Before Falling; Chapter Two- Honeysuckle's Tail
Standardized testing sucks. Do any of you reading this care to know why? Regardless of your answer to that rhetorical question, I'm going to tell you. It's because between that and the everlasting call of Team Fortress 2, I wasn't able to work on this story at all this week. Well, you should be happy to know that your wait is over, because I finally got off of my lazy ass and took an hour out of my day to type this chapter up. Now, let's end this note and get on with the actual story. By the way, reviews are appreciated and all that stuff.
Rob awoke to the sound of cicadas and a cool breeze, and rose off of the pile of grass that he had decided to call a bed for the night. The air was cool, and thick with mist, and although morning had yet to come, light was beginning to shine over the horizon. Groggily, Rob threw on his coat, and started moving northward, groaning as he did so. He was tired, but he wanted to get moving before the real heat of the day kicked in, or he would be forced to stop.
Only a short time had passed, and already the moist, cool air of the morning was gone, replaced with the blistering heat that Rob dreaded. And in an even shorter time, Rob was exhausted. Taking out his map of the region, he saw that there was a more forested area to the North, and he headed there to rest. Plopping down in front of a tree, the traveler decided to have a bite to eat before continuing onward, only to find his stock diminished. He didn't want to waste time restocking, but the thought of an actual bed and a nice drink compelled him to do so.
Having gone through this area many times before, he knew exactly where the next town would be and reached it in no time. Southtown, if his memory was to be trusted, was a quiet little town bordering a river, but made quite a lot of money exporting charcoal to nearby areas. The inn there also had excellent drinks. Distracted by the thought of Honeybead Ale, he didn't notice that half the town was on fire, and only came out of his own head after it had been pelted with a stone of a pretty decent size. Upon snapping out of his initial confusion, he realized that a villager was running down the road to him, shouting his head off, and pointing to the burning town. Rob immediately rushed ahead to the village to help quench the flames.
A few hours filled with a few first degree burns and the lighting of his coat, Rob sat at a chair in an inn, checking his map and waiting for his the bartender to arrive his the key to his room and some ale. After marking his route on the map he held, he glanced up, admiring the building. The inn's name was the Honeysuckle's Tail, and it was certainly a nice place, filled with people of all kinds, including a few performers, on of whom had taken it upon himself to make sure everyone's attention was pointed in his direction. A few minutes passed whereupon the bartender returned, liquor in one hand and a silver key in the other, which he tossed into Rob's outstretched hand. He then set the alcohol down on the counter.
A few minutes passed, where the only sound heard was the musician's guitar, though how many Rob couldn't say. When the song had ended, Rob got up out of his chair, and headed up the stairs. As Rob walked by the musician on the way there, he looked at him, though the expression was almost blank, as if he was lost in thought. It was bothering Rob though, because most people who shot him that look usually were deciding whether to kill him or not. He tried to shake the thought, after all, he was only a musician, and he probably couldn't do that much harm, but still, the idea persisted as he unlocked his door and entered his room.
Rob, needing his rest from his exertions that day, had quickly flopped down onto the bed in the room, but before he was able to get at all settled, there was a loud knock on his door. Curious, Rob got up to answer the door. After doing so, he wished that he hadn't, as standing there at the door, was the musician.