1 New Friends

A raging blizzard rattled the windows and the simple wooden door of the quaint inn. The door slammed open, bringing the storm inside, flicking the lanterns, and sending a hail of snow throughout the warm room. A figure stood on the threshold, fighting the wind. He reached for the door, shoving his body into sealing the interior. With a satisfying click, the metal chamber fell into place. The stranger, Rothox, shrouded in darkness, pulled tight his hooded cowl. With his features hidden, he made his way toward the large, stoked fireplace. Rothox extended his gloved hands toward the flame. The snow and ice melted off his shivering body, and he was grateful for the warmth after such a cold journey. The dancing light crept in, attempting to reveal his hidden features. After a minute of stealing the heat, he turned to find an open table.

It was a simple tavern. The main room had around ten tables positioned around the pillars that held up the roof. Only a handful of patrons occupied them, most of the locals seemingly preferring to stay warm at home. In front of the kitchen was a small bar and beside that, stairs leading up to the rooms. From what he could see, the tavern was in good condition, well-kept for a remote town. Rothox was never comfortable anywhere, partially because of his upbringing at the orphanage but mainly because of his complexion, although the tavern had an appeal.

A young, comely barmaid was busy running drinks and hot plates of food from the kitchen, the only one working that night. She dropped off the items at the table of two travelers, one a small female human and the other an elven male. A longsword, shield and full backpacks gave them away as guests to the town. Rothox didn't peg them as merchants. They were too prepared for action, perhaps here for the same job he sought. A crest on the elf's armor, although he didn't recognize it, caught his eye. Either he was a paladin or knight, no doubt a powerful fighter.

This better be worth it, he thought. His hands dug into his pocket, finding the bounty slip he had taken off the board at the dockmaster's office.

Finding a place in the corner near the fire, he sulked into the shadows. From the far side, he felt a leering gaze assessing him. The other patron looked away when the barmaid cleared their empty plate of food.

A few minutes later, the barmaid approached Rothox. "Sorry, I hardly saw you over here. Hope I didn't make you wait long?" she asked, her tender voice calming and eager to have another customer on a stormy night.

"No, not too long." His voice had a slight rasp to it, as if he had been sailing for months.

She smiled at him. It was a friendly gesture, but wobbled when the light from the fireplace fell on Rothox's face. "What can I get you?"

"A mug of your house ale and one of whatever was on those warm plates you brought out."

"I'll be right back with that." ‌She gave a slight nod, avoiding his gaze, and quickly sped off.

He made people nervous, most demonblood did. Rothox knew that, especially in a remote town.

True to her word, she returned shortly with a red ale and a plate of sausage, potatoes, and a slice of warm bread. The smell of salt and butter hit Rothox before the plate touched the table. It had been too long since he had eaten a fresh meal.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She hurried off, pretending to give him space, but Rothox knew she was uncomfortable around him.

Having not eaten for at least a day, Rothox polished off the meal. While taking a swig of ale, chasing down his meal, he felt those red eyes on him again.

The girl came back to clear his plate, blocking his stalker's gaze. Whoever this other figure was wouldn't stop staring. They obviously thought him a threat.

"How much for a room?"

"I'm sorry, but we are full. That man"—she nodded toward the other lone stranger in the corner—"got the last room."

He tossed her a coin. "Thanks for the food."

She caught the coin easily in a practiced manner, her eyes widening at the glint of gold. "This is too—" She stopped herself and accepted the money. "And again, I'm sorry about the room. If there was anything I could do..." She gave him an apologetic look.

"Actually, can I get two more of whatever he was drinking?" He nodded toward the man in the corner.

"Of course. And it's already covered by your generosity." She hurried back behind the bar.

Rothox had no interest in braving the blizzard again. Time to make friends, he thought. Gathering his simple pack, he downed the remnants of his current ale, set the tankard on the wooden table, and made his way across the room. The other table of two travelers had already made their way to their lodgings for the night, leaving him and the other stranger alone.

"Evening, friend."

"I'm not your friend," his deep voice penetrated from the darkness.

