The inn was far from the best Sage had seen, its infrastructure far from the most pristine. It was not the worse inn she had seen though. The slums of Tiih contained establishments with cracked walls made of rotting wood, the brown district of Yshta fared no different. The most obvious advantage this place had above those shitty inns, was that it did not have a door that looked like it could fall off its hinges at any moment. That more than made it an adequate place to rest her head for the night.
"Send the horse away," she told Isaac after dismounting.
There was a quartet of horses on the side of the inn quietly toiling to shuffle the miniscule amount of the surrounding's grass into their mouths. When comparing them to the helhurst, these beasts appeared wanting. Letting the undead horse linger among them would make its uniqueness easier to pick out, especially the fact that it did not to feed; something grazers spent most of their time doing when not being worked to the bone. After the crap that happened in Tima, the last thing she wanted was to rouse suspicions.
Leaving the knight to his devices, she walked up to the porch and swung the door open, introducing her to the smallest common room she had seen in any inn so far. A quick look around and she counted four tables of moderate size; three were empty while at the closest one to the door sat four individuals, the likely owners of the outside mounts. Each of them was clad in armour with a weapon resting at their side.
By the time she took her second step into the establishment, all four sets of eyes had narrowed in on her; tense gazes spiced with wariness and a pinch of hostility. She returned their stares, scrutinising them with {Index} in the process.
The most glaring person at the table was a large muscular woman a red braid closing in on her middle ages. She was clad in grey chainmail with a large shield and broadsword leaning on the table's edge. A scar ran from the bottom of her left eye to her jaw.
Race: Human (Human)
Physique: Grade 3
Mana: E (White)
Among her peers she had the most intense stare.
The man who sat opposite the woman was about the same age, however, he was much leaner. He had a neatly trimmed brown beard and wore a cuirass of with a shade as dull as his companion's chainmail. Also like his teammate, his sword leaned against the table
Race: Human (Human)
Physique: Grade 3
Mana: G (White)
The last members of the quartet where a pair of twins, two dark skinned boys much younger than their partners. The two of them wore platemail and carried shields as well, though much smaller than the woman's. Instead of swords though, they had long spears leaning against the wall closest to them.
Race: Human (Human0
Physique: Grade 4
Mana: D (White)
Race: Human (Human)
Physique: Grade 4
Mana: H (White)
Seeing their stats, Sage looked away in relief. None of them were a threat.
Ignoring their enduring glares, she walked over to the empty counter and tapped three times. Then she took a seat and waited.
However, just as she was making herself comfortable, she heard a tankard slammed onto the table from the direction of the four individuals. The wooden floor squeaked and uttered a bang as a chair moved back and fell over. Then, a heavy set of steps stomped across the room towards her. A moment later, out of the corner of her vision, Sage caught the muscular woman sliding into the stool on her right. Immediately after settling into her seat, the woman slammed her tankard onto the counter and shot her a glare.
"Fine day, aint it?" she began.
Her scratchy voice carried a modicum of false courtesy, a tone that failed to conceal hostility. The reason for her enmity, Sage did not know. What she was certain of was that news of what had happened in Tima could not have reached here so soon, so there was not a chance in hell that the muscle-bound woman's aggression had anything to do with it. In other words, her bitchiness was uncalled for. Sage did not bother to turn in her direction as she tapped the counter once more, harder this time.
In the corner of her eye, she caught the woman grab a shiny object from her pocket and slammed it down. Then she loudly dragged it across the counter until it rested in front of Sage. It was a Mercenary Guild badge, one with three stars. Suppressing a sigh, she turned to face the woman. Fortunately she was wearing her mask, so she did not have force a smile.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked, shoving her annoyance down.
"That's the thing," the woman replied, leaning in. In response, Sage shifted to the left. The woman, unbothered, continued by pointing her thumb back at her companions' table. "Me and my friends got a job to check around here. 'Lotsa people've been going missing around these parts." When she said the next part, her eyes narrowed. "Know anything about that?"
"Nothing," Sage answered, knocking on the counter again.
Her response left the woman unsatisfied, causing the muscle woman to roughly lean into Sage once more. "You sure about that?"
"Yes," Sage responded with an exasperated breath; hoping its message was correctly identified. "I am absolutely sure."
Her intentions did not carry through unfortunately, as the woman continued her interrogation.
"How long have you been in these parts?" she asked, leaning even further into Sage.
