The young ranger looked up, as he wiped away the ice forming on his dark
eyebrows. He noticed a small Inn at the base of the Storm Horns, the large
mountain range that made up the western border of the Forest Kingdom. He
stepped through the foot deep snow and approached the building. The Inn was
in poor shape and was a dismal foreground to the vast winter landscape at
the foot of the mountains. The man-made lodging seemed to blot out the
natural beauty of this majestic land. Velarus looked up, his tassled dark
brown hair flowing behind his muscular shoulders to see a dirty wooden sign
bearing the name, 'The Vulgar Knave'. The ranger scratched his unshaven,
scraggly beard, and fixed his deep blue eyes on the entrance and the warmth
inside. The woodsmen wondered to himself what kind of place would represent
itself with such an odd name.
He shrugged off the thought and entered through the creaky wooden door and noticed immediately that the name was appropriate. The dilapidated bar was in poor condition, with floorboards coming up in some sections, and obvious holes in others. Beer stains, food stains, and stains one wouldn't really even want to venture a guess about, adorned the floors and walls of the establishment. The freezing weather had taken its toll on this wayward Inn as it appeared empty, except for two farmers no doubt from a nearby village. The bartender watched the newcomer as he entered, a gust of cold wind from outside caused the lanterns to shake and the lights flickered. Velarus returned the look and nodded in a gesture of greeting. The man behind the bar was tall and lanky, and wore a very dirty, once white shirt that seemed in tatters. His face was unkempt and several chunks of food and spittle lined his thick mustache, which extended around his mouth and down to his chin. Several clumps of whiskers on his chin bear the same concoction that lined his mustache. The young ranger tried not to stare at the bartenders sloppy appearance, knowing that many nights under the stars has lined his clothes and face with much dirt and soil as well.
Velarus carefully made his way around the poor flooring to order a drink, wondering if that would be such a good idea given the current conditions of the Inn. Resigning to the fact that information will probably not flow without some money changing hands, he decided to order. "Good sir, if ye please, I would like a mug of ale."
The bartender looked at the young lad and grabbed a flagon from under the counter, turns it upside down and shook it out, and banged it against the side.
Velarus watched with disdain wondering what was in the mug beforehand, but hid his expression as the barkeep met his azure eyes. "If ye have coins, it ain't no problem. Are ye from around here?"
Velarus nodded his head and responded as cheerfully as he could muster, "Yes, I hail from the small village of Birchwood. I have a few coins to spend."
"Birchwood, eh. Ne'er heard of it." He poured a large flask of liquid into the mug and set the flask back under the bar counter, then handed the flagon to the ranger. "Here ye go. One mug of ale, that'll cost ye two nibs, traveler."
The young woodsmen reached in his belt pouch and produced a silver coin. "Hmm. I seem to have only a shard. I tell ye what, good sir, keep the change and maybe ye can help with some... information."
The barkeep reached his grubby hand out and snatched up the coin from Velarus, and bit the coin to check its authenticity. The barkeep smiled broadly, exposing his yellow, crooked teeth. "What do ye need to know? We don't get much in the way of information out here."
Velarus returned the smile, ignoring the stained teeth of the barkeep, which was not uncommon outside of the larger cities. Even some of his fellow rangers cared little for their appearance, he was a bit different in that respect. Though not flashy by any stretch of the imagination, he kept his teeth clean and his hair washed as often as he could. The woodsman turned his attention back to the bartender and spoke up, "I need to know about bandit attacks near the Storm Horn pass."
The barkeep looked around at the empty bar and then spoke, "Well, there was a caravan group here, last eve. They spoke of knights that rose from the dead attacking them as they came through the pass. They was still corpses, but were alive or at least able to function. There weren't nothin' about any bandits that I heard. I don't take much stock in some of these caravans either. They've been known to fetch a few tall tales, if'n ye know what I mean."
Velarus looked to the lanky bartender and sighed. "I have heard this rumor several times, though, far too many to be happenstance. I must go learn what I can about these undead creatures." The ranger put down his mug and turned to leave. He decided that he had as much useful information as he needed and needed to hurry since a caravan came through recently. He wanted to get there before any more snowfall covered up any evidence he could find as to what has been transpiring as of late.
"But, ye 'aven't touched yer ale mister."
Velarus looked back to the lanky man and shrugged. "No time to waste, have it thyself. Fare thee well."
