The journey ahead was a long one, a trek that should take at least weeks or even months, but it was a task that was necessary.
They had embarked on their route from the westernmost reaches of the Republic of Feaudalland, and the capital lay far to the east, the direction that stretched far at the opposite.
After several hours of riding, they came across a soothing river, flowing down through the side of the pathway.
To rest up for the far journey ahead, they set up camp near a meandering forest river. Hank unfolded a map and straightened its body for clearer inspection, he traced his finger along the map's sketches, studying their progress. "There should be a town just ahead," he announced. "We can rest there before nightfall."
Cassandra took a swig from her canteen that filled up from the river. "Good," she replied. "But do we have enough gold for a night's stay?"
Hank, piqued by her inquiry, reached for his belt while another hand was still flapping the map, as he opened his pouch and counted his coins. "Not much," he admitted. "I doubt we can survive another week."
Cassandra shrugged. "Then we'll find jobs along the way," she said, tossing the canteen to Hank.
Startled, but Hank caught it with the map still in his hand. "You're right," he said. "We'll have to get creative," before taking a swig from the canteen as well.
"Then, I guess we should get going," Cassandra urged, glancing at the ever-shifting bright sky.
With them rested and replenished, they mounted back to their horse and resumed their journey. Riding off along the pathway.
After another round of hours, passing through crossings and villages, the town eventually loomed ahead, gradually fading into their sight.
"There," Hank declared, "The town is just ahead."
As Hank, out of urge, goaded the horse, pacing it faster toward the town's gate. Only to meet two guardsmen, sitting on the crates, hand-filled with cards, playing while stationing by the large frame of the gateway.
One of the guardsmen realized their arrival, "Halt!" he announced, quickly laying down the cards onto their makeshift table and raising up.
"State your business, travelers," his voice sterned.
"We're here to rest up for the journey ahead," Cassandra responded before Hank, her head peeking through his shoulder.
"Adventurers, ey?" The guardsman was piqued, seemingly reaching down for his scroll and quill.
"No-" Before Hank could correct their business, Cassandra interjected, "Yes, we're here on behalf of a quest."
"May I grasp the details of the quest?" the guardsman continued.
"No, it's classified," Cassandra continued, suppressing a word from Hank.
"Okay, two adventurers…" the guardsman muttered while scribbling in his scroll, "passing by… at the state of classified business…"
Before the time could stretch further, the guardsman lifted his head, "Alright, the both of you, pass through the gate," the guardsman stated while pointing at the gateway behind him.
"Thank you," Cassandra nodded as she urged Hank to move forward.
With that, they passed through the town's gate, entering the town of Broadmanne.
The town of Broadmanne was utterly different from the ruins they had witnessed and lived in. Children played in the streets, merchants haggled over prices, and blacksmiths hammered at their anvils. The air was filled with the sounds of life and activity.
Meanwhile, the guardsman quickly wobbled back to the card game he was meddling in, "Sorry, for the wait!" he added with excitement painted across his tone.
"Are you sure we should let them in?" the other guardsman questioned, his skepticism raised high.
"What do you mean?" the guardsman replied while dashing for his flipped cards.
"One of them clearly bears the crest of the guardsman from Hughen's Road."
"So…?"
"The refugees… remember? Our mayor strictly set forth to restrict entries for any folks travel from Hughen's Road…"
"Nah… don't worry about it, they are adventurers, remember?"
"Then, care to say how they get the hand of the crest from the guardsman of Hughen's Road?"
"Well…" the guardsman shrugged, "Probably looting… you know…they always do that kind of stuff."
"Let's not make it a waste," he mocked, "That's what they would always say."
After a deliberate consideration, "Fair enough," the other guardsman pulled his lips downward, shrugging in acknowledgment, and resuming the games at his hand.
Meanwhile, Cassandra and Hank reached the town, Hank's face stretched into dissatisfaction, inquiring in displease, "Why don't we just tell the truth, what with the lies?"
"If camping within the wilds is your suggestion, mind as well we speak the truth," Cassandra scoffed.
"This does not justify your deceit," he grumbled.
Cassandra sighed, "Your nosiness does flaunt at times," she clarified, "If we declare the official purpose of our visit, they might see us as an envoy. Envoys are revolved within the political domain, to such the needs of an official letter or crest must be present to hasten the overall process. If absent, like we are right now, the message of our arrival must transfer to the higher state to declare our officiate status, otherwise, we're forbidden to enter the province due to our 'misrepresentation'. Whereas, as an adventure, we're freelancers, our mission or quests do not matter to the importance of the official. Basically, whatever we involved ourselves did not concern them at the very least. So, we better avoid any unnecessary paperwork than a mere fallacy. Is this enough for you?"
