Fire!

SoW e01

          The fires always burned at the Weary Horse. A small inn it was, with more space to drink than to sleep in. Brindol, the town where one could find the Weary Horse, didn't need a large place for tourists, because there were none. The few farmhands and helpers that came during the harvests would often build their own straw huts, and the rare group of rangers tracking a pack of evil creatures carried their tents and would seldom stay for more than a hot bowl of stew. So all in all, this was an odd day in the Weary Horse.

          In a table near the wall, Shedinn eyed the dancing flames housed in the center hearth. He wasn't cold, but he'd much rather be by the fire. Shedinn had some very strong opinions about the usage of fire, and personal warmth was not high on the list. The mantle was occupied, though.

A dwarf, armored to the teeth in white plate, chatted quite angrily with a strangely dressed man. He wore the robes of a priest, but the weird headgear of leather and bone and maybe wood didn't belong to any order Shedinn knew of and, near the collar, a little chainmail was showing from under the tunic. The man had done nothing to annoy the dwarf, but the latter had grown more and more irritable as his monologue went on. The man listened intently, and said not a word.

          Shedinn quickly grew tired of the dwarf's rambling about (from what he managed to understand) gods and strange laws that bound people to a path. He shifted in his seat to look at the corner table. There, three men played a game of cards, sometimes yelling "You've walked right into my trap!" and such. The game was interesting enough, but looked like something a hatchling would play, not a grown, bearded man. Shedinn thought he might show the men some magic later, as a different, proper amusement.

          Behind one of the men, a hulking figure watched. He was of the large races, orc or goliath, or at least half as much. The black wool robe hid all of his features, but not his physique. The giant's eyes shifted from one player to the next, trying to grasp the concept. He seemed to be having trouble.

          In the opposite corner, a much different creature drank the murky dishwater people called coffee in this part of the country. With his face uncovered, he had some elven features. He also had a few cat traits, and Shedinn did not know what to make of it. Rather than long, concealing robes, he sported a lion's hide, complete with mane, across his back. His belt had once been a snake and a fox was now split between his ankles. His belt and bandolier carried a number of relics: shells, fangs, braids of fur, bones. He had walked in carrying a small tree, too thick to be a staff, with a face carved at the top, which he laid against the wall behind him. Shedinn had seen a nature mage once, a druid, who also powered his spells with such a device, and concluded he'd just ask the guy about it.

          The chair creaked horribly when Shedinn got up. He was a little more than uncomfortable in this kind of places, and often wondered why he still went inside when there were perfectly good jobs if he'd just ask around. He walked to the cat-man and went for the chair next to him. The druid looked up with a pair of golden eyes, sniffed, and got up with a jump. Shedinn was still wondering what's with this guy? when the street door was blown to bits.

         

Then what?