Shorewalker
Well-Known Member
OK, so for my 1,500 word allocation, I've now managed to get two scenes in, rather then the one that was my first effort. If I cut any more words out, I'm certain I'll be left with just a long string of punctuation...
“State your business in D’raynar, lad!”
Flinching from the sharp edge of the voice, Jenn kept her eyes on her worn boots, her face hidden away in the cowl of her cloak.
Gods! Don’t stop me now. Not here. Not when I’m so close.
“Just hoping to meet with some…people, sir.”
Her voice must have surprised the man, for he stepped forward and pulled back her cowl. He started, her cropped hair and haggard features clearly not what he had been expecting.
“Not a lad at all, then, eh?” His face florid and jowly, the gate guard was close enough for Jenn to smell the sharp tang of his sweat and the sour ale on his breath. His smile unpleasant, he held his halberd horizontal before him, barring her path. “Still, who are these people? Do they have names?”
This time last year, a man like this would have bowed before Jenn, perhaps opened a door at her approach whilst offering a respectful smile. That was before her old life had been scoured away by fire and steel. Those men who had served her father were now as dead as the smouldering ruins of Harmengarf. Now she viewed everybody with suspicion, wondering whether they would be the one to slip the blade between her ribs. Before the hulking city gates, she shuffled and mumbled.
“I asked you a question, girl.” Jenn was tall, but still the guard loomed over her. “You don’t look the sort we want in the city without good reason.”
The words stung, anger simmering below the thick layers of fear that almost suffocated her. Rage was the only thing that had forced her onwards these last few months, but it would not serve her well here. Instead of a sharp rebuke, she slid her gaze up at the ominous skies, these pregnant with rain, and then to the high, crenellated walls of the city. She reminded herself of what might be inside.
Vengeance.
“Please, sir, I just…”
“Is there a problem, Grandol?”
Jenn’s interrogator turned. A second guard approached, an older, rotund man. He had just allowed three laden carts to rumble in through the gates without much in the way of questioning.
“Not really, captain. This girl wants in, but won’t tell me anything of her business.” Grandol sized Jenn up again. “I reckon we’ve got enough beggars of our own without adding to their number.”
“Well, she might not be the best dressed traveller I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be leeching off the good citizens.”
Jenn liked the tone of the man’s voice. It sounded reasonable, kindly even, a laugh not far from his lips.
“So, lass, why are you here? It’s not that we don’t appreciate visitors, but we’d prefer it if they had good reason to be here.”
Jenn nervously shifted her travel pack around on her shoulder. “I need to find some people.”
“Which people, lass?” pressed the older guard.
Her head bowed, Jenn hesitated as she felt the first few drops of rain splash onto it, these large and chill. She needed to get inside D’raynar and not just because of the weather. She slid her gaze sideways, across the rolling fields to copses and woods. There were things out there, treacherous things, and she was certain they were getting closer.
However, would honesty buy her laughter or time in the city gaol? What did she truly know of those she sought, other than they were mercenaries and good with cold steel?
That had been enough to bring her halfway around the world, though. She needed men handy with blades and the appetite to use them. For what had been done to her family, answer had to be given.
“I’m looking for the Watch.” Straightening and setting her shoulders, she tried to appear more confident than she felt.
The younger guard snorted, this cut off as his superior slapped him on the arm. The captain turned to Jenn, his tone sympathetic. “Lass, the Watch aren’t the sort of people you should be around. They’re dangerous types, likely to lead you into trouble. Besides, whatever it is you want them for, they’ll expect a healthy fee and…Well, no offense, but you don’t look like you have two bits to rub together.”
There was a time when Jenn would have rolled through wide city gates in a gilded carriage. Instead, it seemed that only lies would now get her inside.
“I’ll be discussing that when I see Lady Blade. She had asked to meet with me, but I think I might be a little late.”
There was a moment’s hesitation as the captain’s eyes widened. The smile that followed appeared slightly nervous. “Ah, well, in that case...” Stepping aside, and dragging Grandol with him, he swept his arm towards the gates.
“D’raynar welcomes you. Go safe and I hope you find what you need.”
Trudging along bent over, the rain battering a chill into her bones, Jenn ached for the simple comforts that had been stripped from her; the soft caress of clean sheets on her own bed, the hearty aromas of pheasant and beef drifting up from the kitchens, the dappled sunlight cascading down through the branches of the hoary oak in the lily gardens behind the keep.
She held tight to those memories, keen-edged reminders of what had been lost, and for that loss, she had to ensure that there be an accounting.
She had no sooner entered the city when the black skies had finally split wide. Pouring from the rips now came curtains of rain, these hammering down into the tight streets and sending many folk scurrying for cover in doorways and beneath overhangs.
