The rain drenched her cloak, soaking everything she wore, causing it all to cling to her skin. The water dripped into her eyes, so she was constantly blinking to keep her vision clear. It didn't help that it was already nightfall, make everything harder to see. The buildings around her were only dark silhouettes illuminated occasionally by flashes of lightening.
Another thunderclap and flash caused her horse to snort and toss its head. She tightened her grip on her horse's reigns, pulling its head down closer so she could stroke its nose to calm it.
"It's alright, the Inn should be right around here somewhere," she said, glancing around the cobblestone street. It was the middle of the night, so most the houses didn't even have lights in the windows. She couldn't find any sign of the Inn from there, but they were almost at a cross road in the town.
Coming up to it, she stopped and glanced down each of the ways. Dark shadows of the buildings loomed around her. Vision blurring, she tried rubbing water from her eyes with a knuckle and looking again.
There! To her left! She saw a faint light about a block away emanating from some windows. That must be it!
She tugged on her horse's reins, leading it towards the source of light, new energy flowing through her in the anticipation of getting out of the dank and dreary rain.
She had been traveling for a long time, and the city had just come into sight on the horizon when the storm hit. As soon as the lightening and thunder started, she immediately had to dismount. For one, the brown boy became skittish and hard to ride in storms, for two, she didn't want to be sitting up high with the flashes of lightening in the sky. She had seen it take a mighty knight from his steed once before, and didn't want to risk it happening to her.
Because of having to dismount, it was well after dark when she finally reached the city, whereas if she had managed to stay mounted, it would have been early evening.
The tavern was in sight, and soon she could make out the wooden sign hanging over the doorway. The Wretched Jester.
She thought how unappealing a name that was, but figured compared to other Inns, it would be just as unappealing inside. This wasn't exactly a high class city, so high class inns and taverns didn't keep in business. But it would do for her purpose, and more likely than not she would find what she was looking for here, where she was less likely to find it in some place more appealing.
Though the front door seemed welcoming enough, she walked passed it and found a covered nook beside the tavern and another building. There it led beside and behind the Inn to where there were stables. A rough roof had been constructed over this portion, still cobblestoned like the road. There was a hitching post and another entrance to the tavern.
She hooked the reins to the post, patted her horse's neck, and headed for the door.
As soon as she opened the door, she was blinking and dazed. The light, smell, and sound of the room almost knocked her off her feet.
It was a lively tavern, despite it being the middle of the night. It was crowded and well lit with several fire places and lanterns. By now the patrons were very drunk and very lively. One had even taken up a song, standing on a table in the middle of the room. Many people were smoking on pipes or cigars, filling the room with a musty, smoky smell, on top of the smell of alcohol and food.
After regaining her bearings, she glanced around the room quickly, looking for a mysterious corner to sit in. No luck, all of the corners were already taken by mysterious hooded figures that had gotten there before her. There wasn't even a single empty table, not that there were many tables to begin with.
With a resigned sigh she found a seat at the bar and took a better look around the room. There were several people there that could be what she was looking for. Though maybe she should first look at those next to her.
On one side sat a half-orc with a grouchy face, staring into his tankard of ale that he held with a hand that was missing several fingers. He looked strong and tough. Maybe he could do?
Then she noticed the dog hair all over him, a whistle, and a roll of newspaper sticking out of his back pocket. Oh. He was a wolf handler and trainer, not an adventurer. Plenty of people wanted wolves as companions, since they were mysterious and supposedly good in a fight. Such an occupation as training wolves often meant getting into fights with the beasts to subdue them, and even getting fingers bit off.
The half-orc would be a strong fighter, but was not an adventurer. With a sigh she glanced at her other side. A smirking fellow flirting with a barmaid. Fine cloths, a rich accent, and hair slicked back, he was definitely a diplomat, not an adventurer.