The grubby looking barkeep shrugged as he grabbed the flask and gulped the liquid, spilling some down his face and adding more décor to his shirt.
The young woodsman left the bar room and pulled his grey cloak around him tightly, as he looked up at the ominous snow-covered peaks of the Storm Horns to the west. He tightened down a few straps on his leather tunic and began his march up to the pass. He knew it would be a cold and tiring journey, but he had to continue.
He shrugged off the thought and entered through the creaky wooden door and noticed immediately that the name was appropriate. The dilapidated bar was in poor condition, with floorboards coming up in some sections, and obvious holes in others. Beer stains, food stains, and stains one wouldn't really even want to venture a guess about, adorned the floors and walls of the establishment. The freezing weather had taken its toll on this wayward Inn as it appeared empty, except for two farmers no doubt from a nearby village. The bartender watched the newcomer as he entered, a gust of cold wind from outside caused the lanterns to shake and the lights flickered. Velarus returned the look and nodded in a gesture of greeting. The man behind the bar was tall and lanky, and wore a very dirty, once white shirt that seemed in tatters. His face was unkempt and several chunks of food and spittle lined his thick mustache, which extended around his mouth and down to his chin. Several clumps of whiskers on his chin bear the same concoction that lined his mustache. The young ranger tried not to stare at the bartenders sloppy appearance, knowing that many nights under the stars has lined his clothes and face with much dirt and soil as well.
Velarus carefully made his way around the poor flooring to order a drink, wondering if that would be such a good idea given the current conditions of the Inn. Resigning to the fact that information will probably not flow without some money changing hands, he decided to order. "Good sir, if ye please, I would like a mug of ale."
The bartender looked at the young lad and grabbed a flagon from under the counter, turns it upside down and shook it out, and banged it against the side.
Velarus watched with disdain wondering what was in the mug beforehand, but hid his expression as the barkeep met his azure eyes. "If ye have coins, it ain't no problem. Are ye from around here?"
Velarus nodded his head and responded as cheerfully as he could muster, "Yes, I hail from the small village of Birchwood. I have a few coins to spend."
"Birchwood, eh. Ne'er heard of it." He poured a large flask of liquid into the mug and set the flask back under the bar counter, then handed the flagon to the ranger. "Here ye go. One mug of ale, that'll cost ye two nibs, traveler."
The young woodsmen reached in his belt pouch and produced a silver coin. "Hmm. I seem to have only a shard. I tell ye what, good sir, keep the change and maybe ye can help with some... information."
The barkeep reached his grubby hand out and snatched up the coin from Velarus, and bit the coin to check its authenticity. The barkeep smiled broadly, exposing his yellow, crooked teeth. "What do ye need to know? We don't get much in the way of information out here."
Velarus returned the smile, ignoring the stained teeth of the barkeep, which was not uncommon outside of the larger cities. Even some of his fellow rangers cared little for their appearance, he was a bit different in that respect. Though not flashy by any stretch of the imagination, he kept his teeth clean and his hair washed as often as he could. The woodsman turned his attention back to the bartender and spoke up, "I need to know about bandit attacks near the Storm Horn pass."
The barkeep looked around at the empty bar and then spoke, "Well, there was a caravan group here, last eve. They spoke of knights that rose from the dead attacking them as they came through the pass. They was still corpses, but were alive or at least able to function. There weren't nothin' about any bandits that I heard. I don't take much stock in some of these caravans either. They've been known to fetch a few tall tales, if'n ye know what I mean."
Velarus looked to the lanky bartender and sighed. "I have heard this rumor several times, though, far too many to be happenstance. I must go learn what I can about these undead creatures." The ranger put down his mug and turned to leave. He decided that he had as much useful information as he needed and needed to hurry since a caravan came through recently. He wanted to get there before any more snowfall covered up any evidence he could find as to what has been transpiring as of late.
"But, ye 'aven't touched yer ale mister."
Velarus looked back to the lanky man and shrugged. "No time to waste, have it thyself. Fare thee well."
The grubby looking barkeep shrugged as he grabbed the flask and gulped the liquid, spilling some down his face and adding more décor to his shirt.
The young woodsman left the bar room and pulled his grey cloak around him tightly, as he looked up at the ominous snow-covered peaks of the Storm Horns to the west. He tightened down a few straps on his leather tunic and began his march up to the pass. He knew it would be a cold and tiring journey, but he had to continue.