An argument heated, voices shouting in unabashed anger.
A challenging cry, the furious music of blades singing in the air.
A death rattle, shouts of betrayal from the mob.
A coward's judgment, strained denials and pleas upon deaf ears.
A bubbling heat, agony itself given physical form.
A scream, forged of pain and suffering beyond ken.
A gasp of sudden fright broke the still air, deep inhalations signaling the surge of adrenaline in the system. Eyes of silver hue gleaned every detail of their surroundings in their frenzied search for the familiar, to make sure what had transpired in the dream world was not reality.
Glints of light through a small window's wooden blinds signaled the coming of morn, as well as aid the dreamer's vision of his quarters. Walls of coppered wood created the well-sized room, though far from big, well-sized enough for a man to not have bouts of claustrophobia as he slept. The room itself was somewhat bare, bearing only a man-sized cot furnished with linens and a nearby step table to lay smaller belongings. A mirror the size of an ogre's head hung on the far wall with a dainty dresser lying beneath it, its sole encumbrance being a large bowl of water and a few neatly-folded cloths. This was no personalized room for any one particular occupant to dwell within, but for travelers and merchants.
The lone dweller's breathing was still somewhat shallow, but had mostly returned to normal once the surveillance had been completed.
"The dream again..." a disgruntled mumble, soon followed by the billowing of sheets, preventing their use for a return to slumber.
Two heavy feet collided with the floorboards, the cot releasing its user as he swung himself upright, stretching his body hither and yon to remove the remnants of sleep's fatigue. A callous hand rubbed away the film from his eyes, before sweeping southward down his face, stopping at the chin. With a slight push, the neck cracked and another in the opposite direction made it pop in a similar fashion.
Making his way to the far end of the room, he stopped before the dresser and leaned forward above the bowl. Cupping water in both hands, the cool water splashed upon his face, removing the traces of the cold sweat he found himself in. Again this process was repeated, and a third to vacate any straggling debris. Towel in hand, he rose to dry, catching a glimpse of his mirrored doppelganger.
He was a man in his prime, one would easily guess within a few years his proper age within the twenties. Sun-kissed bronzed skin covered his lean, muscled body; a symbol of frequent outdoor activity in the day. Jet black hair trimmed short, enough so that it wouldn't tangle or mess but still long enough to bend and sway in the winds. A strong jaw line supported a matching frock of wild, somewhat scraggly hair that ran from one sideburn to the other along its breadth, there was no moustache to be seen, it only heading upwards from his chin to connect to his bottom lip resembling a triangle in the midst of his beard. A long, jagged scar ran from his right temple, down past the edge of his eye, before curving inward underneath the cheekbone, a reminder of a battle long past. Silver eyes stared back at him, eyes that seemed older than the face they now looked upon, the marks underneath his eyes indicating a loss of sleep. The eyes soon scanned downward, staring longingly at his right arm, the limb wrapped from shoulder to wrist in black cloth like that of a bandaged wound.
Another displeased grunt tore his gaze away and focused back to the task at hand, willing away the last vestiges of water. Discarding the dampened cloth, he made his way back to the table, a small pile of clothes neatly folded and cared for, a service of the inn. A simple white undershirt came first, before a suit of ringmail jingled about as it covered it. A forest green tunic spread across his chest and arms snugly, hugging the armor behind it. A clasped belt, a loop for a sword's sheath on either side, holding up a simple brown pair of cloth pants. A gauntlet of thick brown leather armor was bore on his left arm, heading all the way up to his elbow. His forearm bore four strange runic symbols, each glowing with arcane power and each bearing a different color. This was followed by even thicker leather greaves that rose to his knees, a simpler armored glove than his left merely covered his right hand. Two straps ran diagonally from his shoulders both ways as they secured the small pauldrons that rested atop them as well as the quiver of red-fletched arrows bundled within it. The last piece was a bandana tied firmly around his head, hiding away his hair underneath a layer of leafy green cloth.
