"Good morning, weary traveler," the innkeeper mumbled.
Keep walking, he told himself, but he heard the whimper beneath her breath.
A quick glance and he saw the bruise on her eye, despite her best attempts to look away from him, forcing a smile. He towered over her and she looked down upon a man was cursing by the bar, slurring even so early in the day.
"What happened?" He asked.
She kept her head down, stuttering, "Nothing hun. I'm just a little tired…"
He laid a gentle finger beneath her chin and lifted her head up a bit.
Someone hit her not once, but several times, swelling her right eye purple and shut. Even with a bruised face she still appeared bright, though her smile faded as the man at the bar bitched about getting another round.
"He's, the younger brother of his majesty," she explained. "Last night, just before I left for the day, he started being rude to a number of adventurers, and I recommended he stop drinking so much."
He growled, putting a hand on his flail.
She grasped his arm, trying to pull him away, urging him with her voice down.
"Please! House Pyr is already under scrutiny for the massacre in the woods! He's the second most powerful man in the kingdom, you must-."
"Oi!" the long faced, limp wristed worm called. "I know you! You're that brute who almost killed Carleton!"
She hid behind him, begging him not to cause any trouble. The bone thin lad waved him over, pale like his brother, and taller with long almost shining black hair beneath a round cap. He wore white-silver mail, the Pyr flame insignia on his chest, and wore a black with fur trims on the shoulder.
"All I'll do is drink. Nothin' more," he promised the innkeeper, who snuck back to her desk.
Arm's reach within the lanky lord, a pair of guards stood, yet neither dared a step towards him nor put a hand on their hilts.
A dark-skinned man wearing a light tan cloak laughed, a scimitar with red feathers tied around the hilt, and a pair of daggers on ether side him. His hair was long, red, and tied in a tail by a knot behind his neck.
"As if either of you could do anything to stop this man," the feather sword said, twirling a cup of wine.
The lord greeted him, introducing himself as Isaac of House Pyr, son of Louis Pyr.
"Gods damn shame you didn't finish what the undead army started," Isaac said, widening his eyes and wiggling his fingers. "Even so, Fat Carl won't be getting much approval from his council regarding any more expeditions. Among other endeavors as well."
"My lord," one of the guards muttered, "perhaps it's best not to mention house affairs in public."
Isaac scowled the guard, then struck him in the back of the head. "Horse shit! I may be a drunken oaf, but I've more resolve and restraint than that pile of glutton on the throne!"
He said nothing, letting Isaac ramble on about how unimportant, unclever, and unsightly his brother was. After ordering an ale, the lord offered to pay for all his rounds, courtesy of scarring his brother's soul.
"Nightmares since arriving back at the capital," Isaac slurred, spilling ale on the counter with every slam of his mug, "and he has the nerve to believe he'll have enough wit to turn the tide of a hundred-year war? He can't even balance the kingdom's coin, wasting it on women and wine, going from one haunted shit hole to the next for treasure to break even!"
"My lord, I must insist-," a guard started before Isaac shoved ale down his throat.
"Do as the Brute of the Woods and drink! Drink! For fortune awaits the bold and the few, not a small army of dogs and white cloaked bible thumpers!"
Feather Sword was silent, keeping an eye on things.
They stared at one another. He could've sworn the sword was readying a draw, but it was such a quick hand movement he didn't know for certain.
"You one of the Soulless?" Feather Sword asked.
He nodded. "Aye. You?"
"One of the best swords coin an afford. Across the sea from a land many would deem too dangerous or too far to conquer."
They said nothing more, as Isaac made him an offer.
"I've learned, via my little birds within these parts, the Brute has been taking bribes from graverobbers," Isaac said, lowering his voice, and it seemed he sobered up in an instant. "Perhaps the Royal Guard would have a word with you? Maybe a dozen or so guild masters even you couldn't stop from giving you the holy noose."
"Takes more than a water-soaked noose to kill a Soulless," he lied, though the guards trembled. "Otherwise I'd be long dead."
Isaac saw through his horse shit, a cleverer man than Fat Carl.
"Even a brute has desires. Help us run down grave robbers, dig up lost gold, and anything else we might find out there, and I'll give you a third, along with pardons of your crimes."
His mug cracked within his grasp, though he took a deep breath.
"Don't want gold," he said, then looked to Feather Sword. "What have ya' killed?"
Puzzled, Isaac allowed Feather Sword to answer.
"Firewyrms, hydras, king scorpions, and a small army of vagabonds. We of the Phoenix Blades honor our contracts to the end, and I as red sword do it better than many."
"Any undead?" He asked. "Say a champion, of the undead."
Feather Sword smiled. "Can't say I have! Then it's assistance you're asking for in place of gold?"
"Yes. And on more thing as well."
"Such as?" Isaac asked, folding his arms.
It'd be easier to do it in the woods, as Feather Sword was liable to cut his throat before he could get a hand on him, much less use his flail.
"Once the champion is defeated," he said, the innkeepers eye boiling his head, "I just need a special request, and you can have my share of all the treasure we scourge out there."
Feather Sword raised an eyebrow, but gold sickness was overtaking yet another Pyr.
"Then it's settled!" Isaac declared, raising a mug. "We'll meet by the woods first thing after sunset."
They toasted, and he stayed at the bar all day, Isaac opening a tab for him to spend as much as he liked.
The innkeeper kept her head down as the lord and his entourage passed by, and he kept watch until they left in the late afternoon. He finished two chickens and three loaves of butter bread, along with just a dozen ales. As the inn filled with more townsfolk and adventurers, he readied his flail and shield.
Outside, beside the inn's door, was Nathan leaned against the wall with his head down, hands out forming a cup, reeking off piss. Upon the Brute of Woods' shadow looming over him, he looked up, muttering something with a coarse voice.
Much as he wanted to hurry to the woods, he snatched a few coins from his pouch and dropped them into Nathan's palms. Nathan mumbled something as he made his way down the road, and the woods called his name, shadows of twilight overtaking dusk.
Feather Sword sat against a tree along the wood line while Isaac and his guards peeked inside. Save for the Phoenix Blade they were all anxious, as nervous as a normal person should've been facing the graves, a seemingly endless wood of tombs, lost souls, and harrowing monsters.
"Ready?" He grunted, pulling his flail from around himself.
Feather Sword yawned, "Any more waiting and I'll reconsider decorating this sword with any more blood wings."
"Come!" Isaac announced, forcing a brash confidence. "Fortune awaits the brave and the few!"
They were few, but only one was brave.
It wasn't him, much as he hated to admit.