Date: 5/8/2003 1:45 AM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Bronwyn of Tyr
The lanky warrioress paid over the silver to grumpy man at the desk. She grimaced a little at the price, hoping the man was not overstating the cost of the room. Silver was becoming scarce. She would need to hire with someone soon.
Stepping away from the desk, she glanced at the bronze key he had given her and then marched with long strides towards the steps. Beneath one arm she carried those few possessions that had remained with her after getting lost in that infernal fog. She regretted the loss of her horse. He had been a good steed, well trained for war. It would be hard to replace him.
She trudged up the steps to the second floor of the inn and counted off the doors along the hall. At the fourth she stopped and tested the key. The door opened and she stepped in, quickly taking in the rooms accouterments. A single shuddered window, a bed, freshly stuff with straw (she hoped!), a small stool and little else. Her silver had not gotten her much beyond her privacy.
The northern warrioress turned, checking the hallway once before closing and securing the door. Turning back to the room, she wished for a basin to clean up with, but that would have to wait until the morrow. Her belly grumbled a little. Too late she thought to ask if there was anything to eat.
Sighing, she made her way to the bed. Unsecuring her swordbelt, she laid it across the floor beside the bed, within easy reach. She sat and pulled off her boots and kicked them away. Then she reached back and tugged at the long braid of hair. She pulled the braid loose and lamented the lack of a comb. She would make a point of buying one when next she had silver in her pouch. Pulling through the hair with her fingers, she did her best to comb it out.
Bronwyn fell back against the bed and stared at the ceiling. Resting with her arms over her head, she thought back to the encounter with the wizard. It had all happened so fast. A battle. A magical golem or homunculi that refused to be cut apart. The faint smell of brimstone and the screams of men. Then the obscuring fog and nothing more...
...until she found herself here. Where "here" was, she was still unclear. A strange land it was. With stranger inhabitants than any she had before seen save in the dreams of a little girl. Men with pointed ears, slitted eyes and metal compartments in their arms. Scandalously clad women dressed in bits of leather that offered no protection from sword or cold.
She wandered until she found the place where they fought. Finally, something that seemed familiar to her. They did not spar with swords, but it was still fighting of a sort. And there was a bar, with strong ale. These were things that made sense.
She rubbed a sore jaw, briefly remembering the spars she had taken part in. Bronwyn winced as she touched the purpling bruise at the side of her jaw. She counted herself fortunate it had not gotten broken. Stout northern bones helped, no doubt.
Pulling herself back into a sitting position, she glanced to the door and then turned to pull her feet onto the bed. She considered pulling off more of her clothes, but decided she was too tired for that. A grunt escaped her lips as a twinge in her knee reminded her of the kick from the one called Anubis. Her certainly didn't pull his punches.
She lay back on the bed and dragged the blanket around her. How many was it? Seven ales? Nine? Enough to deaden the pain of her bruises. Bruises she planned to pay back some time soon.
Drifting off to sleep, she reached down, confirming the sword was near at hand, and then let herself fade into unconciousness. The last thought that filtered through her mind was how she was going to find her way back home to kill a wizard that very much needed killing. Though for the time being, it would seem she had found a place where she could rest up and practice her skills.
Arrival of a Sellsword
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