Dressed to kill, the man strode towards the door, pack in hand, before grabbing the last few remnants of his gear, a long knife that slid to his right hip, along with a oaken longbow fitted for the arrows upon his back. Lastly, a fantastic scabbard holding a well-balanced sword that by the looks of its silvered hilt and intricately wrapped blackened grip, was no amateur smith's work.
Pack and few possessions in hand, the armed man departed his temporary lodgings. Reeks of boiling fats and stews drifting amongst the corridor of the wooden hallway he strode slowly down upon. The innkeeper most likely serving the few customers he has a breakfast, and in all likelihood, was to pry a few more coins from their purse.
With a short descent down a flight of stairs, the room opened into a dimly lit tavern area, large rounded wooden tables littered with chairs, some of which very much worse for wear. Taking a seat, sword and bow withdrawn and leaning against the table to not hamper his comfort.
"What can I get ya?" A soft, somewhat sultry country voice asked not a moment after he sat. The barmaid, a rather pleasant-looking girl, her youthful face and tone offsetting the curvaceous and full womanly figure she bore.
"Ale. Bread...Pottage if you have it." There was no light or jovialness in his way of speaking, nor was it offensive or grumbled. Plain and blunt.
"I'll go see." A wink followed the happy chirp as she spun in her heel towards the kitchen, leaving her customer once again by his lonesome.
Leaning back in the somewhat uncomfortable seat, a though crossed his mind and he delved into the pack at his side. Removing a small coin purse, a telltale jingle signaled its contents. With a calculated shake, the small golden coins clattered as they scattered about the tabletop. Eyes darted this way and that as they tallied the number of coins versus that of purchases he needed to make.
"Need to get the blade sharpened...not to mention some rations and vulneraries...A pretty penny indeed...I may need to do some hunting or mercenary work in the future..." He thought, a hand unconsciously scratching the bottom of his chin. It was then his gaze found its way to the thick door that led to the outside world. "I should also check on Ajax...Spirits only know if he had actually slept..."
His thinking was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the waitress, her bubbly nature showing itself in her flourishing movements as she set down piece after piece of the meal. A hearty mug filled to the brim with a great head of ale, a hearty slab of bread, a well-sized bowl of a hearty stew, as well as a pleasant surprise of a few sizzling pieces of sausage.
"Enjoy!" Another wink as she sauntered away, her head somewhat craned as to keep an eye on the huntsman, hoping to catch him peeking at her retreating form.
Rather, his attention retained on the food before him as he began ripping apart the bread into eatable chunks before washing them down the ale. His focus did once hover back to the serving lass, catching her make gossip with the sole other occupants of the inn, two armored fellows who could only be some form of town guardsmen.
She seemed more reserved in her talk with them than she had with him...Most likely she was just the flirtatious sort, then again, if otherwise she was indeed attracted...It had been a good long while since his last lay and a good tumble in the hay might do him some good. Alas, he needed to fulfill one urge before enabling another, hunger outweighing amour in this case.
"Did you hear? Southtown was attacked by bandits..."
A snippet in the conversation caught his attention well into his meal, but he kept his eyes on his food as to not alert them of his now eavesdropping.
"Gods above, that's only a stone's throw from here! You don't think..." It was the barmaid who now spoke, obvious fear now straining her tone.
"Nah, from what I heard, the Prince and his men wiped 'em all out!" The guardsman laughed, "I heard that him and his Shepherds were headed this way, too!"
"Really? Think I got a chance to join 'em?"
"Har! Dream on, Rogers! Like a wimp like you could ride with the Prince!"
It descended into mindless babble once again, the huntsman's interest waning as they fawned over their beloved Prince and exaggerated rumors of his followers. Prince Chrom, one could not walk into a tavern in all the Halidom without hearing the peasantry gab about him. Most likely all the hype was the product of his people's imaginations, a royal wanting to play the hero was excellent fodder for the bards and would excite the commonfolk to no end. In all likelihood he was some stuff-shirted blueblood who barked orders upon his horse at the edge of the battlefield, far from the bloodshed, sending the true warriors to fight in his name...An all-too familiar scenario in this land.
