Thursday, April 23, 2015

I'm thinking about trying to write an epic fantasy.

Sirin Keel peered out from under his hood cautiously. The tavern was filled with a warm golden glow and the pleasant buzz of evening chatter. A roaring fire blazed in the center of the room and threw playfully skipping shadows high onto the old walls.
The Blind Swan, that’s what this place was called, was particularly crowded tonight. Sirin hated crowds. The stench of dozens of sopping drunk bodies, the uproarious noise of irreverent laughter, the moist pressure of men and women who hadn’t bathed for weeks. He usually preferred the quieter hours just before closing, when the loudest patrons had long since staggered home to slump into an ale bidden slumber, and those who remained only sang mournful tunes of happier days.
But this night, the discomfort could not be helped.
Sitting in a secluded corner of the room, Sirin took a long pull at his tankard and tugged his dusky grey cloak tighter about him. Although he was a welcome customer here, he did not wish to be recognized just now.
A pretty, buxom barmaid with bouncy blonde curls and rosy cheeks approached his lonely table with a mischievous glint in her eye. “G’day kind sir! There anythin’ I can get for ya, or” she perched on the edge of the worn wooden table “give to ya?” Her accent was thick with the dialect of this small wooded town of Peredyn, and she stank of pipe smoke and alcohol. Sirin gently pushed her off of the table.
“I’m afraid that I’m not the one you’re looking for.” He spoke quietly, but his deep voice had a certain commanding tone.
Undaunted by this rejection, the girl leaned heavily on the table toward him, licking her full lips and batting her long eyelashes, her breast heaving with drunken emotion. Her eyes were of a warm chocolate brown, but bloodshot from too much drink.
She really was quite pretty.
Irritated at this distraction, Sirin shoved that thought away. “I’m really not interested. In fact, I’d quite like to be alone, so if you don’t mind-“ He gestured for her to leave. Affronted, the wench stood and stalked off, her gait unsteady and winding slightly. Before long, she had relocated herself to some other more willing fellow’s table. It was a pity he could not be that fellow.
Quite suddenly, all distraction was completely wiped from his mind. That which he had been waiting for had just stepped into the Blind Swan. For a moment, she just gazed around the crowded room, seemingly taking everything in, then she strode, toward the hearth.
Her form fitting bronze bodice and black leggings revealed a lean, muscular physique, toned from a lifetime of practice with the broadsword that hung loosely at her hip. Sirin was frankly surprised that she could wield such a formidable weapon. Bright white scars crisscrossed her face and the any dark skin that showed through her clothing. The light furs that fringed her armour and tall boots, the bare arms, and the shimmering metallic beads plaited into her long auburn hair all marked her as a member of the Mycenalt clan.
She held her head erect as she snaked through the boisterous people. Her lithe form seemed almost liquid as she stepped through the narrow spaces. When she finally reached the fireside, rather than pulling up a chair, she sat cross legged on the floor in the style of her people and lay her blade naked across her knees. At this, those nearest her pressed farther into their other neighbors, eager to give her plenty of space.
Sirin leaned back in his chair for a moment, contemplating the situation. He watched as she summoned a barmaid and placed her order. He could not hear what it was from here. She stared around haughtily at the other tavern goers, somehow making it seem as though she were looking down on them even though she was on the floor. A few moments later, the barmaid returned, and Sirin couldn’t help but smile; she had brought a large tankard of ale and a nearly raw goose leg. The Mycenalt people were notorious for being uncivilized and barbarous.

After watching her for a few moments more as she drank deeply and tore into her meat with nothing but her teeth, he stood, tossed a few Derrits onto the table to pay for his drink, and strode out into the dark. 

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