feather and sword was engraved on its chest, just over his heart, complete with a scarlet shield as the background. The insignia of Corone’s Armed Forces, in a town of eager supporters to the empire, would hush the chaos in a cascade of awe. In a short span of minutes, even the very back or Sandra’s had learned that one of Corone’s finest had arrived, looking as though he had important business at hand. The Corone Empire’s captain gave his audience a salute and had it quickly returned by many. Lionel Grantham was in the right place.

“Men and women, the Rangers have robbed the empire of our soldier’s bread, their water, and of their very homes. Our nation’s defense, our survival, lies in the hands of those brave men and women. Can you, or I, stand back and do nothing, while they do everything, only to come home and starve? No! That is why I am here. Your brethren need you at this very moment.” He paused as several patrons were already rising to their feet. Many were retired soldiers of years past, but still able-bodied. “Will you help us?!” He shot his arm and sword into the air, pointing at the heavens in theatrical fashion as his eyes darted from man to man.

“Aye!” cried a large sum of men and women in unison, eagerness dripping from their tongues.

[Paragon]

Chilling winds blew through the moist air, changing the direction of the rain with each new gust. The sunset was obscured by the storm, instilling an early darkness for the residents of this town. Not many people were on the roads, but those who were moved hastily toward cover. Dorian Sesthal however, took his time and took care with each step.

Aqua eyes peeked out from under the fur-trimmed hood of his jacket as he slogged through the mud toward the tavern. Each step left an imprint of his boots, which was quickly washed away. He had been traveling all day, and figured he could get to a town before the rain started hitting hard. He was wrong, and now his fur clothing was paying the price for it. The young man considered himself fortunate, but today didn't seem to reflect that. Nonetheless, he was not a man to regret the trivialities of life. He enjoyed his journey, and thought himself a man to craft his own fate. He took both the ups and downs of life.

As he entered the tavern, he took off the hood and looked around. It looked like a particularly active evening, which disappointed his hope in a quiet meal. The place looked like it was falling apart, with several wooden boards jutting out of the walls. On his head rested his companion Fallow, the miniature dragon whelp. Invisible to all but Dorian, Fallow felt safe on his head but was intimidated by the rowdy behavior of the patrons. Traveling with Dorian has made him more secure in his ability to not be noticed, but it was still difficult to be completely calm in a room full of people.

Fallow's telepathic voice popped into Dorian's head, "Are we going to eat now? You said we'd eat soon."

They did not travel long together, so often Fallow forgot that replying to him made Dorian look like he was talking to himself. The young man merely pressed a finger up his mouth, looked up at the whelp, and nodded silently. It was nice to be finally out of the rain, and his mood improved immensely as he thought about a nice hot dinner. Even if the quality wasn't so good, having actual wet wood instead of dry rations was a godsend.

As Dorian went to order more meat than he knew what to do with, Fallow telepathically told him, "Make sure you get some vegetables, too. I wanna try some of this 'celery' stuff."

Dorian had made a promise to accommodate Fallow's taste buds, since the little dragonling had rarely had any variation of food in his lifetime. He didn't like most of what he had, but if there was a good number of favorite treats, then Dorian could easily win his favor in the future. The young man sat down at the counter and smiled at Sandra as she brought him the food. Discretely, he moved some of it to the side. Little by little, food was mysteriously disappearing from that portion of the plate until it was all gone. While in this form the dragonling did not need much nutrition, Dorian still felt as though given the chance, Fallow could empty an entire meat locker in minutes. As he ate, a procession of soldiers entered the tavern and announced their intentions to recover something they had lost.

'Looks like the empire is full on problems and short on help,' Dorian thought. This could be a good chance to replenish his pockets. Maybe today was lucky after all.

"Aye!" he echoed the others, raising up his arm in feigned excitement for a moment before lowering it again. If they were recruiting from a place like this, how hard could it be?