She should have joined them but Jenn had much larger concerns. She had hauled them across the kingdoms but now she fretted on the conversation with the guards. The captain’s words had been sobering and she wondered whether any of this made sense, whether any of it was sane…and whether her efforts would make the slightest bit of difference anyway.
But they had to; it was as simple as that. She was the only one left to speak for the dead. Giving up was an option she refused to entertain.
As she climbed the hill, the lane began winding back and forth, softening the slope. The small, grimy houses closed in. Half-timbered or of rough stone, their unsteady cants almost brought their eaves together above the thoroughfare, sucking more of the dim light from the day. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Jenn’s mood was as grim as her surroundings. In her thoughts, she repeated the mantra that had kept her going through hundreds of fear-filled leagues.
I cannot fail, I must not fail.
Head bent into the sheeting rain, it took her a moment to realise that the street had levelled out into a tight little square. There was an ancient, grime-encrusted fountain in its centre, the water from its spout long since dried up, and the cobbles of the square dipped and bowed, cupping murky puddles.
Gazing forlornly down onto the square were a few tired houses, a blacksmith’s forge - one door swung wide even in the downpour - and a three-storey inn. The latter was half-timbered above a stone-walled ground floor and appeared in need of some attention, its panelling fading, its small windows dim and grubby. A sign hung above its door, creaking back and forth in the wind. The Fox And Staff, it declared, the creature in question up on its hind legs, wielding a long stick and grinning inanely.
Jenn was not sure what she had expected, but after so long searching, it all felt a touch anti-climactic. The building stood quiet, no outward sign that it was what she sought, that it was even occupied.
Maybe I’ve got the wrong inn? Maybe I’ve got the wrong damned city?
Crazed laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it down.
Then the thick oak door beneath the sign banged open. Out into the rain staggered a large man, his booted feet slipping on the stones, his shirt and leather jerkin open to his hairy, bloated stomach. As he finally righted himself, dragging greasy hair back from red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare cloak flew out from the inn door. He snatched at it and missed.
“And if you show your ugly face in here again,” hollered a female voice from within, “I’ll make sure your balls are hung above the hearth before you can say ‘’begging your pardon!”
The door slamming shut behind him, the man bent and picked up his sodden cloak at the second attempt. Lurching upright, he finally noticed Jenn and offered a gap-toothed grin that was decidedly unpleasant. The grin swiftly turned lecherous and Jenn’s indecision vanished. With a turn of speed, she splashed across the square and pulled open the door to the Fox And Staff.
*****
“State your business in D’raynar, lad!”
Flinching from the sharp edge of the voice, Jenn kept her eyes on her worn boots, her face hidden away in the cowl of her cloak.
Gods! Don’t stop me now. Not here. Not when I’m so close.
“Just hoping to meet with some…people, sir.”
Her voice must have surprised the man, for he stepped forward and pulled back her cowl. He started, her cropped hair and haggard features clearly not what he had been expecting.
“Not a lad at all, then, eh?” His face florid and jowly, the gate guard was close enough for Jenn to smell the sharp tang of his sweat and the sour ale on his breath. His smile unpleasant, he held his halberd horizontal before him, barring her path. “Still, who are these people? Do they have names?”
This time last year, a man like this would have bowed before Jenn, perhaps opened a door at her approach whilst offering a respectful smile. That was before her old life had been scoured away by fire and steel. Those men who had served her father were now as dead as the smouldering ruins of Harmengarf. Now she viewed everybody with suspicion, wondering whether they would be the one to slip the blade between her ribs. Before the hulking city gates, she shuffled and mumbled.
“I asked you a question, girl.” Jenn was tall, but still the guard loomed over her. “You don’t look the sort we want in the city without good reason.”
The words stung, anger simmering below the thick layers of fear that almost suffocated her. Rage was the only thing that had forced her onwards these last few months, but it would not serve her well here. Instead of a sharp rebuke, she slid her gaze up at the ominous skies, these pregnant with rain, and then to the high, crenellated walls of the city. She reminded herself of what might be inside.
Vengeance.
“Please, sir, I just…”
“Is there a problem, Grandol?”
Jenn’s interrogator turned. A second guard approached, an older, rotund man. He had just allowed three laden carts to rumble in through the gates without much in the way of questioning.
“Not really, captain. This girl wants in, but won’t tell me anything of her business.” Grandol sized Jenn up again. “I reckon we’ve got enough beggars of our own without adding to their number.”
“Well, she might not be the best dressed traveller I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be leeching off the good citizens.”
Jenn liked the tone of the man’s voice. It sounded reasonable, kindly even, a laugh not far from his lips.
“So, lass, why are you here? It’s not that we don’t appreciate visitors, but we’d prefer it if they had good reason to be here.”
