I felt like writing something, and here’s what I’ve got. (I can put text works in traditional, right?)
Rain dashed itself against the windows of a small inn just off the banks of the Tyrnabor river, reducing the already unhappy innkeeper into a state of great distaste for life in general. He had a reason for being unhappy in the first place, and a good one too. No customers, or any people at all for that matter, had come for over a week and, even more worrying, the usual supply caravan had not passed on it's trip from Calda to Filisiya. The innkeeper was running low on food, an worse, rum, and on top of that, his wife had left several days ago, and had yet to show signs of returning. He suspected she was cheating on him. He cursed under his breath, mumbled something about a “stupid wench” and returned to cleaning dishes. He turned around seconds later to the sound of water dribbling on the floor in the dining area. He grabbed a bucket and hurried there, slamming the bucket to the ground under the leaky ceiling rather harder than was necessary, and was glad when the bottom of the bucket didn't give way.
“I'd best be gettin' off to bed, then” he said to no one in particular, “those dishes can wait 'till tomorrow”
“you're not even going to let me check in first?” spoke a voice from a shadowy corner.
“Who's there?” questioned the innkeeper, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the mysterious person, to no avail.
“Well that's a fine way to welcome a guest.” The owner of the voice emerged from the depths of a particularly deep shadow, revealing a long cloak pinned by a plain blue disk with a red hand emblazoned upon it, on top of which sat a pale skinned head, its features hidden behind shoulder-length hair covering the face (and the rest of the head, too).
The innkeeper’s eyes immediately went to the cloak pin, and somewhere in his thick skull he connected the symbol with the private guard of the supply caravan. Having realized this, his brain went to innkeeper mode, and he barraged his new guest with questions. “you with anybody else? You eaten yet? Tired, perchance?” and most important, “You’ll be payin’ cash, aye?”
The cloaked man answered the questions as they arose, and The innkeeper soon realized that the man was not with the caravan as he had hoped. He became rapidly suspicious of this man bearing the emblem of the caravan guards, while distinctly lacking a caravan. Taking an offhand voice, he casually asked: “If there’s no Caravan, Where in th’ blazes did you get that medallion?”
The caped man glanced at his cape pin, and grinned. “Oh, this? I grabbed it of the body of some poor dead traveler. Why? Recognize it?”
“Don’t everyone?” Replied the innkeeper. After seeing the man’s puzzled look, he added: “It’s th’ official seal o’ th’ protectors o’ th’ biggest caravan ‘round these parts. They’ve been late on their rout this week.”
The stranger’s brow wrinkled in thought for a while, and then he stated: “I don’t think I saw any traces of a caravan near this fellow, but he did seem to have an awful lot of things for one person.” And then, to fill the silence that formed itself after those words, “So, about that room you mentioned having earlier…”
The innkeeper relaxed, back on familiar ground again. “I be chargin’ ten deltona per night, three more if you be wantin’ food, too. You gotta pay for at least a night in advance, or out you go.”
The customer rustled in his cloak for a moment, and produced several coins. He handed them over to the innkeeper, who checked that they were sufficient, and then gave a room key to the man. “First door at th’ top o’ th’ stairs, an’ don’ even think about runnin’ off with the key, I got plenty o’ replacement locks.”
As the stranger receded up the steps, the Innkeeper’s curiosity got the better of him. “What be your name, then?”
“Fylim” replied The stranger. “Well, that’s just what people call me. My real name is Fylimdonia the Second.” He continued up the steps, and then disappeared into his room.
The innkeeper turned to tend to a new leak in the roof, and then ambled off to bed.
Somewhere in the distance, a woman was crying. Fylim stumbled and fell, landed on his shoulder and rolled to his feet. Glancing around to get his bearings, he ran, gasping for breath, but terrified to stop. He slipped in a mess that was the remains of a person, and woke up in a cold sweat, tangled in his bedsheets. He shook his head to clear the images from the dream, and lay back down to fall asleep again.
Somewhere in the distance, a woman was crying. Fylim stumbled and fell, landed on his shoulder and rolled to his feet. Glancing around to get his bearings, he ran, gasping for breath, but terrified to stop. He slipped in a mess that was the remains of a person, but managed to stay on his feet and keep running. His sleeve snagged on a branch, and, despite his best efforts, he couldn't get free. He thrashed around, but to no avail. As his panic rose to unbearable levels, he felt cold hands wrap around his neck and crush his throat.
The innkeeper was preparing a small meal when he heard a knock on the door. He hurried over, and threw it open, ready to greet a new customer.
Fylim Woke again, and got out of bed. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees into the inn, casting golden rays that illuminated the specks of dust floating around in the air. Fylim sat at the small table off to the side of the bed, and contemplated what a nice place the world was right now.
He was startled from his daydream by a loud thump, along with the sound of shattering glassware.
—addition 1—
The innkeeper was preparing a small meal when he heard a knock on the door. He hurried over, and threw it open, ready to greet a new customer.
Fylim awoke again, and got out of bed. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees into the inn, casting golden rays that illuminated the specks of dust floating around in the air. Fylim sat at the small table off to the side of the bed, and contemplated what a nice place the world was right now.
He was startled from his daydream by a loud thump, along with the sound of shattering glassware.
The innkeeper huddled as far behind a knocked over table as he could, trying to both ignore the pain throughout his body, and also be as inconspicuous as possible, to avoid attracting attention to the strange, disturbingly tall and thin creature with bloody hands and empty eyes. The creature made it's unsteady way over to the stairs, throwing another table out of it's way. The table hit the far wall and splintered. The innkeeper huddled farther into his corner, trying not to imagine himself in the table's place.
The creature reached the top of the stairs, and turned to face the door of the room rented out to Fylim. It tried the handle, and upon finding the door locked, pulled sharply, wrenching the door off it's hinges. It took a step forwards, and then came flying out with a sword through it's head, propelled by Fylim. Fylim rammed the sword as deep into the wall as he could, and then jumped back, puling a knife out from under his cloak. The creature struggled to free itself of the sword, while Fylim sprinted down the stairs. He glanced around, saw the innkeeper, and said, “Quick! Do you have something heavy? A sledgehammer?”
The innkeeper stammered, “i-in the s-shed out back...”
Fylim dashed out the door, shouting over his shoulder, “keep the creature occupied!”
The innkeeper, wondering what in the world he could do unarmed, looked up the stairs in time to see the thing pull the sword out of it's face with a sickening sucking sound. The sword clattered to the ground and bounced down the stairs, landing at the innkeeper's feet. The innkeeper grabbed the sword and stepped back, while the creature made it's way down the steps. The innkeeper shakily lifted the sword, fully aware that he had never even held one before, and swung as hard as he could. Without even looking, the creature caught the sword, tearing it from the innkeeper's grasp. It thrust the sword deep into the wall, and continued past the terrified man towards the door. Just as the innkeeper thought he was safe, the creature threw a chair behind itself, and clipped the innkeeper's leg. He felt it snap, and passed out in a quivering heap on the floor.
There will be more to come when I get around to writing it.
What do you think?