The sky was a dull, iron grey in colour, heavy clouds hanging low as far as the eye could see. Rain drummed steadily onto the fresh spring grass, and patches of fog rolled by here and there. It was a chilly day, and a miserable one for travel, but two figures made their way slowly down the side of a road- avoiding treading on the road itself. It had at one point been a dirt road worn through this particular meadow by the repeated passing of horses and wagons. Now it was just a muddy trail that promised to suck the boots right off a person's feet if they tried to brave the mire.
The pair walked side by side, both wearing heavy cloaks to try and preserve themselves from the cold rain. The smaller of the two, a slight woman with grey skin and gentle lavender eyes, reached upward and tugged her hood up to stop it from slipping right off her head. "We picked an excellent week for travel, didn't we?" she asked, quiet laughter in her voice as she glanced upward at her companion.
The man, easily two feet taller than her, turned his head to look down at the woman. He had skin that was tanned from obvious time in the sun but his face bore numerous pale scars. His left eye was a rich, deep green in colour while the right was a milky white. A patchy bit of brown stubble was making a valiant attempt at growing on his chin and jaw, but it clearly wasn't that successful. His expression was hard and stoic as he glanced at the woman. After a long moment, he nodded.
The woman bit at her lip, expression crestfallen. "Aramil, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was going to rain- the weather looked so nice when we left Jarneby."
The tall man shook his head then, rolling a shoulder as he adjusted the weight of the greataxe he carried. His expression was oddly pained as he looked at her. "I didn't mean to upset you. The rain doesn't bother me. I am more concerned for you. You're going to catch a cold." He had a deep voice, one that seemed to reverberate in the slender woman's chest.
"Oh, I'll be fine," she chirped, expression immediately brightening. "Besides, we should get to the next town soon! And then we can sleep in an inn and have hot baths and everything."
Aramil's expression softened as he looked down at her for a moment longer. Then he turned his attention back to the road ahead. "As you say, Meryl."
The two continued on in comfortable silence then, the chilly rain not letting up as the meadow slowly turned to farmland. As they crested a small hill, the town of Hackdirt came into view below- a rather prosperous little place despite its name, by the looks of it.
Meryl frowned as they passed a farmhouse on the way to the village. "Aramil," she said quietly, "the farm…"
Turning his head in order to see what she was looking at, the man's expression soured. "It's been burned. Bandits."
Meryl squinted, shielding her eyes from the rain with a slim grey-skinned hand as she peered toward the village. "The village itself looks alright from here. I think they built a fence around the place to try to defend it."
As they neared Hackdirt, Meryl's observation proved to be accurate. The villagers had obviously erected a hastily-built and shoddy fence consisting of logs with sharpened sticks pointing away from the village as a deterrent.
All at once, Aramil put himself between the village and his companion, halting abruptly. An arrow whistled down and buried itself in the mud in front of his boot.
"H-halt! You there!" A boy's voice rang out, tense with nerves.
"Wait, please, don't shoot!" Meryl called, peering out from behind Aramil.
"What business do you have here?" The archer called uncertainly. He was a gawky-looking teenager with dirty blonde hair which was plastered to his face from all the rain.
"All arms and legs," Aramil grunted to Meryl, his gaze not leaving the boy who stood on the other side of the fence. "He's barely out of his diapers."
Meryl edged out from behind Aramil so she could see the boy properly. Her large companion made a rather effective wall. "We're travelers looking for a place to stay for the evening. We've come from Jarneby."
By now a few other villagers had realized something was going on, and had hurried over. Three more arrows were trained on them, all held by men of varying ages. The youngest was probably the teen who had shot at them in the first place, and the oldest looked like he was in his fifties.
"The big one's got an axe! How do we know you're not more bandits?" one of the men asked warily.
Aramil scowled. "Trust me, if I was a bandit I would have attacked already. This village's defenses are pitiful."
"Aramil!" Meryl scolded, hands on her hips.
"It's true." he said with a noncommittal shrug.
"Look, could we please speak to your village elder? Maybe we could take care of the bandits for you." Meryl offered as she turned her attention to Hackdirt's feeble line of defense.