"What can I get ya, miss?" Came a deep voice. She turned her attention to the man behind the bar. A stout, balding fellow with a large girth- wait, no, he wasn't fat. She had to smirk at her realization. The man had a very large leather pouch in front of his whole chest, sitting behind his apron. A hose hooked to his belt with a nozzle told her that it was basically a giant wine skin sitting in front of him so that he could go around refilling drinks without bothering to take a trip back to the bar every time. Which meant he was probably very strong, being able to carry such a weight around as if it were just part of his own body.
"Something warm for my shivering bones," she said cheerily.
"An' will ye be needin a room?" He asked. "If so, I be needin a name, an' number of yer party."
"Ah, yes, I will need a room. Lizbeth is the name, and it's only me. Oh! I also have my trusty horse outside on the hitch, so a stabling for him would be appreciated as well."
The barkeep nodded, yelling at a tavern worker, who scurried to a ledger behind the bar. He produced a key with a piece of parchment attached with a number. The key was handed over to Lizbeth, then the worker ducked outside through the side door she had entered from.
"He'll be takin' care o' y'er steed. He's good with animals. Any gear on 'im will be put in a safe box in front o' its stall. Y'er room key should work on it as well," the barkeep told her, suddenly placing a mug of hot liquid in front of her. Some of it sloshed on the table. The barkeep pulled out a rag that had been hooked to his belt and started wiping away the mess.
"Thank you, good sir," Lizbeth said, reaching for the drink. He smacked her hand with the rag and cleared his throat.
"Drink, room, an stable be five gold. Two silver an' you'll have yerself a hot meal, two more silver an breakfast will be brought to yer room."
Lizbeth considered for a moment, before placing enough coin on the counter for all the offered amenities. It was a bit of a sore blow to her travel budget, but not enough to make her wince. The barkeep took the coins and nudged the drink closer to her before walking off to a hollering patron.
Lizbeth sipped on the drink, which was just shy of scalding, and turned to take a closer look at the patrons in the room.
Only half of them were even human. The rest was a strange mix of races. Dwarves, elves, halflings, teiflings. The differences in race did nothing to change how they treated each other, as if it were only the difference between hair color. In fact, the current brawl in the center was simply due to an arm wrestling match where the looser claimed the winner cheated somehow.
Lizbeth took her eyes away from the brawl, considering each of the mysterious figures in all the corners and dark places. Some of them felt very sinister, some relaxed, others just weary. In fact, squinting to look at one figure through the fog, his feet propped on the table, Lizbeth realized he was fast asleep. She wasn't the only one to notice, though, as a little halfling slunk over under his table and expertly relieved his belt of his coin purse before making a quick exit.
Of course she said nothing about that, just checked her own coin purse habitually. It was there, and about the right size.
The brawl had died down when Lizbeth's gaze stopped at a man at a very small table by himself by a fire. He was looking through papers in an almost frustrated manner. Well, he wasn't a man, but a tiefling. Blue skin, broken horns, and large armor. Lizbeth could tell that the papers he was looking through were wanted posters.
A mercenary? Perfect.
She finished her apple cider and set the cup down before going over to him.
"Hello, sir," she said, pulling a chair from another table. The man who had been sitting on it didn't need it, being passed out on the floor.
"Go away," the tiefling's voice was gruff and direct. He hadn't even bothered looking up at her.
"Aw, but I'm looking to hire," Lizbeth pouted.
"I ain't the one you're looking for," he huffed, furrowing his brow at the paper currently in his hand.
"A tough fighter, armored to the teeth, looking at wanted posters as if looking for a job, sitting in this spit of a tavern... I do believe you're what I'm looking for," Lizbeth sat down on the chair backward, her legs straddling the back as she rested her arms on the backrest. She glanced at the wanted posters now that she was closer. All high bounties counted dangerous.
"I'm too expensive for you, kid. I don't get cats out of trees, you know," he snapped.
