"Fasae you say?" the innkeeper pondered as he polished a copper flagon with a questionably clean rag.
"We get a few of those pointy eared buggers out her from time to time sure, but usually they tend to be off just as soon as they came. You know those elf folk, always in a hurry to be where they have to go" he chuckled as he tossed the rag onto the counter between them
The Inn was crowded, surprisingly so for such a small town. The sounds of conversation and dice filled the wooden walls, the sharp notes of a showman's flute cutting through the cacophony in quick melodic bursts. A group of mine workers, very far into their cups were singing along with the tune.
A rather bluntly worded song of a man coming home to his wife, and bedding her after a long day of cracking stone.
The crowd was mostly made up of Menfolk, with a few squatty dwarves scattered throughout. Unfortunately though, the Innkeeper spoke truly. These mountain towns usually attracted dwarves and menfolk alike with the prospect of work in mines, and trade in craft. But seldom did an Elf find a place such as this to be comfortable. Far too cold, far too noisy.
"This fasae boy would have been easily noticed in a place like this" Verick observed wiping foam from his beard. "Dark black hair, and deep violet eyes. He had a big painted mare with him as well. He's a runaway you see, would have had to stop to get that horse of his something to eat, would have needed some himself too" He added before gulping down another draught of the thick dark ale.
"Well well then Violet eyes aye? Painted mare hmm?" The innkeeper puzzled for a moment, scratching his head.
"Suppose I may have seen a lad with a hood pass through here last night. Didn't get a look at his hair or eyes though, seemed pretty reserved, didn't ask for much, didn't seem all too interested in anything to be fair, just sat over there in that little window seat there. He may have had a lady with him... or was he alone? Oh well you see I was preoccupied with the regulars, and as I said I hardly got a good look at the lad... Sorry to tell you friend, but I know perhaps less than you do. Give us a yell if you need anything else." the innkeeper finished with a shrug before waddling off to tend to another patron sitting down the bar.
The trail seemed to get colder by the day. Since he arrived in Fishtown Verick had hardly learned anything he didn't already know. The boy had made it here, that was for sure, and a painted mare had been seen resting in the barn near the Inn, but no one could agree on the owner.
"A little dwarven lad, only about a hundred and five years I bet he was! Light brown hair and deep green eyes!" a fishmonger had said
"No not dwarven! A skinny fair skinned man, big brooding blue eyes!" a tailor had disagreed
"Dwarven?! Man? No you have it all wrong, it was a Fair Fasae maiden she was! Maroon eyes and silver hair she had!" The baker's wife interjected.
When Verick had stopped by the Blacksmith's to ask if he had recognized the horseshoe nail, and asked if he had perhaps helped shoe any horses recently, he only learned the burly man cared little for the comings and goings of his customers, and even less in remembering their faces.
"Cold trails just get colder" the old hunter said with a sigh as he stared into the bubbling black liquid in his mug.
"Purple eyed Elf you looking for then I hear?" A scruffy dwarf in a soot-stained apron mumbled, resting his chin on his clay pint mug. His tangled blonde beard dangled down into the cup, and soaked in the black ale.
"Say someone saw this boy of yours, maybe they'd be willing to tell more if a nice stranger was friendly enough. A drink or two might loosen their tongue" he finished with a hoarse chuckle.
From the look of him, he had a few drinks already, and a few more might loosen more than just his tongue.
"Friendly people can be hard to come by" Verick responded with a sideways glance
"Money for drink can be hard to come by too. Maybe the friendly stranger would loosen up his purse if he knew his money wouldn't be wasted"
"Pinchpennies all of you" the dwarf spat in between gulps.
"For folk who live so short you hold onto coins as tight a boy busting for a piss holds his prick!"
Amused, Verick turned to face the dwarf at his side.
"I have my doubts you'd be able to tell much about what you saw last night, nor even what you saw an hour ago. As far into that mug as you seem I doubt you saw anything but those fat brows drooping down into your eyes. I'd have better luck asking the horses outside."
"Ah no respect for elders these days from your kind!" the dwarf laughed loudly, spitting as he talked
"See nothing did I? Ohhh right, just my fat brows drooping for true! Into my mug as I may have been even I could see how that Blacksmith's girl was taken with him, oh aye, even as a drunk fool as I may be, even I could notice her giggling and batting her eyes at that vagabond! How she ate up his poor runaway act. The bugger sneaks in here with the girl, hood drawn, and sets up shack over there by the window, then slinks off with her to the barn in the dead of night! Why he-"
The dwarf, stopped just before he was about to begin another slurred rant, closing his lips tight underneath his bushy moustache.
With a smile, Verick patted him on the shoulder, and poured the rest of his own mug into the dwarf's.
If there was one way to make sure a Dwarf told you something, it was to tell them they didn't know it to begin with.
"Inkeep! See my friend's mug doesn't get empty" Verick called, dropping a pair of gold pieces onto the counter.
The twilight sky was a deep amber. The fiery rays of light peeking out from behind the mountain tops that snaked their way across the horizon. The air was crisp, and refreshing after the stuffy Inn.
