The hours passed slowly. Getting bored out of his skull just riding along Cyrus tried counting the trees along the roadside. Before long he realized he was sleeping. He could hear the clip clop of the horses’ feet and also a man’s voice.
“Something we ought to consider getting is a cask of Dargon's Breath...or two... maybe something stronger if it's available. If we don't have explosives it seems like the next best thing.”
Cyrus’s eyes popped open. “Ya don’t happen to have any with ya right now, do ya?”
The man’s eyes cut back to the dwarf, but then he smiled toothily. “Nay. We jus’ needin’ ta be tallyin’ our order.”
Then the woman asked Cyrus to ride point a few yards up ahead. He had a feeling it was more of an order then a request. Looking around he lamented the fact there were no more trees about. The three had exited the forest while he slept.
By dinnertime Cyrus had built up quite an appetite. The hand of luck was smiling on him though as a small village appeared around the bend. To his right some massive building was being constructed out of stone. “Poor job of it”, he thought. Other buildings were wooden and scattered about amidst several trees. The road curved toward their center. As the trio passed the locals, some of them gave Cyrus the Evil Eye. He had seen it before in Margrave, but it seemed to be more popular of late. Cyrus reached a split in the road and halted. He knew of the Inn on his right. A square wooden sign showing a buxom and smiling girl holding a flagon of beer stood beside it.
“The Welcome Wench. Looks t’ be the only place in town.”
The others stopped too. “You reserve us three rooms while I-gore and I make our purchases. Then stay until we return” said the woman.
Cyrus nodded. Then she gave him four gold pieces, far more than he needed. He did his best to keep a straight face.
The downstairs interior to the Wench had quite a few people in it for the sun being up. Cyrus counted seven not including a serving wench and potboy.
“Bring me some ale!” he bellowed to the tall rotund man behind the counter. “Somethin’ I won’t spit back up.”
The serving wench seated him and started listing off all the brands and styles they had while the rest of the room looked on. Cyrus interrupted her.
“What’ve ya got that’s dwarven?”
“There is no dwarven ale or mead as the roads south have brigands who…”
”If it ain’t Dwarven, it’s CRAP!” Cyrus said loudly. The serving woman flinched away from him.
“Bring me some ale anyways. What can I get fer four gold?” he said slapping his coins on the table. The bartender offered him fifty drinks of fine ale.
“Start pourin’.”
One of the other customers approached and sat at Cyrus’s table. A lean, younger man he looked out of place with all the County troops gone to the Front. He introduced himself as Elmo and asked about what Cyrus was doing in Hommlet. “Just passin’ through”, he said. Cyrus did not feel much like talking, but the other man seemed not to notice. He talked up the little town and introduced the others in the room too: Ostler the fat barkeep, Spoon-wah in nondescript clothes, Turko and Zert in furs and armor, Danny, boy but almost a man, and someone else in a farmer’s get up. Cyrus pretended to pay attention and asked for more ale. He was enjoying the fun of drinking the Inn under. It had been many a day since he had gorged himself so.
Elmo went on about how traffic was slow due to bandits on the road. He seemed pretty interested on whether or not Cyrus had met with any. The Spugnoir fellow asked if he was an adventurer. Cyrus told him he was simply a dwarven warrior like in the stories. The funny man offered him a contract to go exploring in a run down estate out of town, “to find the lost gold there. And treasures beyond your imagination. Jewels. Weapons. Books.” A few of the others in the room took notice; the two in furs especially.
“Books?” Cyrus looked dubiously at the thin Spoonwa, “that’s not treasure.”
“What about a book that contained every word in the entire language? What of that, hmm?” said Spoonwah.
Cyrus gulped down the rest of his ale, “that would be the longest book ever written. And a damn waste to carry with gold around.”
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