"I figured as much. Which is why you might be my man. My name is Lizbeth. Lizbeth Hawking. You might know that name. I'm not the one hiring, the Hawking family is," she said. "So I'm sure I can afford it. This is also under the assumption that you don't work alone."
The tiefling stopped looking at the paper and finally regarded the woman for a moment. Lizbeth knew she must be quite the sight: her green cloths and blonde hair were completely drenched and sticking to her, her eyes were sunken in from the weariness from travel, and she probably had mud all over her face.
"Hawking, eh? Alright, you have my attention," he said. "What is this job?"
Lizbeth smiled and reached into a pocket on the inside of her jacket. She pulled out a piece of parchment. She winced as she did so. It was soaked. Unfolding it only revealed smudged ink running down the page.
"Just great," she grumbled. "Well, good thing I still had an idea of what the job was, so I could just tell you."
"An idea of it? Great, so I'm going off the vague remembrances of a youngling," the man rubbed his temples. "Well, you better hurry and tell me before I loose all interest."
"Ah, well, you see-"
"I swear your writing is dull and cliche!" The shrill voice pierced the air, causing May to jump, a line running across the page as her hand slipped with the pen. May glared up at the speaker, a hand covering the notebook.
"You were reading over my shoulder?" May demanded, clicking her pen irritatedly.
"Yes I was, and you were completely oblivious the whole time!" The other girl laughed. "It's like you go to a whole other world when you write. Like seriously, you write like other people stare at their phones."
"Well at least my hobby is constructive, not just consumerism," May snapped back, hurriedly closing the notebook. The front was a plain brown design with doodles covering it. Hearts, a horse, a sword, an airplane, a tree; it was just covered with random drawings. May held the notebook carefully to her chest, tucking her pen behind her ear.
"So did you want something, Chelsea?" May asked, still glaring.
"Nothing at all. I was just wandering by and happen to glance over your shoulder and started reading. I do have to say, though, having the barkeep have this big pouch of beer instead of an actual gut was probably the only unique thing. Though how is he sober? With a beer belly like that, how could he hold back from drinking?"
"Maybe he doesn't like drinking in the first place, or whose to say he was sober?" May snapped. "Whatever, I'm leaving, since the privacy I hoped to have here has been disturbed.
"Hah, privacy at a public library? You're nuts," Chelsea giggled before wandering off.
"Not really, since most people just look at their phones anymore," May grumbled under her breath. She packed up her backpack, carefully placing the notebook between two other books to keep it secure. The backpack was swung over her shoulder and she headed towards the library door.
She stopped and frowned. It was pelting rain outside, already puddles were forming just outside the glass doors.
It had been bright and sunny with not a cloud in the sky when she got to the library only an hour or two ago.
"And my umbrella is at home. Too bad this isn't some kind of story. The cute guy would walk up to the damsel in distress and offer an umbrella and to walk her to her car. But this isn't a story," she adjusted the backpack on her shoulder, swinging it around so she was hugging it to protect it. Grabbing her keys out and having them at the ready, she dashed out the door into the rain.
The rain was still falling, though not as ferociously as it had on the drive home. It had lessened to a comfortable drizzle, and now May watched it from her window seat, leaning against the cool glass, a steaming cup of hot cider in her hands. When she had been soaked by the rain, a cup of cider was all she could think about. That was, after all, what Lizbeth had drank to get rid of her chills.
"I wonder what that mission was, anyway," May sighed. "Too bad Chelsea interrupted me. I may never find out, now."
Taking a sip, she glanced back around the small room she was in. Rustic looking hanging lights lit the room, though thanks to a special control, May had them dimmed for the ambience of the moment. Looking dreamily out a window was creepy in the dark, but bright light made it hard to see out and didn't make it feel as romantic. The floor was old wood, with a thick shag rug in the middle, actually covering most of the floor, and all the walls were bookshelves. Books and notebooks were placed neatly on all the shelves, well organized and dusted.
