Winter in Derenemyn

The door leading from the kitchen swung open, and the round form of Domic pushed into the area behind the bar bearing a plain square wooden chest.  The dark wood and dull metal trim made the container easily forgettable, but the detailed instructions for its care delivered to Tevas by the innkeeper’s agent let the merchant know that it contained something more than just clothing and oddments.  The strain on Domic’s face as he struggled to place it atop the bar bore evidence to the weight of the mysterious contents.

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He heard the laborer grunt in response, but he did not move as directed.  After a long pause, the man in the work-stained tunic finally spoke.  “You’re talking to the innkeeper.”  Tevas’ eyes shifted down to fix his gaze on the man once more as he leaned back against the bar he’d lately been working on.  Arms folded, eyes hooded, and mouth in a half-smirk, the innkeeper said, “You’ll be paid when the goods are here and inspected.  Anything I don’t like you can haul back to your wagon.”

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The merchant’s arrival caused less of a stir than he’d imagined.  The town over the past week had gotten used to the carts and wagons from Brethford, so Tevas did not get the novelty of being the first visitor to the town after the snows cleared.  His carriage did seem to impress some of the residents, however, as Tevas noticed several of them looking at its magnificence and talking in low tones to one another as he looked out the carriage windows.  He willed the sickness in his belly to be still as the carriage swayed up the final rise to the Silver Bear.

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This is a continuation of the excerpts I’ve written before.  Between them is an unwritten bridge scene where the stranger buys the inn in the town of Daleswall, causing quite a stir.  This proceeds from that event, and is what I am doing for NaNoWriMo.  Since I won’t get much opportunity to write anything else this month, I will post the story here as it progresses.  It’ll be ugly at times, but I hope it doesn’t actively make you vomit.

A week had passed since the stranger bought the Silver Bear Inn so dramatically, surrounded by the majority of the small town of Daleswall.  The common room was more active than usual since that night, with small numbers of folk present during all hours of the day.  Claiming anything to the contrary, they were there because curiosity and the thirst for gossip demanded it.  Careful eyes watched the stranger as he moved around the inn, his dog forever at his heels, repairing accumulated years of damage and rot.  Carts and wagons appeared during the week from Brethford to the south, bearing large amounts of lumber and lacquers and other assorted materials.  During the day, the stranger worked on the interior of the inn, moving outside during the last hour or two of dying sunlight to patch the holes in the roof.  More knots of casual watchers kept an eye on him then as well, under the guise of early evening strolls and impromptu visits. Read the rest of this entry →