There were rumours.  Rumours of beasts and worse roaming the mountains.  And those rumours had brought you here.

It is colder now, the gathering mists bringing with them a chill.  And the path seems strange, the road you tread somehow different to the one you started out on, though it is hard to be sure, for the pools, making it hard to see much of anything through the darkening forest that marches alongside the road.

The wind picks up, though the mists stubbornly cling on, unmoved by the stiff breeze that whirls around you, now bringing a snatch of almost childish laughter, next a low gutteral growling ... and then a grating sound, like a knife being scraped, back and forth, back and forth ...

A curve in the trail ... and the mists relent just a little to reveal an ugly stone building, in poor repair, with missing shingles on the roof and shutters that sag, as if one weary and defeated.  A metal sign swings back and forth, as if struggle to escape the rusted chains that hold it, the flaked paint declaring this sorry place to be the Weary Horse Inn.

Though it seems uninviting at first glance, with the dying of daylight and the clammy, clutching fog, it is a haven.  As you climb the steps and open the door, the warm fire seems to call to you, if the sullen, bold stares of some of the few patrons do not, as they return to their cares and woes, their voices low and even the clinks of their mugs seem subdubed.

Behind a wooden counter, a dwarf nods slowly, a dented helm on his head, a patch upon an eye that does not cover an angry scar, his remaining orb not leaving you.

And though you are the first, you are not the last stranger to arrive at this Inn this fell night ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

Well-worn boots scuff the entryway as a small, cloaked figure shuffles in.  The cloak billows once, opening to dispel the damp, heavy outdoor air in favour of the warmer atmosphere within the room, then settling back.  Keeping huddled in the folds of the heavy cloth - not for secrecy, but shivering - Violet pads her way across the open floor, choosing a table.

No 'back to the wall' attitude here; she chooses one adjacent to the fire, opting for heat over the illusion of security.

A few hunched movements scrape the stool a touch closer to the flames, then the young woman begins work on her gloves.  Left...right...finished.  Stretching her fingers out, she holds them between her and the hearth for several long seconds.  Then the cloak finally comes off, to be folded and dropped on the hot stone.

No fantastical reveal occurs, for Violet is a drab young woman to match her drab old clothing and gear.

A final shiver wracks her body as the heat begins to take hold, and she begins to relax.  One hand reaches into a belt pouch for an instant, checking...finding...a thin smile creases her face, amusement at her own temerity.  Her own foolishness.  Then Violet sinks down on her stool, fading into the background; it's no trick of skill or magic, merely the fact of an unremarkable person seated at an unremarkable place.

Perhaps she will finally find that for which she has searched.

The door opens again just long enough for another traveller to enter the inn. He pauses and makes sure it is properly closed behind him before glancing around the room briefly then heading straight for the bar, not even pausing to remove his cloak or backpack.

"Good evening, master barkeeper. I will have some red wine, if I may, to wash the taste of that accursed mist out of my mouth, then you can tell me what choices of meals and lodging you have to offer," he says to the dwarf behind the counter.

Poor though it may be, the inn will provide shelter.  Tethering his large grey horse to a tree, the mail-clad rider starts for the inn door.  He has no concerns for his mount, or for the few belongings it carries in the saddlebags.

Flinging open the door, he stands for a moment surveying the room.  Light glints on chainmail, and reveals a youthful face and brown hair.  His eyes scan the faces in the room briefly.  There seem to be a lot of travellers on the road this evening.  Or maybe the weather has just driven a disproportionate number to this establishment.

Then, with a satisfied grunt, he steps into the room.

"Inkeep!" he proclaims in a cultured accent, "A glass of your best wine - a Furyondan vintage, if you have one - and whatever you can provide in the way of a hot meal.  Is there stabling available here, for my mount?  Or a village nearby, where I can find such?"

Saeko pads quietly along the trail, watching the mist cautiously.  After examining the squat, decrepit building that proclaims itself an Inn for several moments - very seriously considering continuing on her way - she allows that the horse tethered without and the hint of light coming from the windows (to say nothing of the cracks in the stone walls) suggest that it's perhaps not as abandoned as it looks, nor as condemned as it certainly ought to be.

With some reluctance, then, she approaches, and opens the door.  She stands a moment in the doorway, looking over the crowd and not at all hiding the fact that whether to come in and join them, or whether to stay out in the cold, is a finely balanced choice that could still go either way.  Finally, though, as a cold breeze causes the fire to waver, she steps in all the way and pushes the door closed against it.

Once her decision is made, she simply walks further into the room, seeking neither seat nor the bar.  She ignores the stares of the other patrons entirely, but stays quiet for the moment, seeing that others are already in line to engage the surly looking dwarf.

Qvar follows the well-trodden trail through the woods to the ominous-looking tavern.  Anyone chancing to peer out of the window will see his glowing head bobbing along through the mist like a will-o-wisp.  He opens the door to the common room and waits, his holy glow brightening  the doorway against the gloom outside as he scans the crowd for any familiar faces.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:16, Tue 06 Mar 2018.

Zertin looks toward the door each time it opens, as though expecting someone. He frowns slightly at the sight of the chainmail armoured warrior but doesn't give him much thought after that. The dark-haired young woman who enters next attracts even less of his attention. It is only when the glowing, golden-haired priest enters that he finally steps forward.

"So, you finally made it, brother? I was beginning to wonder if this was the right place."