It was May's favorite room in the house, and there were a lot of rooms to choose from. It was here that she found the notebook, and several more like it. In fact, a whole section of shelves was dedicated to them. Though the covers were varied and different, even the style, they all had the same strange effect. May knew she couldn't tell anyone about the notebooks. She would just sound crazy. So they remained her special secret. She was just doomed to be the crazy girl who always scribbled in a notebook, lost in another world in her head, aspiring author who would never amount to anything actually being published.
"Who cares what they think," May sniffed. "I like having my secret."
She took another sip of her cider and stopped. Did she hear right? She held her breath.
There is was again, but faint. A knocking noise, like someone was knocking on a door. May was sure she was home alone, so maybe her cat was playing with something and causing it to knock against a wall?
RING. RIIINNNNGGG.
That was the doorbell!
May jumped up in surprise, almost spilling her cider all over her in the process. A guest? This late in the evening? May never had any guests!
She placed her mug on a shelf and hurried from the room, down a hall and a stairwell, to the front door. It was an old giant of a door, made of thick oak stained dark, though the hinges were new, and it had been updated to seal correctly, the latches were still old fashioned, save for the dead bolt and a chain.
May made sure the chain was latched to the door before opening it as far as the chain allowed the door to go, and peaked out.
"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice confused. She couldn't make out who she was talking to at first. He had turned away from the door, or at least she assumed it was a he by the figure's height and broad shoulders. He wore a thick jacket with a large hood. When the figure heard her, he turned, a surprised look on his face.
A he, definitely, with thick eyebrows and and a matching beard.
"Oh! Um, yes. I'm looking for Casterpen, is he home?" The man asked, his voice was rough like he had been screaming -that or he was an avid smoker.
"Caster-who? I don't think I know that name. I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong place."
"No, it's the right place. There's no other place like it"
That was true.
"Well, you either have the wrong name or the wrong place," May retorted.
"I just know Casterpen... oh, wait, he bought the ticket so maybe his actual name is on there somewhere," the man said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a thick envelope. He pulled out some papers from inside, a few pieces falling to the porch floor. He quickly picked them up, looking at all the papers quickly. "Right, here it is. George Wilheim. I'm looking for mister George Wilheim."
"You didn't even know his name? Why are you looking for him?" May glared suspiciously.
"Well, uh, this might sound weird, but uh, we met in an online chat room. We've been friends for years now, even though we've never met in person, we've done video calls before. We agreed to meet up. Casterpen was his username, so that's what I call him. He paid for my flight here. I thought he'd pick me up from the airport, but maybe he forgot? I haven't talked to him since we made the arrangement."
"Okay, totally weird, but believable. Um, and why were you guys going to meet up?"
"Well, we had a common interest, not something to be talked about in public, but..."
"Ew! I did not need to know that!" May went to shut the door, but the man was fast and put his hand against it to stop it from shutting, dropping more papers in the process.
"Wait, it wasn't like that! I mean, we're both writers!" The desperation in the man's voice caused it to crack. The look he gave May, with his big brown eyes, reminded her of a puppy dog.
"You were both writers?" She asked, and the man nodded.
"Yes, yes. It was a chat room for authors. Um, just if you could, tell him Samuel is here? He might know me better as Flintbeard. Please?"
Again with those puppy dog eyes. May's heart was in her throat.
"Okay, just give me a minute," she said and closed the door.
After a few minutes she opened it again and stepped out. She wore a heavy rain coat and rain boots, her sweat pants tucked in. She closed the door behind her and locked it, holding a flashlight in her other hand.
"Uh, what are you...?"
"You wanted to see Mister Wilheim, so I'm taking you to go see him," May said, pulling her hood over her head as she stepped off the covered porch. Samuel quickly stuffed all his papers into his pocket and followed.
May led him along the foot path to the driveway, which was a large gravel circle around a fountain with a road heading straight out from the house towards the road, lined on either side by trees.
