There, standing silhouetted against the darkness of the doorway was a man of shadows. John could make out no details of the man. His clothing was shrouded in the dark, his face covered in a mask of blackness. It wasn’t until he stepped into the light of the barroom that John discovered that he still had no idea who this man was.
At first glance his clothing appeared rich, lavish beyond anything John could afford or ever dream of affording. His surcoat was of red silk, decorated with fine gold trappings and buttons. His shirt looked a bright white in the dimness of the bar, his tall hat of fine velvet resting softly on his head. His most interesting feature, however, was the sword that hung loosely at his side. It was a fine, thin rapier, encased in a scabbard inlaid with beautiful golden designs.
It was only after looking more carefully at him that John realized that this newcomer was soaked to the bone. Water visibly dripped off his clothing to pool around his feet on the floor. His sopping wet hair was pressed to his face, the feather in his hat hanging limply from it. The look of him drew the attentions of everyone in the bar all at once, bringing silence where moments ago there was the loud clatter of fighting.
“Someone get me a damn towel,” the man muttered, a look of obvious dissatisfaction touching his face in the form of a frown.
With that, the bar returned to normal. As Old Garin tossed the newcomer a large towel from one of the cupboards, the usual patrons went back to their regular routines: eating ‘til their bellies could hold no more and drinking ‘til they passed out, that is. Arran and Beddir returned to their seats, neither the worse from their little scuffle, but for a red cheek on the part of the latter. The rain-soaked guest caught the towel and began wiping himself off quickly, if none too effectively.
There was something about this man that caught and held John’s attention like an animal in a trap, unyielding and merciless. If one didn’t look too carefully at him, he seemed a wealthy ship captain who happened to have been caught in the rain. That was all. John, however, was certain that there was more to him than that. The anger that burned behind his eyes like a roaring fire was more than just that of a rich man caught in the rain. The lines of his face bespoke great knowledge, as well as a great familiarity with disappointment.
When he was dry as he could make himself, the mysterious man took the recently vacated spot at John’s side at the bar. Still frowning, he waved over Old Garin. “Can I get you a beer, friend?” the kindly bartender asked with a smile, wiping his hands on his somewhat stained apron.
“Some wine will do me fine,” the guest replied, not bothering to meet Old Garin’s eye. This was definitely a noble, or at least a very rich man, John decided. Nobody came into the Trickling Tap and demanded a drink like that, at least none familiar with the establishment. Old Garin was a friendly soul, not prone to anger or violence, but he was held in the highest respect by the locals, and they were none too friendly to those who insulted their friend.
Old Garin, however, merely nodded and scuffled off to get the drink. John took this time to casually examine the man in the fine, damp clothes. He didn’t discover anything more than before, that he was certainly a wealthy nobleman or ship-captain that’d been through some rough times. His curiosity was irrevocably piqued, though, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to get to know this fellow a little better, to find out the reasons for his anger. How he would go about doing so, though…
“You’re not from around here, are you, sir?” John asked, dismissing all the other ideas he’d had. This was the sort of question that wouldn’t frighten the other man off, hopefully, but also wouldn’t be too vague and lead him nowhere. It was a plan to be proud of, he decided.
“How could you tell?” the man responded, sarcasm touching his tone. His eyes bespoke obvious boredom apart from the anger, and John was left feeling mildly offended at the response.
The Fate of Alisan
Start from the beginning