"So ya need...anything... else?" The barmaid had returned only to find the seat and dishes empty, the table housing a few extra coins for the meal...It was if he and his food had all but vanished.
The sun peaked out from a swath of grey clouds, catching him as he walked alongside the exterior of the inn. The large building housing a small stable, for those few occupants that had mounts. It could host a half dozen or so horses or even pegasi, perhaps even a few griffons...certainly not any wyverns...but right now, it was mostly empty, save for a single occupant whose head shot up at the sound of its master's approach.
"C'mon boy, it's time to- OOF!" The wind suddenly was knocked right out of him as a great form collided into his chest, bowling him ass over end. If that wasn't bad enough, his face was now under attack in a horrendous flurry from a thick, pink tongue.
"Ajax! Blech! Get off!" He groaned, grabbing the canine face before him by his oversized snout. Ajax, his loyal compatriot, a massive molasser-bred dog of war whose frame was far bulkier and stronger than any of the dogs found in this land, in thanks also to the tinge of wolf-blood in his veins. His wiry black fur accentuated his underbelly of corduroy brown, which stretched his neck to his muzzle. He could easily reach the height of a grown man's gut, and weighed roughly the same amount it seemed. His deep blue puppy eyes alit with curiosity as he ceased his licking and began sniffing furiously down his master's chest. His search however, was abruptly cut short as he shoved unceremoniously off, rolling softly in the hay.
Wiping the oozy saliva from his face, the man now hefted himself back to his feet, a look of mock disdain on his face as he peered at his blissfully ignorant companion.
"Must you always do that?" He grumbled as he dusted straw and dirt from his tunic. A duo of seemingly conversational barks was his answer, Ajax now leaping in a small circle in joy. "Yes yes, hold on, I'll get it." Fishing around in a small pocket of his trousers, he unsheathed the last portions of sausage from his own breakfast and with a small toss, sacrificed one to his canine friend. Said friend eagerly caught the whole of it in his mouth before tearing into it with gusto, his owner doing the same to his own link.
The day passed on as the two meandered about the town, the various tasks expenses one must take to upkeep the wanderer's lifestyle taking a powerful chunk out of their time. Blades sharpened; arrows fletched; rations and supplies must be bartered for; all in all, each one deflating his already pitiful sack of coins.
By the time all was accomplished, afternoon was already underway, the sun having taken cover behind a steadily-increasing amount of dim clouds. The wind had also started to pick up, one such gust sending a minor chill down his spine. Autumn's crisper temperature slowly acclimating the people to winter's bite.
Rain's coming...a good omen at the very least..." He thought, unloading a fur-lined cloak for the sudden drop in temperature, his gaze shifting upwards to the sky. A hood ornamented with the fangs of various carnivores came to encompass his head as he ventured out the town's outskirts, making his way through the catacombs of shoulder-high grass towards the woods.
"What do you think we'll get tonight, boy?" He lightly chuckled to the dog trotting at his side, receiving a few tame yaps in return. "A stag? I think you're being a little optimistic..." A short whine accompanied his statement, "A boar then? That's akin to what I thought, they'll be out grubbing when the rain hits..." A sudden drop of moisture cut him off, the sky above turning darker than night seemingly, the clouds laden with rain ready to drop at a moment's notice.
The wind howled yet again, this time twice as strong, fluttering his cloak to and fro until he found shelter within the trees. Stepping into the dark of the forest, the huntsman stopped and with a deep inhale, dropped to one knee, bow in hand before him.
"Spirits, grace my hunt today...Water, hide my scent from the prey...Earth, steady my stance and hand...Fire, alight my soul for the hunt...Wind, guide my arrow to mark...Life, allow me an Agent of Death."His silent prayer ended as he rose back to his feet, his nose flaring as it exhaled the breath he took, a hand upon his companion's head.
"Let the hunt begin."