She didn't follow the driveway, only took it as long as it was near the house then walked up to a gate that blocked off another part of the driveway that went around the house.
The house itself was more like a mansion with worn stone exterior.
She opened the gate, which was wide enough for a vehicle, using a keypad next to it that opened it automatically. Leading the way through, she started walking straight away from the house and into a wooded area next to it, taking a well-worn trail.
May glanced over her shoulder at the man, who was several steps behind her, and noted the confused expression. With a sigh, she turned back to where she was going.
The trail took several twists and turns and even led over a bridge across a creek. Finally it stopped at a grassy clearing. In the center of the clearing there was a smooth and rounded pieces of stone jutting out of the ground to waist height.
"Mister Wilhiem, you have a visitor. He says he's an online friend of yours," May chimed with fake cheer. Immediately after she looked away from the stone. "Here he is."
Samuel's eyebrows furrowed.
"Is this a joke? I mean, if he wasn't here, you could have said something instead of-"
"Just read the damned tombstone," May snapped, handing him the flashlight and crossing her arms. Samuel fumbled with it for a moment before holding it tightly and walking forward.
"George Wilheim, friend, father, son. Rest in piece, died..... only a month and a half ago? I..." Samuel stopped, the light dancing as his hands began to shake. "How? How did this happen?"
"Heart attack and fell down some stairs," May answered, not looking up at him.
"And who are you? I mean, obviously you knew him, but how did you..."
"Adoptive daughter," May said blatantly, snatching the flashlight from his still shaking hands. "It happened while I was at school. I came home to find him.... maybe if I'd been there I could have...." that lump in her throat got bigger and choked her up. New tears came to her eyes.
Swallowing the lump, she turned on her heels and started walking back up the path.
"Wait!" Samuel called, grabbing her hand and stopping her. She turned back sharply and glared.
"What?"
"I, uh, did he by chance.... have a notebook or series of notebooks anywhere that he wrote in?" Samuel asked. May glared harder, if that was possible, and snatched her hand out of his.
"Why, so you can take them, write his story as your own, and publish it or something? You want to steal his writing?"
"No, it's not like that!"
"Either way, I don't care. You've met your caster-whatever, and succeeded in ripping open old wounds at the same time. Now I just want peace to drink my apple cider. Go home," she told him, and started up the path again.
"Wait!" He followed after her brisk pace.
"I'm in no mood to deal with an internet crazy. Just leave me alone," she snapped over her shoulder.
"No, it's not that! It's that. I, um..." he nearly tripped over himself into the mud, causing him to hurt his hand. He picked himself up and ran after May, who had kept going.
She went back up the driveway, stopping to put in a code at a keypad again to open the gate that had closed automatically after a time. That gave Samuel time to catch up and follow on her heels to the front door.
"Miss Wilheim, wait!"
"I'm not Wilheim!"
"But you said..."
"I don't share his name. It's, it's complicated, okay? But whatever you want, it's not here. Go home! And if I catch you on my property again, I will call the police."
"But I can't go home!" Samuel finally snapped, his hands in trembling fists. "I can't go home."
"And why not?"
"Home is half a world away, and I used the last of anything to my name to get a cab here. Casterpen assured me I would be safe and taken care of here, having paid for my means to get me here and out of... the horrible place I had been. There really is no home for me to go to."
"Well, that's not my problem."
"That's just cold!"
May was taken back by his comment. She had started unlocking the door, but stopped. She had been called a lot of things in her life, few of them pleasant things, but never cold.
"I'm a young woman, living by myself, with hardly any friends, no family. I'm still in mourning, but have to keep at my studies... how else am I supposed to deal when a creep comes to my doorstep?" She couldn't stop her voice from sounding like she wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... dang it, I always mess thing up," Samuel sighed, scratching the back of his neck.
"Listen, I'll see about leaving, but could I at least use your phone? I don't have one."
"Fine," she sighed and opened the door.