her hands and walked out.
For having never been in to a tavern before, this one was much the way she had expected it to be; dimly lit, filled with long tables and benches that were full of the local men eating and drinking. The sound of yelling and laughter and clinks of glasses filled the place. Smells of food came from the kitchen and Lyn found she was indeed quite hungry.
“Lass, over here!” a familiar voice called out. Lyn turned about to find a hand waving over the head of one of the large northmen. She squeezed and maneuvered her way about until she came to a large table full of Satora’s men and women, all unmasked. Satora himself sat at the head, still masked. Lyn found herself disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing his face, and resolved to try to catch him without the mask. A seat had been evidently reserved just for her nearest to Satora, and prompted by a wink from the bandit leader, she took it. Immediately, a flagon was placed in front of her and a bowl of stew with bread. She looked around, not sure if she should wait or not, but the man to her other side gave her a small nudge with his elbow, and brought his glass up. Lyn smiled, clinked hers against his, and the drinking began.
Morning came violently as Lyn woke with a killer headache. She took a moment of staring at the ceiling before she was ready to move her head, and when she did she found that she was back in her room at the inn. She puzzled, but could not recall coming back. When she had been with Yusef’s caravan, she had drunk with the caravan guards, but even they could not have prepared her for the sheer volume of alcohol imbibed by Satora’s gang. Those men and women drank like there was no tomorrow, and just then Lyn was wishing there hadn’t been. A knock at her door startled her and rang through her head painfully. She groaned, and the lock clicked.
The door opened to reveal Satora, dressed in his usual garb, standing with his hands on his hips. “Well, what have we here? Is this a hangover?”
Lyn groaned again and put her pillow over her head. “Don’t talk so loud.”
A muffled chuckle made its way to her ears and she could hear footsteps on the floor. With a scraping sound, the bandit threw open the curtains and pulled the pillow off Lyn’s head. She yelped in re sponse to the light, and then cringed at her own noise.
Alir let out a cry to join in the cacophony, adding to the pounding in Lyn’s head. “Urgh,” she managed, closing her eyes tight. So miserable was Lyn that she couldn’t even muster up the wherewithal t o scold Satora for breaking in to her room. The bandit gently lifted her head and placed the pillow behind it, propping her up. He produced a cup of cold water, which Lyn drank gratefully. Despite how much she had drunk last night, she felt dry as a desert.
“I suspected you hadn’t had any water,” her visitor said quietly. “This will help. So will this.” He motioned and one of the women from last night brought in a tray with some light food. Lyn had found that she was quite prone to nausea after nights of d rinking, but surprisingly the articles on the tray did not turn her stomach. She ate them slowly and gratefully, taking sips of water between at Satora’s direction.
When she had composed herself well enough to bathe and dress, Satora had already gone for the day. While her headache had subsided a notable amount, she was nowhere near ready to be productive. So she spent the day wandering about the town some, looking at the different architecture and people going about their business.
One thing that made Br ightpeak so interesting was the diversity; while the people were all of larger build and seemingly fairer stock, there was much difference in their appearance and trades. Their homes especially told the story; each home was built in different style. Some few were made with stone, but most with wood. Some had thatched roofs, some wooden planking, some longhouses with stretched skin for
For having never been in to a tavern before, this one was much the way she had expected it to be; dimly lit, filled with long tables and benches that were full of the local men eating and drinking. The sound of yelling and laughter and clinks of glasses filled the place. Smells of food came from the kitchen and Lyn found she was indeed quite hungry.
“Lass, over here!” a familiar voice called out. Lyn turned about to find a hand waving over the head of one of the large northmen. She squeezed and maneuvered her way about until she came to a large table full of Satora’s men and women, all unmasked. Satora himself sat at the head, still masked. Lyn found herself disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing his face, and resolved to try to catch him without the mask. A seat had been evidently reserved just for her nearest to Satora, and prompted by a wink from the bandit leader, she took it. Immediately, a flagon was placed in front of her and a bowl of stew with bread. She looked around, not sure if she should wait or not, but the man to her other side gave her a small nudge with his elbow, and brought his glass up. Lyn smiled, clinked hers against his, and the drinking began.
Morning came violently as Lyn woke with a killer headache. She took a moment of staring at the ceiling before she was ready to move her head, and when she did she found that she was back in her room at the inn. She puzzled, but could not recall coming back. When she had been with Yusef’s caravan, she had drunk with the caravan guards, but even they could not have prepared her for the sheer volume of alcohol imbibed by Satora’s gang. Those men and women drank like there was no tomorrow, and just then Lyn was wishing there hadn’t been. A knock at her door startled her and rang through her head painfully. She groaned, and the lock clicked.
The door opened to reveal Satora, dressed in his usual garb, standing with his hands on his hips. “Well, what have we here? Is this a hangover?”
Lyn groaned again and put her pillow over her head. “Don’t talk so loud.”
A muffled chuckle made its way to her ears and she could hear footsteps on the floor. With a scraping sound, the bandit threw open the curtains and pulled the pillow off Lyn’s head. She yelped in re sponse to the light, and then cringed at her own noise.
Alir let out a cry to join in the cacophony, adding to the pounding in Lyn’s head. “Urgh,” she managed, closing her eyes tight. So miserable was Lyn that she couldn’t even muster up the wherewithal t o scold Satora for breaking in to her room. The bandit gently lifted her head and placed the pillow behind it, propping her up. He produced a cup of cold water, which Lyn drank gratefully. Despite how much she had drunk last night, she felt dry as a desert.
“I suspected you hadn’t had any water,” her visitor said quietly. “This will help. So will this.” He motioned and one of the women from last night brought in a tray with some light food. Lyn had found that she was quite prone to nausea after nights of d rinking, but surprisingly the articles on the tray did not turn her stomach. She ate them slowly and gratefully, taking sips of water between at Satora’s direction.
When she had composed herself well enough to bathe and dress, Satora had already gone for the day. While her headache had subsided a notable amount, she was nowhere near ready to be productive. So she spent the day wandering about the town some, looking at the different architecture and people going about their business.
One thing that made Br ightpeak so interesting was the diversity; while the people were all of larger build and seemingly fairer stock, there was much difference in their appearance and trades. Their homes especially told the story; each home was built in different style. Some few were made with stone, but most with wood. Some had thatched roofs, some wooden planking, some longhouses with stretched skin for
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