Her eyes were bloodshot, a clear sign that she had been swinging back too many tankards. Even from under the mask, the stench of her alcohol-riddled breath tickled Sage's nostrils; if her face had been uncovered, the smell would doubtless have been much worse. Although she was not fond of the mask, in that moment it was a small miracle she would not shy away from.
"I've only just arrived?" she answered, shifting her stool to the side once more. If the bitch got in her face once more, she would lose it!
"From where?" the mercenary woman pressed on.
Right there and then, Sage decided to put an end to the interrogation. There was no reason to entertain this line of questioning any longer.
"Where are all these questions headed to?" she asked sternly.
Her tone seemed to stir something in the woman, causing her eyes to suddenly sharpen. "Oh, you're getting defensive. Got something to hide little lady?"
And she was done.
"Fuck off," Sage spat, before turning away.
Where the hell was the inn keeper? What the fuck was keeping them that they had to leave her in the company of this jacked up bitch?
She made to tap on the counter again; however, before she could follow through, the mercenary woman slammed her fist down in front of her.
"Why don't you take off your mask little missy?" she demanded. "Let me get a good look at your face."
When the stupid bitch slammed her hand in front of her, Sage initially had the mind to set her ablaze; however, that line of action was more trouble than it was worth. If she attacked the woman, her companions- who looked half a heartbeat away from reaching for their weapons- would jump in. Then shit would fly off the rails like Tima.
Honestly, if she could have her way, everything would be smooth sailing from here onwards. Her route to Rupheus- possibly Io as well- would be unhindered; no trouble would accost her until she had gotten what she came for in Lethia and left… and until she had gotten her hands on an Elixir of Rejuvenation. Was that too much to ask for?
Apparently, the fucking gods thought so.
"What you waiting for missy?" muscle bitch pressed. "Go on, show me your face."
She scoffed in return. "And why should I do that?"
"Because," the bitch was leaning into her again. "You're shady. Mask-wearing types like you always be hiding something. Almost three dozen people disappeared in this location over the last three months; wouldn't be surprised if you're responsible. You are, aint you? Stuffed them in your boiling cauldron didn't you? What kinda face is hiding behind that mask little missy? Warts? Crooked nose? A hideous façade? Are you a witch?"
When muscle bitch fired her first nonsensical accusation, Sage thought that she had a reason for it; a stupid reason, but a sensible one that would be easily accepted by the general public. However, the mercenary's ludicrous conjecture drove into her just how different Lethia was from Ysh. The general public would accept any dumb accusation launched against a magic user.
Their absurd rejection of magic is interfering with development.
If Lethians were half as accepting of magic as the Yshians were, their nation's development would likely reach a higher level than it was currently at, no doubt surpassing the rival neighbour's. Lethia's military might would undergo a qualitative change, as many who previously rejected magic but had aptitude for it delved into it. If Lethians were okay with the concept of magicians, they would have been the overlords of North-Western Rekke by now.
But acceptance of magic as a whole would hinder alchemical progress. When change occurred, some things improved while others regressed. In Lethia's case, universal acceptance of other branches of magic would make a victim of alchemy. Practising magicians would no longer have to delve into alchemy to justify their study of magic. Considering how much body-tempering relied on alchemists, maybe the outcome would not be so positive.
"What's the matter girl?" muscle bitch brought her back to the present. "All you need to do is take off your mask and show me your face!"
As muscle bitch uttered her last words, her hand shot up towards Sage's face with the clear intention to rip off her mask. The act was surprising, but- considering how muscle bitch was acting and the fact that she had downed several tankards- not unexpected. Unfortunately, the mercenary's speed was beyond hers, making it impossible for her to avoid the bitch's hand from reaching her mask; or at least it would have been so if she were human. As a phantom, she prepared to use {Ghostwalk} to avoid the grab.
Fortunately, the act proved unnecessary. The mercenary bitch's hand was a mere centimetre from her face when a large black gauntlet caught the bitch's wrist. Sage must have been really irritated by muscle bitch's crap that she had somehow missed Isaac's entrance. As her unwilling loyal knight, he was programmed to block any attack that was meant for her.
However, the moment he caught muscle bitch's hand, her cronies abruptly flung their chairs back as they got up with weapons raised. The three men's hardened expressions told a story of those ready for blood. This would not end peacefully unless a third party came to diffuse the situation.