Jenn nervously shifted her travel pack around on her shoulder. “I need to find some people.”
“Which people, lass?” pressed the older guard.
Her head bowed, Jenn hesitated as she felt the first few drops of rain splash onto it, these large and chill. She needed to get inside D’raynar and not just because of the weather. She slid her gaze sideways, across the rolling fields to copses and woods. There were things out there, treacherous things, and she was certain they were getting closer.
However, would honesty buy her laughter or time in the city gaol? What did she truly know of those she sought, other than they were mercenaries and good with cold steel?
That had been enough to bring her halfway around the world, though. She needed men handy with blades and the appetite to use them. For what had been done to her family, answer had to be given.
“I’m looking for the Watch.” Straightening and setting her shoulders, she tried to appear more confident than she felt.
The younger guard snorted, this cut off as his superior slapped him on the arm. The captain turned to Jenn, his tone sympathetic. “Lass, the Watch aren’t the sort of people you should be around. They’re dangerous types, likely to lead you into trouble. Besides, whatever it is you want them for, they’ll expect a healthy fee and…Well, no offense, but you don’t look like you have two bits to rub together.”
There was a time when Jenn would have rolled through wide city gates in a gilded carriage. Instead, it seemed that only lies would now get her inside.
“I’ll be discussing that when I see Lady Blade. She had asked to meet with me, but I think I might be a little late.”
There was a moment’s hesitation as the captain’s eyes widened. The smile that followed appeared slightly nervous. “Ah, well, in that case...” Stepping aside, and dragging Grandol with him, he swept his arm towards the gates.
“D’raynar welcomes you. Go safe and I hope you find what you need.”
*****
Trudging along bent over, the rain battering a chill into her bones, Jenn ached for the simple comforts that had been stripped from her; the soft caress of clean sheets on her own bed, the hearty aromas of pheasant and beef drifting up from the kitchens, the dappled sunlight cascading down through the branches of the hoary oak in the lily gardens behind the keep.
She held tight to those memories, keen-edged reminders of what had been lost, and for that loss, she had to ensure that there be an accounting.
She had no sooner entered the city when the black skies had finally split wide. Pouring from the rips now came curtains of rain, these hammering down into the tight streets and sending many folk scurrying for cover in doorways and beneath overhangs.
She should have joined them but Jenn had much larger concerns. She had hauled them across the kingdoms but now she fretted on the conversation with the guards. The captain’s words had been sobering and she wondered whether any of this made sense, whether any of it was sane…and whether her efforts would make the slightest bit of difference anyway.
But they had to; it was as simple as that. She was the only one left to speak for the dead. Giving up was an option she refused to entertain.
As she climbed the hill, the lane began winding back and forth, softening the slope. The small, grimy houses closed in. Half-timbered or of rough stone, their unsteady cants almost brought their eaves together above the thoroughfare, sucking more of the dim light from the day. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Jenn’s mood was as grim as her surroundings. In her thoughts, she repeated the mantra that had kept her going through hundreds of fear-filled leagues.
I cannot fail, I must not fail.
Head bent into the sheeting rain, it took her a moment to realise that the street had levelled out into a tight little square. There was an ancient, grime-encrusted fountain in its centre, the water from its spout long since dried up, and the cobbles of the square dipped and bowed, cupping murky puddles.
Gazing forlornly down onto the square were a few tired houses, a blacksmith’s forge - one door swung wide even in the downpour - and a three-storey inn. The latter was half-timbered above a stone-walled ground floor and appeared in need of some attention, its panelling fading, its small windows dim and grubby. A sign hung above its door, creaking back and forth in the wind. The Fox And Staff, it declared, the creature in question up on its hind legs, wielding a long stick and grinning inanely.
Jenn was not sure what she had expected, but after so long searching, it all felt a touch anti-climactic. The building stood quiet, no outward sign that it was what she sought, that it was even occupied.
Maybe I’ve got the wrong inn? Maybe I’ve got the wrong damned city?
Crazed laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it down.
Then the thick oak door beneath the sign banged open. Out into the rain staggered a large man, his booted feet slipping on the stones, his shirt and leather jerkin open to his hairy, bloated stomach. As he finally righted himself, dragging greasy hair back from red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare cloak flew out from the inn door. He snatched at it and missed.
“And if you show your ugly face in here again,” hollered a female voice from within, “I’ll make sure your balls are hung above the hearth before you can say ‘’begging your pardon!”
The door slamming shut behind him, the man bent and picked up his sodden cloak at the second attempt. Lurching upright, he finally noticed Jenn and offered a gap-toothed grin that was decidedly unpleasant. The grin swiftly turned lecherous and Jenn’s indecision vanished. With a turn of speed, she splashed across the square and pulled open the door to the Fox And Staff.