Out of all the towns he'd been to on the journey, out of all the places he had tracked this runaway to. This town, it seemed, was the first time anyone had offered to help the boy on his travels. It had seemed anyone near the Lake Lord's keep had already heard news of his escape, and as such, were eager to gain some reward for aiding the hunter in his search. Out here though, it it seemed, people's hearts had not been as cold as the mountains they lived in. A young girl, knowing the boy's plight seemed to have offered him help of some kind.
After searching the barn he had only concluded the two had certainly been there. A few impressions had been left behind by something heavy among the hay in the loft. An empty bottle of wine was left sitting on the windowsill, still wet, recently opened.
Making sure to feed Vaelon a good handful of the new oats he purchased, Verick pondered aloud to the stallion.
"Perhaps we should see if the Blacksmith had any care in remembering my face then, surely he'd remember yours, handsome you are my friend"
Vaelon snorted at that
By the time Verick arrived back to the cramped workshop, the Blacksmith was absorbed in the Plow blade he was shaping.
While he tethered Vaelon to the signpost outside, he checked around to be sure no one was to disturb their conversation.
The workshop was a sharp contrast to the world outside. The small, smokey, hot space seemed to be a realm all its own.
"You come to ask about nails again?" The Blacksmith stopped his work to cast a backwards glance to the old man standing in his doorway.
"Believe it or not, my answer will not have changed since we last met. So unless you are here to buy new nails, I have no interest in discussing them again" he punctuated with a sharp clang of his hammer as he began working again.
"Oh dear me no" Verick smiled as he stepped in a bit closer, closing the door behind him.
"I've not come to talk about nails again, actually quite far from it. You see, a friend of mine in town spun a fine tale of some vagabond boy getting closely acquainted with a Blacksmith's daughter. A boy with violet eyes he said. Perhaps she would know more than he forgetful father. Perhaps I might find her in a pile of straw wrapped around him somewhere nearby?"
The clanging stopped in an instant, and the room would have been all but silent had it not been for the crackling of coals in the forge.
The Blacksmith turned on his heels and pointed the hot tool into Verick's face.
"It is a fine guest who comes to my shop with slights and insults! Might I say you need your nose flattened to keep it out of my family's business aye? Or perhaps since you were so fond of nails earlier, maybe one through that vile and decrepit mouth of yours would keep you from flapping those ancient lips so freely!" His long masculine face was shrouded in shadows cast by the forge behind him. "If you know what's good for, you'll go back the way you came, and in a hurry"
"Careful now young man" Verick warned in a low quiet voice
"You'll find flattening my nose to be a might more difficult than flattening ingots, after all, they hardly fight back"
With a thick meaty arm the Blacksmith reached to grab the old man by the throat.
"Well see how much you talk once that mouth is nailed shu-"
With a deft jab to the apple of the Smith's throat and a swift knee to the groin, Verick used the man's weight to reverse their positions. Quickly wrenching the hammer from the stunned man's grip, the old hunter's muscles seemed to move with the memory of a lifetime of battle. He twisted the man's arm into an unnatural position, the joint creaked and the man below stifled a raspy howl of pain.
"A smith needs his arms" Verick whispered calmly
"Do what I ask, and I won't do any lasting damage...Now all I want is for you to tell me where this boy went, or would you rather I ask your daughter after explaining how her father was beaten with his own hammer?" his voice turned to a low gravely growl as he raised the hammer to strike the man's head.
"B...Bastard" the smith wheezed with difficulty through raggedy breaths, feebly struggling to free his arm from the hunter's grip, who tightened his hold even harder with each moment. The smith was strong, but with his shoulder nearly out of the socket it would have been impossible to free himself without losing the use of his arm for well over a month.
"Gone...they're both gone...ran away together in the night...left only a note...told her not to get involved..." he struggled between grunts of pain.
"Where did she say they were going?"
"Promise me...swear to the gods...my daughter won't be hurt..."
"To the watchers of the wind, and to the seer of the fates I swear. I only want the boy, and you surely have no love for a vagabond who stole your daughter away, tell me where they are and I'll personally bring your daughter back safe and sound" Verick loosened his grip and tossed the hammer aside.
The smith struggled a moment to find his voice again.
"North...they went north. Daughter said she would guide him through a shortcut through the mountains to the Green Valley...said she wanted to get out of this little town and she needed to be with him... said this town was empty without her mother...stupid girl, she only just met him, and she threw away her home all for some runaway Elf!" tears crept down his blackened cheeks, and Verick could hear his voice shake
"I've already lost her, if you bring her back she'll only hate me for it...she'll never forgive"
"In time she will" Verick assured, and with a quick flash knocked the man across the temple, putting him to sleep.
He dragged the heavy beast of a man from the forge through the back door to the sleeping chamber behind the shop. It was spacious enough for two people, the small wooden beds spaced near each other. Placing an empty spirit bottle into the man's hand, Verick slumped his body so that it would appear he simply drank himself unconscious, an understandable thing for a man to do when he found his daughter ran off with some traveler.
By the time he awoke he would be slow to remember their meeting, and even when he had the hunter would be long gone by then.
Sitting up high onto Vaelon's back, he wheeled the stallion around and began at a brisk trot towards the northern passage.
"North we go boy, there's more apples waiting for you on the other side of these mountains"