Who's Afraid of the Big Bad... (closed to Revenant)

[Tshael]

Wolves howled in the distance, somewhere across the rolling plains. The open window let the sound float in. Tshael leaned down at the hearth, using the iron poker to jab at the embers that glowed and crackled in the stone recess of the fireplace. A well-placed hit shattered the thinning log, and sparks flew as the pieces of burning oak tumbled from the rack. Leaning forward, the Dranak woman peered into the cast iron pot that hung above the fire. Inside, a stew gently bubbled. She grabbed the wooden ladle from where it hung near the mantle and swirled it through the dark broth, carrots and potatoes rising to the surface and sinking again like waterlogged buoys in a tempestuous ocean. Her mouth started to water as through the aroma of herbs, she could smell the thick pieces of deer meat that cooked beneath the surface of the water. Standing, and stepping away from the hearth, she replaced the ladle and pulled back a jungle of red curls from her face, warmed by the fire. There was still cooking left to do, but the fire needed feeding before she would.

Her hooves echoed across the hardwood floor as she crossed to the door. She passed between a collection of sturdy tables on her left, marked with rings left from many years of cold mugs of ale, and the bar on her right. The stools were worn smooth, the surface of the wood shining as the light from the fire flashed and flickered across the room. The bar itself was clean, with stacks of small glasses and mugs lined up behind it. Against the back wall, shelves that were nearly bare but for a small collection of bottles with varying amounts of liquor hung above two kegs. One of them seemed to be empty, the tap was removed and a thick layer of dust had settled along the top and on the edges of the leather straps that enforced the planks. Opening the door, further evidence of the disuse of the Silver Pub lay in the lawn. The weeds had begun to overtake the dirt road that led from Radasanth, the blueberry bushes that were once used to brew the pub’s house beer were withering from lack of care. On the porch, underneath the hanging pub sign, the pile of firewood was taller than Tshael. Since closing the pub down, she hadn’t needed to use so much, and that was just fine with her.

A thick air of depression had overtaken her recently, and it was almost without a care that she pulled down the greying oak logs into her arms. A few small spiders went scurrying over the wood as it shifted, jumping into the crevices further into the wood pile. Somehow, it made her smile. She stood on the porch for a moment, listening to the high squeak of the rusted pub sign as it swung in the evening breeze. A sound in the yard caught her attention and she turned, her tail whisking behind her with annoyance, as if she could brush away the intruder.

It may have been the drinks she’d had before checking on the stew, but she could barely make out the figure that had been coming up the road. Her lips pursed together as she glared at the stranger for a moment. “We’re closed,” she called, turned away to start back into the Pub. “Gonna have to find somewhere else for the night.” When she was in the doorway and the figure had yet to turn back to leave, she raised her voice, anger prodded by the liquor on her breath letting her harsh words spill out. “I said scram!”

[Revenant]

A deep frown answered the Dranak’s slurred words. While William’s physical needs were far less than a human’s, three weeks of hard travel pushed the limits of even what he was willing to comfortably endure. He’d taken the long roads out of Concordia, the hard roads that led away from the blood and flames of his betrayal at Ixian Castle. He’d thought it a necessity at the time, a necessity not only to throw off any of Sei’s pursuers, but also to give him some time to gather his thoughts about himself and his future. But after all of it, after the sun-parched miles and the quiet introspection all that William had to show for it was a thick coating of dust, two dozen days of facial hair, and a powerful thirst. Only the fact that he no longer sweat was the only thing keeping William from being completely foul, a generous facet of his body that wasn’t quite as easily sidestepped by his mood.

Especially when the only thing standing between William and some much deserved rest was a half-drunk slip of a thing.

“Not likely,” William grunted, his voice thick and coarse from disuse and caked dust. An arm appeared from the depths of his cloak to gesture negligently towards the Silver Pub’s open window and the heady scent of the stew flowing from it. The other maintained a firm grip on the haft of the warscythe dragging angrily against the stone behind him.

“I’m sure what you’ve got going on there is generally enough to frighten off the locals, but I’m not that easy to impress.” Twin pinpoints of burning orange lit the darkness within the hood of William’s cloak, evidence that he too was just as much an oddity as the Dranak.

“All I want is a drink to wash the road out of my mouth and a place to put my feet for a while.” Thick tension hung in the air as the evening breeze whipped the withered leaves into a frantic dance between the two inhumans. Seconds later, the flare of fire faded from William’s eyes, casting the Revenant’s hood once more fully into shadow. “A little bit of your time and ale isn’t worth the kind of trouble that I can bring down on your happy little homestead here, girl.”

[Tshael]

Her lip curled upward in a sneer. Tshael was not a creature to be threatened under the best of circumstances, and under the spell of a strong whiskey and swaddled in a foul abiding misery she was even less inclined to be cowed. A golden gaze swept over the stranger, from his feet to the darkness beneath his hood. She'd lingered for a moment on his weapon, sizing it up. It was formidable, and she was sure that the way he dragged it along was merely an illusion at any weakness on his part. Still, she shook her head and clutched the logs to her chest even more tightly. The rough bark bit into her arms, chipping away as her nails bit into the aged husk.

"Oh, this place has seen it's share of trouble." she answered, glossing over the itch she had to argue against his assumption that the Silver Pub still held any remote drop of happiness. "Been through death and fire, can't imagine you'd be much worse. Radasanth is just another mile down the road. Plenty of places that will take you there."

She moved one hoof towards the door as if she meant to turn back away from him and then thought better of it. The sound of the iron clapping against wood was almost too loud in the silence between them. Something about him made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It would be better to stand on the porch until he was on his way. Closer, echoing across the fields behind the pub, the wolves were howling again.