Darkowl

Darkowl ducked into the Stein and Shield and paused, waiting for an uproar as Phaedra flapped on his shoulder. When there was none, he cautiously looked around the tap room. There was a good sized crowd of the normal mercenary and adventurer types that gravitated towards this particular Inn. It took him a minute for his searching gaze to find Elena behind the bar. She looked up and met his eyes with the studied indifference of the veteran barkeep, sized him up for a second, and then went back to her work. Darkowl exhaled, letting the tension out of his body along with his breath.  So she had either forgotten him and the brawl he caused a year ago, or had chosen not to hold it against him. That will make thing much easier he mused.

Aramus was not due for another week, and Darkowl hated to be idle. Deciding there was nothing for it, he pulled up a chair at a table along the wall and sat down. Phaedra was restless so he let the hawk perch on the back of another chair. Darkowl decided it was best to keep his cowl up. It had been a while, but he didn’t necessarily want to be recognized in this part of the world. That still didn’t stop the ranger from loosening his trademarked kukris in their sheaths as he reexamined the crowd.

Before he could size up more than a couple patrons, the doors flew open and a group of villagers walked in. They were outfitted in dated leathers and old weapons, and gazed around like… well like yokels. Only one of them looked like he knew what he was doing, carrying himself with the grace of a tested swordsman. His clothing and bearing gave lie to his profession. “Messenger for some lord.” Darkowl whispered to himself. One of the other patrons, a man with a scar across his cheek, heard him. Scar-cheek looked at Darkowl with a faint smile. It was a confident look of icy amusement that suggested a familiarity with Darkowl that he did not share. Still holding his eye, the man slowly pulled back into the crowd.  A mental alarm went off in the ranger’s head. Nobody had a look like that and dressed as plainly as Scar-cheek did.

He began to rise from his chair to follow, but a commotion from the group of villagers drew his attention. The lord’s messenger was being greeted by a big and heavily armored man. Darkowl saw the sign of the Order of the Sword on the large warrior’s shield, and decided it was better to be inconspicuous than investigative all things considered. He sat back down in his chair and tried to blend in with the wall of the inn. The bar returned to normal as the novelty of the villagers wore off. The Knight led them to a nearby table, and Darkowl saw that he had definitely made the right choice for the Knight was none other than Captain Corwin himself.  He took another look at the villagers.

Their obvious inexperience with the world of the Stein and Shield had made them seem smaller, but half of the villagers were huge. Three of them cleared a full six feet and all were thickly muscled. It was a hard thing to see when the stood together as the tall tribesman (for one of them was darkskinned) was almost seven feet, and another was much broader in the chest than his friends. It was only when they moved individually that you saw that any one of them could be the tallest man in his region, and the tribesman was giant like in height. Likewise several of them could shame a blacksmith with their mass; the big one was just built like an ox and skewed the perspective. Darkowl could see why the Order of the Sword would be interested in them; they would be hard pressed to find a better batch of recruits.

After a brief exchange, Sir Corwin led the villagers out the side door that led to the Heroes’ Garden. Darkowl waited a few moments to make sure that they were gone, got up, and headed to the bar. As he did, he side-stepped to avoid stepping on a cloak and accidently ran into a massive chest. Darkowl lifted his gaze up to see the face of a familiar centaur.

“Um, hey there Curu.” Darkowl said, mentally cursing his luck. This was a conversation that was not going to go well.

“Darkowl? I didn’t think you came into this neck of the woods anymore! How are you?” Curu was characteristically jovial, being one of the more friendly specimens of centaur- a race known for being surly and temperamental. “Have you heard any word from my niece? Is she enjoying being a weaver?”

And there it is thought Darkowl. “Curu… I don’t think she enjoyed weaving.”

“Nonsense. I paid a heavy fee to apprentice her to one of the best weavers in the region. Why would you think she didn’t enjoy it?”

“Because she left.”

“She… left?” Curu said with a dangerously quiet tone. Darkowl prayed that the massive centaur would let the conversation end there, but as usual his prayers went unanswered. “Where did she go?”

“She… ah, well… Corelle… um, felt a different calling.” Darkowl paused, steeling himself for what was coming next. “She became an acolyte in the Regian Church.”

For a moment Darkowl refused to look at the big centaur. After a few heartbeats he could no longer resist and looked up. Curu stood there, covered in the trinkets and charms of his pagan faith, a faith that his family and his tribe had faithfully adhered to since time immemorial. His face was so hard that it could have served as an anvil in a dwarven forge, the veins and cords  in his neck straining to burst free of his skin, his eyes like someone had compacted all the rage in the world down into two darkly violent crystals. Darkowl was completely still, not wanting to be the one who triggered what was sure to be a legendary bloodbath. Suddenly Curu inhaled, and Darkowl tensed to dodge whatever was coming. Instead of rearing and lopping off the heads of the nearest customers while screaming pagan obscenities, Curu slowly and with enormous effort moved over to an empty table and sat down. He stared at the table for a moment, and then idly began playing with his animal charms.

Darkowl didn’t waste any time. He spun on his heel when straight to the bar, ordered a meal and a beer, and retreated back to his table, determined to not move for the rest of the night. As he settled in next to where Phaedra perched, he stole a glance at Curu. The centaur had stopped staring off into space and was now having an angry conversation with his little wooden animal carvings. I would hate to be the next person to try to talk to him Darkowl thought. He then dived into his meal, feeding little scraps to his hawk, and taking the occasional swig of beer.

By the time he was finishing eating, the strange group of villagers had returned, without the Knight of the Sword. He watched half fearful and half amused as Lord’s-Messenger led the troop straight over to Curu. They had an expectedly (at least to Darkowl) tense conversation in which the villagers seemed confused about Curu’s hostility and Curu seemed hostile, after which they left the centaur alone and claimed an empty table.

After talking amongst themselves, they began looking around the room. The crowd had thinned a little by this point, with pretty much only the overnight guests still around. One of the villagers, Tall-Tribesman, had spotted Darkowl, and was coming over with Big-Chest. They smiled as they approached and immediately sat down at Darkowl’s table.

“Mind if we join you?” Tall-Tribesman asked after he and Big-Chest had already sat down, much to Darkowl’s bemusement.

“Not at all.” Darkowl replied.

“What’s your name?” Big-Chest asked politely. Up close like this Darkowl realized neither of them could be as old as twenty.

“Darkowl” the ranger replied. Big-Chest look at Phaedra who was obviously not an owl nor darkly covered and then looked back to Darkowl.

“Ok” he said cheerfully. The three of them immediately launched into a pleasant conversation about woods lore and the surrounding area. As they chatted Darkowl glanced over at the rest of the villagers and caught the gaze of a chestnut bearded member of their group. His eyes were calculating and confident with a commanding directness and Darkowl felt that he was being sized up to a degree that he had not experienced yet that night.  Command-Eyes held his look for a moment, and then rising strode over to bar. Tall-Tribesman and Big-Chest wound their conversation down and rejoined their buddies. Darkowl took that as an opportunity to excuse himself and turned in for the night.