Icarus's blog: "Somantics"

You wouldn't think that any man of any signifcance had just walked through the door. Swatting clouds of road and weather off himself as he scanned for an available seat.
Two empty stools next to the bar
a large round table in the center of the room, probably reserved for the alehouse champion.
Krunk!
Drowner of men, breather of beer. Eater of pretzels!
A dark corner's only good when you don't come into an inn thirsty.
So he plopped down at the bar, setting his pack with a thick thud in the stool adjacent.

"something clean, and warm," he had been drinking river water for the last week. Not spring water, cool, crisp and fresh. That dark stuff with things swimming, feeding and breeding in it.
"tea alright?"
The stranger puffed out a relieved sigh. He was accustomed to some typical blather of strong drink "to warm you up" or "clean out your head". This keeper knew the value of a sober man.
"All I've got is bullion." The stranger reached into an earth colored pouch and slapped a marble-sized lump of gold on the table.
What few patrons were in the bar turned to look at the glittering offering placed prodigeously in their presence.
An outlander... with outlander customs, and outlander money. No currency just hard to move and harder to watch
gold.

The innkeeper played it cool for a few beats, wondering if he should play the "that's only half of what you'd owe me" angle or the truth "that'd buy half this bar- sir."
He was feeling generous this afternoon, and the scrubble on the man's face, and the threadbare look of his clothes suggested he had seen a bit of mayhem unscathed.
"What's the matter, fresh out of diamonds?"
The stranger let out a dry, toothy chuckle.
"I figured this would be enough," he reached coyly back toward his pouch, the patrons began to crane peer, and lift from their seats.
"I was hoping this would cover a the drink, a meal, a night and some complimentary conversation if there was anything left over."
The innkeeper tried to keep his hand from eagerly shaking as he poured some hot water over tea leaves. As much as he wanted to see how loaded the stranger was, he couldn't risk his regulars and irregulars stabbing each other over the stranger's loot. Not in his establishment at least.
"that'll be plenty, we got dorms on this floor, suites upstairs-"
The keeper slid a key onto the table from his breast pocket.
"you'll be wanting a suite, what did you want to talk about, sir?"
The same chuckle slipped from his mouth.
"Alorid. I'm a tradesman, so its mister, not sir"
"Ah- all's well, what's your trade?" The innkeeper found a mug to busy his hands with, wiping it with a mostly-clean rag.
"All's well?" Alorid thought that an odd thing to slip in... like a coded message or a warning. He wondered how easilly he could check for sneaking backstabbers or cutpurses in that exact moment.
"It's a greeting in these parts."
With one quirked eyebrow, the outlander checked to see if his tea had taken any color yet, but with a sideways glance checking the sheen of the bar for any creepers.
"let's call it tanning... my trade is leather"
He pulled a long, curved blade from under his cloak and placed it on the bar. A very quiet  man with a particularly methodical step behind Alorid suddenly realized he had an itch in his throat, and found it would be much better for his health to start walking hastilly in the opposite direction with his cough.
The rest of the men took notice of the exotic keen edge on the bar and found themselves suddenly much less engrossed in the business of the stranger, making a particular point to create an audible buzz of conversation on other topics.
Mostly the weather, or that pretty girl across town.
"I once heard a story when I was a young man,"
"You're still young" the innkeeper interjected, eyeing the gold bauble only a quick reach past a very sharp knife away. Alorid continued.
"It's said that a snake that lives one thousand years in the sea, and another thousand years in the mountains will become a dragon."
"Dragons? Aint been any of those in these mountains since the war."
Alorid smirked, and that chuckle escaped.
"I'm not looking for a dragon."


A great searpent had been dwelling in one such mountain to the east for 999 years.
This was to be his last day coiled around a particularly knotty tree, disguised as a particularly knobby clump of cancerous bark.
Today was the day he would start out for the sea. Down the mountain, in a slithering slide. Downhill always being the easy part of a journey, and out for a nice, soothing, salty, sunny soak for another thousand years.
Then he'd shed that last layer of skin
grow a handsome moustache, and bring a thousand years of darkness onto those pesky men...
He might even build a sizeable hoard of glittering things.
Gems and metal, and crafts.
Something to coil around and keep his cold blood cold.
He shuddered and smiled at that thought.
Acknowledging his newfound acute interest in all things valuable and covetous over the last 500 years.

[To be continued.]