The men conferred for a moment, huddled up and muttering to one another. After a moment, the eldest spoke. "We will allow you entry, but you have to leave the axe outside when you speak to the elder."
"That's more than fair. Thank you." Meryl replied with a grateful bow.
The two strode into the village, passing by the archers who eyed them warily.
"I don't like this," one of the older men muttered. "That dark-skinned lady did all the talking for that brute. I tell you she's probably a witch. And she looks Drow."
"But I thought Drow had black skin?"
"You know anyone else with skin like that? And besides, I tell you, that big guy looks like he doesn't care about having to leave the axe outside."
"Yeah, he looks like he could kill you about six different ways with his bare hands."
"You sure this is a good idea? I mean, the wizard's already offered to help us."
"What's one wizard gonna do to a camp of bandits?"
The discussion continued on in this vein, but Meryl took careful mental note of the talk of the wizard. Aramil clearly did as well, for his good eye shifted to glance down at her pointedly. He was offered a warm smile in return.
The two were led to one of the largest buildings in the town. Aramil hefted the enormous double-bladed axe from his shoulder and propped it against the wall outside the door. As they stepped inside and removed their rain-drenched cloaks, one of the archers gave a gasp.
"I TOLD you she was Drow!"
Meryl turned to the man and smiled kindly as she shook her long, white hair out. "Half-Drow, actually. Don't worry, I've no interest in harming anyone."
"You'd better not have any interest in that, else we'll gut ya quick." one of the archers muttered.
Aramil whirled about to face the man, who promptly shrank back against the wall in terror. Aramil was an elf, but he was easily the biggest, burliest, meanest-looking elf any of the villagers had seen. Standing at nearly eight feet in height, he glowered at the man. "Threaten her again and I'll-"
"Aramil," Meryl said gently, laying a hand on his arm. He visibly relaxed under her touch. "It's alright."
He just nodded wordlessly and turned away from the villager, who may or may not have soiled himself in his fear. The two travelers were wordlessly escorted to a large meeting room where a frail-looking little man was seated at a table. A younger-looking man in what appeared to be a dark red smoking jacket and black trousers was seated across from the elder, but they couldn't see the young man's face.
The elder, however, glanced up and nearly toppled out of his seat. "Wh- who are you?"
"Two travelers who wanted to talk to you about the bandits. They say they came from Jarneby." one of the archers said.
"I see. Thank you, Rudd," the elder said as he composed himself. Clearing his throat, he rubbed a hand along his whitened beard. "My name is Keric. I am the elder of this village."
Meryl gave curtsy, smoothing her hands over her white skirt. "I am Meryl, and this is Aramil. As your men said, we're travelers. We came here seeking shelter for the evening, but when we saw the state of the surrounding farmland and realized bandits were involved, we wanted to help."
Aramil watched as the man in the smoking jacket turned to look at them both. He was human and quite handsome, with a chiseled jaw, black hair, and a neatly-trimmed goatee. And he was eyeing Meryl like she was Sunday dinner. Aramil felt a muscle in his jaw tense, his mouth forming a grim line.
"- appreciate the offer of help, but this wizard, Sir Devlin, has already offered to aid us. We can scare afford to pay him, let alone anyone else." the elder was saying.
"That's not a problem at all, sir. Aramil and I would be happy to lend your village our aid in exchange for dinner and a good night's sleep at your inn." Meryl replied.
"You are most gracious. Would you object to the extra pairs of hands, Devlin?" Keric asked.
"Mmmm," Devlin mumbled as if pondering this. "Well, the bandits are undoubtedly well-fortified if they're in a protracted siege on this town. But what could this beautiful lady and her uh- elf- possibly do to help a wizard?"
"I'm a healer," Meryl said quickly, trying to make sure Aramil didn't reach out and strangle Devlin. "And Aramil is my bodyguard. He's more than capable of eliminating bandits."
"I see. Well, I would welcome the extra… hands, as it were." Devlin said, giving Meryl a smirk.
Her grey cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she hurriedly turned her attention back to Keric. "In that case, sir, do we have a deal?"
"Of course, and I thank you on behalf of all of Hackdirt for offering your aid. I'll have someone show you three to the inn right away so you can have some dinner and discuss your plans."