Luckily, that was exactly what happened. Before the situation could escalate further, the door on the other side of the counter suddenly swung open. The sound of it slamming against the side was heard around the common room before it was followed up by a raspy voice.
"How many times do I have to tell ye fuckers that there aint no fighting in my establishment. Ye deaf?"
The one who passed through the door was an old lady, a real crone. Her face was a wrinkly mess, with a large nose in the centre littered pimples so big they might as well be warts. Her posture was hunched and a mop of dirty-grey hair sat atop her head. The leathery appearance of her skin outed her as a true relic; not the oldest she had seen, but… dear gods! She was a fucking toad. One look at a hag like Saana and it was not difficult to imagine she might have been beautiful once; but this crone, even the Cryptmaker fell short when compared to her in terms of unattractiveness.
Her appearance was not the most eye-catching- if she could even be referred to as that- thing about her; at least not for Sage.
Race: Human (Human)
Physique: Grade 3
Mana: B (Blue)
Unlike muscle bitch and her trio of fucktards, the crone had some serious stats that would make her a threat Sage could not afford to ignore.
"Sorry ma'am" muscle bitch's companion- not one of the twins- responded. "Hildrun was just asking the newcomers questions and they decided to get violent."
His reply had Sage wanting to open her mouth and give him a few choice words, but the crone spoke up before she could.
"Fuck that happened!" she yelled. "Ye think I don't hear what's happening while I'm in the kitchen." She glared at muscle bitch and pointed towards their table. "Sit yer arse down and stop bothering me customers. Otherwise, take yer shit and leave me establishment!"
For a moment, muscle bitch looked like she might explode. However, after seemingly contemplating for a few seconds, she thought better of it. Instead, the bitch just shot them a look before she swiped her tankard and badge of the counter and headed back where she came from.
"Hope ye excuse 'em," the crone said, shifting her attention to Sage. "They just anxious 'cause people be disappearing 'round these parts lately; can only imagine what manner of Cold-spawn is behind it. What can I do for ye?"
"A room for the night would be great," Sage said.
Honestly, she was starting to have second thoughts. But it had been a while since she had laid on bed. Rupheus would no doubt have much better accommodations, but she would be spending all her time there looking for ways to temper her body. So, she might as well experience it here.
"Room for the night is four silvers," the crone responded.
The price was high considering the state of the inn, but Sage had just come out of one argument and was reluctant to get into another, so she reached into her pockets and retrieved a few pieces of silver to slam on the table.
"Ye can choose a table and wait for yer supper," the crone offered. "Would ye like ale as well, maybe mead?"
Sage shook her head. "None of those. Can you just give us our room key and bring our dinner to us later?"
"If that's yer wish," the crone grumbled, then she turned around and called out loudly "MYLAH! Come out! Bring the key to room two."
Not a moment later a green figure in a dirty grey dress stumbled into the common room. She was around a hundred and fifty centimetres in height, making her the only one present who was shorter than Sage. However, unlike Sage, this girl's height had not settled as her face showed that she still had some growing to do. The little girl looked no older than ten, with a chubby face and two small fangs protruding from her lower lip.
Race: Half-Orc (Human)
Physique: Grade 5
Mana: S (Cream)
The child had only taken a few steps out the door, when the crone snatched the keys from her.
"Gimme that!" she barked harshly. "Back to the kitchen and finish washing the plates!"
After being scolded, the girl turned and headed back with drooped shoulders and a lowered gaze. On the other hand, the crone sneered and mumbled complains as she turned to Sage.
"What a useless child," she began. "Fucking great-great granddaughter ran off with some green-skin; then returned a year later diseased and dragging a tummy. Lasted long enough to leave me with that useless little shit, the latest in a line of useless shits!" After the short rant, she slammed the keys on the counter and pushed them towards Sage. "There're the keys, now fuck outta me face!"
The abrupt mood change of the crone was surprising, but Sage was mentally exhausted. Right now, she just wanted to leave and throw herself on a bed. She picked up the key with a number two written at it and looked around. The inn only had one floor with some of the exits to the common room being numbered; it did not take her long to identify the room they would be staying in.
Getting up, she noticed the mercenary quartet shooting her death glares. Likely a future headache; but, at the moment, her experience with the annoying muscle bitch played across her mind, causing one of her middle fingers to wake up; which she then proceeded to point in their direction before walking off to her room.