Snippet #2762474

He rubbed his eyes again. The horse walked at a pace so pleasant it threatened to lull him back to sleep. Ragnar sighed and cleared his throat loudly. He shook his head and sniffed, breathing in the fresh, crisp morning air. They had woken up with the sun. During the days they had been on the road, their little group had become better and better - meaning faster and faster - at setting up camp and packing it down again. They could be on the road rather quickly by now. Ragnar was pleased with that. Their company had been pleasant enough as well, conversations seemed to come easier by now. This meant that the evenings around the fire had not been as dull as he might have feared. Now that they were an hours ride away from Oakheart, the general demeanour and atmosphere seemed to dim and become more and more serious with each mile.

The sun painted vibrant colours on the morning sky, but they seemed less powerful and clear than usually. The air felt thicker here, than it had miles back in the woods. Something eerie and uncomfortable settled in his stomach and Ragnar furrowed his brows, considering what they might face when they reach the village. If anything at all. They had taken the road north-west from Fellmark to the northern tip of the Hailwater Bay, wherefrom they had proceeded due north towards Oakheart. Now that they were going to be there within the hour, all the things that had retreated unnoticed to the back of his head, came back with sudden urgency.

Ragnar sighed again and fixed his eyes on the horizon ahead, rolling his shoulders as he usually did when danger approached.

---

The closer they got the thicker the air seemed. It was a mixture of smoke and something else. Something he couldn't quite define yet. It was easy to tell that they were approaching the right village, as the area surrounding became more and more desolate and abandoned. It felt colder as well, like someone had wrapped a blanket around him that they had just pulled out of the sea. Ragnar did not like the feel of this place, but tried to push it to the back of his mind and focus.

The group passed a cluster of trees on the road and Ragnar immediately spotted a man by the roadside. He was picking Blane's Tongue. He was already looking in their direction as he must have heard them down the road. He looked wary at all of them, but didn't say anything. Ragnar stopped his horse in front of him and returned the stare. This went on for a good few seconds before the man shifted his weight and spoke.

"Greetings, travellers."

"Greetings." Ragnar replied with a nod of his head. "We mean you no harm." The last bit was added with a dismissing wave - the man seemed on edge.

"Lots of folks say that..." The man seemed to relax after the words had left his mouth. "Pardon me good sirs-" His eyes moved to those of the group of female gender. "And ladies... Surely you'll forgive an old man? The recent evil up in Oakheart has not endeared any of us local folk to strangers."

"All is forgiven. But tell me, howcome you're here picking flowers by the roadside when everyone else has left? You are the only living thing we've seen for a mile or two." Ragnar asked.

"Aye." The man produced a flower from a satchel that hung at his hip. "Blane's Tongue. Only place it grows for miles is this here road. Need it for Mellowtea. Soothes the nerves." He added. "What happened has everyone fidgeting, I'll tell ya. Terrible that. True evil, that's what I think-"

The man stopped talking and looked the group over again. "God's blessings, you're not going there are ya?"

"We have business there." He realized quickly how official that sounded. "Relatives who's fate we'd like to know."

He looked terrified and like he was going to throw himself on his knees to beg them, but regained his composure after a while. "You'll find nothing but death and destruction there, lad." He looked at them. "All of you!" And with an almost irritated expression, he waved them on. "Bah! Go on. I won't stop ya. Go on and may you found your kin."

Ragnar looked back at the group and then at the man, nodding at him. "And may you and yours find peace."

---

The road ahead was barren and the man was the only one they would see until they made the entrance to the city. Wisps of smoke could still be seen vary rarely. The smell in the air was still there - as was the cold feeling. Ragnar stopped his horse and turned to face his companions. He dismounted and tied his horse to a fence post, drawing his sword.

"The road splits into three ahead, I say we do the same? I'll take the main road with one other person, the rest of you cover the other two roads and we'll meet in the town center?" Ragnar waited and hoped they would agree.

Death. It smells like death. He suddenly realized. But not in the same way he was used to. It didn't smell like a battlefield or the infirmary tents or a sickhouses. It smelled like death, but something masked the scent. Something he had never smelled before. It sent a cold shiver down his spine and the village was entirely quiet.