As the group of travellers entered the fishing village, the distinct scent of briny air and the salty aroma of drying fish greeted their senses. The intertwining odours created a rich tapestry that hinted at the daily life and sustenance derived from the rivers. The pervasive smell of marine life clung to the air, blending seamlessly with the natural scents of the riverside.
The village unfolded before them with houses constructed from sturdy, weathered wood, each dwelling uniquely marked by the passage of time and the challenges of the environment. The architecture bore the unmistakable imprint of a community that had thrived in harmony with the river's offerings. Fishing nets adorned the exterior of homes, intricate patterns revealing the meticulous craftsmanship that defined the villagers' connection to their livelihood.
Amid the village's activity, the drying racks were a prominent feature, displaying an array of fish in various stages of preservation. The glint of silvery scales caught the sunlight, creating a dazzling display that mirrored the abundance of the rivers. The rhythmic swinging of fish drying in the gentle breeze became a subtle melody, underscoring the village's symbiotic relationship with the water.
The villagers themselves, hardworking and robust, went about their daily tasks with a sense of purpose. Clad in practical, weather-beaten clothing, they displayed the resilience that was common among the Northern people. Faces weathered by sun and wind bore the imprint of a life well-lived, marked by the ebb and flow of the rivers that sustained them and flaked off their faces.
Despite the looming challenges that had touched the lands to the north, the villagers here appeared, for the most part, healthy and seemingly untouched by the harsher realities. The travellers moved through the bustling streets, immersed in the sights and sounds of a community.
As they are walking through the village, they are interrupted by someone.
"Aye, Can we 'elp you travellers? Oh, the name's Alda, pardon mi manners," she spoke.
They turn to look who has spoken to them. With hazel hair cascading down to her shoulders, she bore the tales of countless fishing expeditions on her wrinkled face. Her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, reflected the depths of the rivers she had navigated throughout her years. She moved with purpose like nothing in front of her would stop and get in her way.
Clad in a well-worn, sea-blue tunic and trousers. A pair of worn leather boots, stained with traces of mud and fish scales, completed her practical ensemble. Around her neck, she wore a pendant crafted from a shimmering fish scale, a subtle homage to the lifeblood of the village.
As Alda greeted the newcomers with a warm smile, the distinct scent of fish and sun-soaked wood accompanied her presence, the tang of seaweed lingered in the air. The subtle perfume of fish and brine intertwined with the natural aroma of aged wood, creating an olfactory mosaic that spoke volumes about her.
"We are just passing through; does there happen to be an inn or such around these parts?" asks Brandon.
"Oh, laddie, you'll find no inns in these here Riverside, not much need for that. Not enough travellers you see, best camp outside and trade goodies with some folk."
"Thanks, Alda; we will do that. Can you point us to where any trading takes place?"
"Head down to Willard's house just round the corner, just outside his gaff is where most of that trading takes place." With that, she continued on her way, hauling some lines of fish that were slung over her back.
"She seemed nice," Jocelyn says.
"Or nosy," Edric says.
They continue down the path and turn the corner to Willard's house. Outside are just a couple of tables with fish and other goods being traded for people's daily needs. With a quick look around and some haggling over goods, they trade some of their forest foods for some fresh fish.
They then walk to the outskirts of the village to find a post to camp for the night before moving on with their journey.
"What have you got, Lyanna?" asks Jocelyn.
"I managed to get this ring from a trader. A young lad was willing to trade it for some food. It's quite nice." She says showing the ring to Jocelyn.
"Mm, bronze with some scale pattern. It suits you, sis."
"You traded food for a ring?" asks Brandon.
"Yep, it suits me." She says the ring gleaming on her finger.
Jon comes up next to Brandon and whispers to him. "Don't try to find out the why, Bran; you will just get confused." He pats his back as moves on.
Brandon, befuddled leaves it and continues on his way. They are then quick to reach the outskirts of the village where they set up camp and have a stew with veg and, with a change, some fish before heading off to bed.
"Get up, yer lousy seagull," Brandon hears when he comes around from his slumber. His eyelids were heavy to open, only to be greeted by an angry face shaped by a scraggly beard and a bronze axe pointed at him.
"I told ye to get up," he says again, nearly poking his axe into his chest. Brandon rises from his makeshift bed. To see that Jon (who was on guard duty during the later part of the night), and Lyanna are already standing, being questioned by some guards. He also sees that Edric and Jocelyn are being woken like he was.
He can also see who has woken him. They look to be the village guards and pose quite formidable figures, clad in a mix of bronze and leather armour. The chest plate, forged from gleaming bronze, bears no engravings other than a simple scale pattern that catches the glint of the sunlight. The rest of the armour, however, consists of supple leather, providing a balance of protection and mobility. The guard's posture is upright and proper; it seems the guards are well-trained and alert. The bronze chest plate, adorned with symbols of the village, adds an air of authority to the guard's presence. The guard is quick to lead him over to Jon and Lyanna.
"Ye are under arrest for the murder of the Bryden family," the guard says.
"But we have told you that we did not do it. We got into the village so late there is no way we could have done it," Jon explains.
"And yet ye have their family ring with ye. That family is well-known and liked around these parts, and I already know that you said you got it from some wee laddie, but we have looked around and found no one like that. We give ye the benefit of the doubt, but there is no one else that tis suspicious. So, you are under arrest and will be executed for ye crimes. Now pack up your stuff and move it." The guard said.
"Out of everyone in the entire village, you can't think of a single person who could have done the crime," Lyanna asks.
"Do not backtalk me. We know this village, we would know if someone in the village did it. Now am I going to have to drag you to the village centre where you will face your crimes or are ye going to come willingly?" he asks, placing his hand on his sword.
Brandon can see Lyanna looking around, assessing the guards, primarily the ones around her sister, but before she can do anything, Brandon interrupts. "We will come in peacefully, but we will prove our innocence."
"Good, now pack up and move it," the guard exclaims for the final time.
/
The atmosphere in the village square is tense as the accused trio is brought in, their belongings and weapons confiscated. The gathered villagers exchange hushed whispers, casting accusatory glances at the five of them. It's as if a storm of suspicion and anger swirls around them.
As they are shoved to the ground, a collective chatter emanates from the onlookers, intensifying the feeling of injustice in the air. The villagers eye the accused with scorn, their faces etched with worry about the alleged heinous crime committed against the Bryden family.
The items belonging to Brandon, Jon, and Lyanna are unceremoniously dumped nearby, out of reach. The glint of confiscated weapons is just out of reach.
The accused trio, now seated in the village square, exchange determined glances. Despite the palpable hostility, they remain resolute, they have committed no crime and just have to prove it. The weight of impending judgment hangs heavy in the air as they wait for the trial to commence, their minds racing with thoughts of proving their innocence.