He steps forward to clasp Qvar's hand in greeting. As he shakes hands he looks a bit more closely at his glowing face.

"You've changed somehow since I saw you last. You look lighter than I remember. Have you lost weight?" he asks.

New people.

Far more interesting than the locals, even the one-eyed dwarf.  Violet studies each of them, in turn.  A scholar, perhaps...and a knight.  That could be useful, Violet ponders.  The curiously-dressed woman, all in silver, might she be the one Violet seeks?

Ah.  A haloed man.  Probably that one, Violet, the young woman muses with heavy irony.  And brothers to the scholar; curious.  'The right place'; meeting here for a reason, or a family reunion?  Who can say?

Right now, though, the bartender/innmaster/whateverthedwarfnameshimself is currently busy with other orders; she'll need to ask later, see what's left.  Hardly an issue.

But that shining man...she needs to speak to him, Violet suspects, once everyone has settled.

Qvar leans his staff against the wall and grasps Zertin's hand, then pulls him into an embrace.  "A clean soul weighs nothing, Zed." He holds his brother at arms length and eyes him up and down.  "You look like you've gained a bit!" he laughs, rekindling their familiar banter.

Releasing Zertin his eyes wander the room.  He notices the woman seated by the fire and acknowledges her curious gaze with a warm smile.  He shrugs and beams at Zertin "Evidently this is the right place."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:07, Wed 07 Mar 2018.

Oh, that's good.

Violet knows little of Gods or Demons; such things haven't been part of her life in any great amount, for which she is thankful.  But to her mind, a shining aura probably indicates the worship of something positive.  The comment about souls, another mark in the man's favour.  And a welcoming smile, to boot...Violet touches her pouch, makes a decision.

In life, one needs to take risks, even with rejection.

Struggling to her feet - the heat has made her tired body heavy, and unwilling to move - she raises her hand slightly.  "The seats by the fire are warm," the young woman calls across the room to the brothers.  "If you've been travelling, you'll probably need that."  Offering an awkward shrug, Violet indicates the empty stools at her own table.  "I know I do."

Zertin hugged his brother just as warmly before stepping back a pace to talk more comfortably,

"I must admit I probably had put on a few pounds but I think the walk here has sweated in all off again. We must try to rectify that," he responded with a grin.

When the young lady by the fire called to them he grinned again at Qvar.

"You haven't lost your touch, I see," he told his brother. "You go ahead, I'll bring the drinks."

He paid for a pitcher of red wine and took it and three cups over to the table by the fire.

"Well met, young lady. You look like you have travelled far today, too. My name is Zertin and my fair friend here is my younger brother, Qvar, or Q as we generally used to call him."

He set the pitcher and cups down on the table and shrugged off his backpack, tucking it under the table before pouring the wine.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:53, Wed 07 Mar 2018.

Still bone-weary, Violet manages a seated bow as the brothers arrive at her table.  "Zertin," she tries; curious name.  "Qvar."  And another.  "It's my pleasure to meet you."  And it is - friendly people are always welcome.  "Violet."  She waves at herself.  "Not the name my parents gave me, but the one to which I answer."

It might sound as if her words hide a story, but like the rest of Violet, there is no drama to be found: only a soul-deep need to escape all aspects of a dull, farming life, even down to her name.

The young woman studies the wine for a moment, then reaches out and pours two cups, pushing them toward the gentlemen.  None for her...yet.  "Travellers.  What brings you to this place?"  A small smile appears and disappears on her plain features.  "This...land?  Territory?  Specific inn?"  Whatever they wish to answer is fine for her.  Or no answer at all, should that be the case.

His victuals ordered, Caesius moves towards the fire, steam rising from his dark blue travelling cloak.  Finding a place to sit, he drops his backpack on the floor between his feet, opens it, and pulls out a scroll which he starts to read with a faint smile on his lips...

Do not suffer an evil to live.   But more than that, do not allow it to die without having extracted just recompense from it for its crimes.

He knows the words of the scroll by heart, of course, and lives all of his days by them.  But it can do no harm for a man to refresh his memory...

"Violet," he repeats the name thoughtfully, then nods. "A good name. I am pleased to meet you too."

Zertin picks up one of the cups of wine and raises it to make a toast. He also raises his cup to the warrior who had just taken a seat nearby as though including him in the toast as well. The scroll had obviously caught Zertin's eye and he was naturally curious but he doesn't mention it at this point.

"To good health."

Then he takes a mouthful and savours the taste for a long moment before swallowing it down, then addresses the question Violet had asked.

"What brings us here? Well that is really Qvar's story, not mine. He sent me a message inviting me to meet him here to help him track down and destroy those who attacked his church on the road north of here. When was that, Q? A few weeks ago?"

Qvar does not feel at all weary, but is glad to sit where invited.  He frowns momentarily as he notices that the young woman is struggling, then smiles when she offers him a cup.  "Thank you Violet.  I shall make good use of this." 

His attention is drawn to the mail-clad warrior after Zertin's toast.  Surely this is the owner of the fine horse he saw tethered outside.     Guessing at the man's allegiance from the device on his shield, Qvar adds his own greeting "Well met, Fist of Heironeous."

"Yes, its been a month already."  Qvar replies to Zertin.  "On the bright side though, I've heard they are rebuilding already."  He gazes about the room again then cheerfully adds to Zertin and Violet "I suspect that many have been drawn to this place on this night."