Rothox gestured to a chair. "Mind?" He got a grunt in return, but took it as confirmation, pulling a chair out from under the table.

The wood scraped across the floor, piercing the silence. The stranger leaned onto the table, features still hidden, keeping his head down and most of his body in the shadows. Only his long black hair, tied back, revealed a set of pointy ears.

The girl returned with two more mugs of the red ale, the froth spilling over the edge. She set them down, walking away quickly. Rothox grabbed his mug and took a swig. His attempt to smooth over the greeting wasn't going as planned, as the second beer remained in place.

"Any chance you are here for the same reason as me?" Rothox tried to get a feel for this individual.

"Depends."

"Well, I just figured this small town doesn't see much of... your kind, hence the hiding in the shadows."

"My kind... And what's your reason?" A slight uptick of annoyance entered his tone. He glanced up briefly before returning to focus on the grains of the table.

"Same as yours. We like the shadows. See, I think we're both here for the same reason. Why else would we be dumb enough to travel in that blizzard to a small shit hole like this?"

"Humph. You sure talk a lot."

"How else do you make friends?" Rothox smiled from under his cowl. No response from his new acquaintance. "All right, let me get straight to the point. I think the two of us will mutually benefit from working together. And before you shut me down, I get the sense you are more of the solitary type, as am I. Normally, I'd relish the challenge of besting anyone else after a reward, but this storm has caused me to rethink my strategy. As much as I like gold, I enjoy living more." Rothox took a long pause, waiting for a reaction.

"The name's Garrok."

Now we are getting somewhere, "Rothox, it's a pleasure."

He extended his hand. His new companion grasped it with a mighty grip. While still locked in place, Garrok pulled him in close with ease, almost lifting Rothox off his seat.

A whispered growl emerged from his shadowy cover. "If you cross me, I'll kill you... friend."

Up close, Rothox got a better look at Garrok's features. He had dark skin and where two tusks should have been, there was only one with a scar down the missing tusk side of his cheek. His eyes were brown, but the light from a nearby lantern reflected the devilish tint of red he expected from Rebirth born beings.

"I like you. You seem fun," Rothox refused to break the grasp first, as much as his hand ached for him to do so.

Garrok stood, releasing his hold, towering over Rothox's slender six-foot frame. Garrok was another five inches taller, with thick shoulders and a broad back. His tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms covered in what Rothox guessed were old battle scars—he had a few himself. The scars on Garrok varied in age and depth, but one caught his attention. It was fresh, maybe a week old. Rothox guessed this half-orc had been fighting his entire life. He hoped he would make a powerful ally. He knew he didn't want him as an enemy.

Before he could say anything else, Garrok left, making his way upstairs to the rooms above the tavern. After a couple of seconds, Rothox followed him, arriving on the top floor as Garrok opened the door to the last room and went to close it.

With a quick dash, Rothox caught the door with his foot. "I thought we were a team?"

Garrok snarled. "For the job, which starts tomorrow."

Rothox removed his foot, and the door slammed shut.

"Damn," he swore under his breath.

Turning to leave, the barmaid was lingering at the top of the steps, and had more than likely seen his rejection of a bed.

She shook her head and moved toward him, stopping halfway down the hallway. "Come on, you can sleep in here."

She produced a key and opened the door to a small storage closet. Inside were a few cleaning supplies and extra bedding for the rooms. Cramped, but he could use some of the extra bedding for a makeshift mat on the floor. Rothox thanked her with another coin, and she left. Even with her obvious discomfort around him, he appreciated her kindness.

Placing his pack on the floor, he removed a small black book and a piece of graphite, then positioned his bag as a pillow to rest against. Better than nothing.

He thumbed through the pages until he reached a blank one a third of the way through and recounted his day's events. His mentor had always kept a journal, saying, 'Your memory will fade, but the written word lasts forever.' Since then, he always recorded the important details of his day.

After jotting his thoughts down, he removed a throwing dagger from his belt and stuck it to the doorframe just above his left shoulder. For quick access—another habit. His eyelids sagged, exhaustion taking over his body. He settled in for a long night.