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by korr.a on Thu Jun 07, 2012 1:41 pm
As it seemed, the girl was making her utmost attempt to confuse him. Proud as he might be, Merek had not the sense to readily cover up his astonishment. Rather, his eyes were on her and brows knit as he observed. The little smile perched on her lips, the ease of her stance. Somehow they were not at odds as before and the turn around was quite so quick, he almost wondered if it had been magically influence. That was doubtful, of course, but he couldn't reason at any better explanation. It was even less likely that she remembered detail about him. Whatever it was, he resigned to be cautious as he had before. Cautious and civil.
Finally remembering to dismount, he did so and held the horse's reins loose in one hand. Still confused but not questioning, he silently agreed and expressed nothing more than quiet words of departure for the time, "Fare thee well."
Beyond this, there was no more to say as she had specified short assignments for the both of them in this little town. She would likely browse the streets like the other folks out now; he didn't remain to confirm this. Merek headed in past the gate of the village, Agnes lumbering behind. The prince kept his eyes mostly down, only glancing up to be sure he was headed in the right direction. He did manage to catch the faded letters painted above the windows, naming the place: The Dying Priest. Though, sight of it was not so necessary.
As he ventured, the sounds of yells and laughter met his ears. Easy mens' guffaws and womens' startled giggles. There too was the scraping and thunk of wood against wood and somewhere in there the tiny, overwhelmed notes of a lute. The sounds were loud yet bearable while the smell was less so, all stale ale and sweat. Merek was not a stranger to taverns but he was sure the one in his city was not clouded with such strong odors. Despite it all, he tied Agnes up nearby and stepped through the threshold, past the half-open door. While it was true he could have decided upon a different destination, he did not imagine there was another place where people would speak freely. Ale had a way of loosening even the tightest of lips.
Being that his gaze was still low, he had little way of noticing the eyes on him as he entered. No one had decided to call out the stranger yet but he had certainly been noticed. Merek did his best to slip in quietly and chose a seat at the far end of the bar.
"Ale, yeah?"
Raising his gaze from the dark wood of the bar, Merek noted the woman standing there. Her hair was tied up, clothing faded and stained. The lines near her eyes and mouth suggested some age. There was not time to observe more than this at the time because she sighed heavily and disappeared away into the tavern. Merek assumed she had deserted him for another so-called customer but she soon reappeared, setting a wooden flagon before him with a weighty thump. He noted the strong smell of it before even taking the handle to tilt the thing toward him. How long had it been since he'd had alcohol? He couldn't remember. As he took a drink, he smiled a little to himself. The bitter taste was welcome and familiar.
"Lady," he voiced and did catch the server-woman's attention before she again departed. "What do you know of the mountain?"
Seeing the question as an opportunity to ignore other duties, the woman leaned against the counter from her side, engaging the prince more fully. And Merek could see it. The resistance, likely from the fact that he was a stranger in this village, was wearing away. She wasn't opposed to him now, he was used to this.
"Well, there's a dragon up there. No one comes back from venturing up, but we see the beast from time to time."
So it really was true. Merek tried not to become absorbed with the idea of the great scaly thing. He took another drink.
"How far?"
"The beast is at the peak, a day's journey from here," she trailed quietly now, almost curious. "What do you seek going that way? Must be something if you're willing to risk life for it."
"Dragon's tears."
"Ha!" Her laughter was horribly loud and Merek began to doubt. But, she continued. "Not but last winter, a great troop passed the night here. At least a hundred men. They were after the same as you say. Said the tears were magic or some such thing. Not one came back."
"Then the dragon had them."
"Must have," she shrugged. "The beast's likely to melt you to a heap before you can even think of it. I don't see how all of you think you can make it cry."
And that was precisely the problem. Dragon's tears. It was impossible was it not? That was the thing about crazy, magic people, they always had to be mysterious and not speak plainly. The conversation ended soon enough and the woman left him to his drink. The men on either side of him at the bar spoke up in time but all they could comment on were the same scant details the woman had given. There was a dragon. It was bronze apparently and so-called by the villagers: Dusk. Because, that was the time of day the beast had first been spotted in the skies. Other than that, no one knew about any tears. Well, everyone seemed to know about them, just not in which way they might be obtained. After many questions and being laughed at for a time, Merek left the oddly-named tavern.
Untying Agnes, he set out up the dirty stone street in the direction he'd first come. There was not much information gathered. The only matter which he'd succeeded in was finishing off a couple drinks. Hadn't been the finest quality stuff he'd had, naturally, but it had him feeling warm just the same as any proper alcohol did though he was, by no means, under any heavy influence. In fact, he bothered to weave through town long enough to fall prey to a hawker with clothing to sell. In a matter of minutes, he'd been sold and redressed. Now, the only sign of his status was his skin: the fact that it was paler than the common person's because he didn't spend quite as much time under the sun. A white shirt, grey pants, black boots up to the knee. The sales people seemed to be in on the fact that Merek was an easy sale. For, in addition to the new "commoner" attire, the prince was persuaded into a leather vest, scabbard and glinting sword. When they pushed him for a shield of sorts, he figured out their game and escaped without the necessary accessory.
Some hours later, Merek stood just outside the village gate where he had parted from Kaitlynn. He'd let Agnes had her own lead and she was stepping slowly, tearing grass up from the ground effortlessly. It was early evening now. The sun hung lower in the sky, yet still above the trees which were in patches along the horizon. Hopefully his traveling companion had been much more successful in her endeavors than he had been in his own.
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