Upon hearing that, Hank sighed, realizing the gravity of their mission and she was right regarding the choice she made, "Still… lying is unsound… But, fine… whatever you say," he accepted, despite his dissatisfaction lingering.
After their skirmish resolved, their eyes resumed on the surroundings, surveying the passing between buildings and structures, only settled right before the prominent inn.
It was nestled just at the edge of the town, perfectly localized to captivate any weary travelers to gather information and rest.
"There's the inn," Cassandra announced, pointing at the prominently stone-built building with the word 'inn' carved on the board dangling above the doorway.
"Alright, let's rest and find a job by tomorrow," said Hank as he descended the horse, unloading the supplies where Cassandra followed.
Once the packs were unloaded, Hank led the horse to a nearby stable, passing his horse to a trusty stableman, who greeted him kindly.
Meanwhile, Cassandra waited by the doorway of the inn with their supplies, her arms crossed, leaning against the wall with her mind drifting away.
As minutes passed by from sorting out the horse, Hank finally returned and approached Cassandra who was still captivated by her thoughts, signaling to her, "Let's enter."
Piqued by Hank's abrupt return, she startled and nodded.
Soon they entered, the inn was bustling with hustle and bustle, filled with the laughter of patrons and the clinking of glasses.
Cassandra's once weary eyes immediately lightened up, awed by the nostalgic smell of ale, and the sound of creaking woods.
"Just like the Rusty Tankard," Cassandra remarked, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips.
Hank nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the time in a tavern where he had shared drinks with his fellow guardsmen. "Yeah," he said quietly.
"Let's check in for a room," Hank suggested, gesturing to the counter as he walked towards it. The innkeeper, a burly man with scars circled around his muscly forearms, polishing a tankard with meticulous care while whistling meekly.
As their distance closed in, the innkeeper spotted Hank and Cassandra from their presence, a wide smile spreading across his face. "How can I help two lovebirds like you, today!?" he declared, his voice booming over the din of the tavern.
Hank was caught off guard by the grand assertion and blushed.
"We… we… we're not lovers," Hank stuttered, his face flushing slightly then turned to Cassandra with a sheepish look, signaling his confusion for the righteous term before their relationship.
"Colleagues," Cassandra interjected.
"Ah, I see, my mistake!" the innkeeper said with unhinged enthusiasm, nodding. "Two brave warriors. How can I help you today?"
Hank, his mind still reeled from the unexpected, simply cleared his throat, recouping his uniformity, and replied, "We'd like two rooms for the night."
The innkeeper's smile faltered, and his tone shifted solemnity. "Unfortunately, we're full at the moment. There's been a surge of travelers, occupying most of the rooms, heard mostly from Hughen's Road like there was an attack or something."
"Yeah," Hank responded, his seriousness matched his, "that's why we're here," Hank confirmed. "We're heading to New Atiquiran, the capital."
"The capital, eh?" the innkeeper said, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You see… I really wanted to help both of you… But too bad, we only have one room left." he shrugged dismissively.
"Unless… you two wouldn't mind sharing?" his lips cracked into a jocular grin.
Hank blushed and exchanged a glance with Cassandra, who was somehow unfazed.
Without prolonging any unnecessary defer, "How many beds are there?" Hank asked, his voice filled with resignation.
"Uhh... it's a double bed," the innkeeper replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Great," Hank muttered sarcastically.
"We'll take it," Cassandra interrupted, her tone firm.
Hank was taken aback. "But..." he stammered.
"Don't worry," Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. "I'll sleep on the floor if that matters much for you."
"Wait… no… that's not what I meant," Hank troubled, his hands thrown in the air, waving dismissively as he fidgeted on the spot.
"Unless you have a better idea for where we should stay, I suggest we take the room," Cassandra responded, her words as blunt as a hammer, leaving no space for subtlety.
Hank, taken aback by her assertion, fumbled to propose any sweetened alternative.
Ultimately, he resigned, "Fine… we'll take the room…" accepting the room from that burly grinning, conniving innkeeper.
"There you go!" the innkeeper exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Your room is 106, just upstairs and down the corridor to your left. Enjoy your stay!"
Hank groaned internally. "So..." he tried to discuss, but Cassandra had already started walking away, leaving him on hang.
"Come on, young sir," the innkeeper urged, leaning in conspiratorially. "You wouldn't want your lovely companion sleeping on the floor, would you? Just squeeze a little, and you'll get used to it. Who knows, sparks might even ignite between you two—"
Before the innkeeper could finish his suggestive comment, Hank's face turned beet-red, and cut him off with a sharp "Shut it!" before hurrying after Cassandra.