Inside the inn, Mralki was at the bar cleaning a few dull, metal tankards with a worn rag. He eyed the armored Breton warily when she entered, but nonetheless greeted her, "Welcome to the Frostfruit Inn, milady. If you need a meal or a room, I've got both."
The woman, Rhys, nodded, and when she approached the bar, it was then that Mralki noticed how tiny she was, even for a Breton. Though her armor made her appear slightly larger, the innkeeper realized she couldn't be more that five feet tall, if even that. No wonder she wore armor, in such a dangerous region this close to the Reach. He also wondered vaguely if she could even lift the enormous axe on her back, or if it was just for show.
"Much obliged, sera. I'd like both, since you're offering."
"Ten septims for the night, five for a meal. Drinks are separate," recited Mralki. "Cash only. No bartering."
Rhys nodded and casually fished out fifteen septims from a bulging coin purse.
"That's an interesting accent you have for a Breton," he commented conversationally as he fetched a bowl of stew for his guest. "Ashlander, from the sound of it."
Rhys took the meal gratefully and nodded, "I grew up in Morrowind, so I come by it honestly. Never actually been to High Rock. Markarth's as far east as I've ever been."
"I see," said Mralki. "I hear Morrowind's a dangerous place to live."
The small woman chuckled. "You heard right."
She paused, considering, then continued, "I met your son Erik outside. Nice young man. He wanted me to talk to you actually…"
* * *
The next morning, Erik awoke earlier that usual. He hadn't slept well that night. After returning to the inn the previous night from the fields, his father had been rather silent and withdrawn, and he knew Rhys must have spoken to him. However, Mralki hadn't said a word to him besides his usual, "Goodnight, son."
After he had dressed and helped himself to a small breakfast of homemade bread and cheese, Erik headed outside to begin his chores, despite the early hour. As he exited the inn, he spotted Rhys untying her horse from the railing of the inn, apparently preparing to leave.
"Oh, good morning," greeted Rhys. Her horse tugged impatiently at his lead, but Rhys merely glared at the headstrong animal and hissed, "Knock it off!" and he settled for the moment.
"Good morning," replied Erik tensely. "Did you…?"
"Speak to your father? Yes, I did. At some length. He's a good man, really, if a little protective. He changed his mind, though."
"Really?" exclaimed Erik excitedly. "I can't thank you enough, friend. I don't know what you said to convince him, but I'm in your debt."
"No problem," shrugged Rhys. "Anything to help out a fellow… Oi, stop it!"
She rubbed her shoulder. Apparently the horse had bitten her.
"Stupid Nord horse," she muttered. "Anyway, your father's all set to get you some armor."
"Again, I can't thank you enough. You've been…"
However, whatever he was about to say was lost in the booming roar that echoed from above at that moment, staggering them both.
"What was that?" demanded Erik.
Rhys was already on her feet and drawing her enormous axe.
"Dragon," she hissed. "You got a weapon, adventure-boy?"
"Uh, an axe," replied the farmhand lamely. Rhys shook her head. "That won't do against a dragon. Grab my bow and quiver from my saddle and get ready to start shooting. Do not lose it."
"I--okay," sputtered Erik, nodding. If ever there was a time to prove himself, now was it. He fumbled with the ties attaching Rhys' bow and quiver, both ebony, to the frightened horse's saddle before finally freeing it.
He looked around for Rhys and found her standing in the middle of the road, staring intently at the dragon as it circled overhead.
"If there's anyone outside, get them to safety!" she called without breaking her gaze. Erik looked around. In the distance, he saw two guards running towards the commotion, but other than that, none of the villagers were visible. This early, no one was likely to be out and about, although it was likely that the entire village had been roused by the thunderous roar.
"Have you ever done this before?" asked Erik, and he was proud to say that his voice barely even shook.
F!DB + Erik the Slayer "Stupid Horse!" 2/?
The woman, Rhys, nodded, and when she approached the bar, it was then that Mralki noticed how tiny she was, even for a Breton. Though her armor made her appear slightly larger, the innkeeper realized she couldn't be more that five feet tall, if even that. No wonder she wore armor, in such a dangerous region this close to the Reach. He also wondered vaguely if she could even lift the enormous axe on her back, or if it was just for show.
"Much obliged, sera. I'd like both, since you're offering."
"Ten septims for the night, five for a meal. Drinks are separate," recited Mralki. "Cash only. No bartering."
Rhys nodded and casually fished out fifteen septims from a bulging coin purse.
"That's an interesting accent you have for a Breton," he commented conversationally as he fetched a bowl of stew for his guest. "Ashlander, from the sound of it."
Rhys took the meal gratefully and nodded, "I grew up in Morrowind, so I come by it honestly. Never actually been to High Rock. Markarth's as far east as I've ever been."
"I see," said Mralki. "I hear Morrowind's a dangerous place to live."
The small woman chuckled. "You heard right."
She paused, considering, then continued, "I met your son Erik outside. Nice young man. He wanted me to talk to you actually…"
* * *
The next morning, Erik awoke earlier that usual. He hadn't slept well that night. After returning to the inn the previous night from the fields, his father had been rather silent and withdrawn, and he knew Rhys must have spoken to him. However, Mralki hadn't said a word to him besides his usual, "Goodnight, son."
After he had dressed and helped himself to a small breakfast of homemade bread and cheese, Erik headed outside to begin his chores, despite the early hour. As he exited the inn, he spotted Rhys untying her horse from the railing of the inn, apparently preparing to leave.
"Oh, good morning," greeted Rhys. Her horse tugged impatiently at his lead, but Rhys merely glared at the headstrong animal and hissed, "Knock it off!" and he settled for the moment.
"Good morning," replied Erik tensely. "Did you…?"
"Speak to your father? Yes, I did. At some length. He's a good man, really, if a little protective. He changed his mind, though."
"Really?" exclaimed Erik excitedly. "I can't thank you enough, friend. I don't know what you said to convince him, but I'm in your debt."
"No problem," shrugged Rhys. "Anything to help out a fellow… Oi, stop it!"
She rubbed her shoulder. Apparently the horse had bitten her.
"Stupid Nord horse," she muttered. "Anyway, your father's all set to get you some armor."
"Again, I can't thank you enough. You've been…"
However, whatever he was about to say was lost in the booming roar that echoed from above at that moment, staggering them both.
"What was that?" demanded Erik.
Rhys was already on her feet and drawing her enormous axe.
"Dragon," she hissed. "You got a weapon, adventure-boy?"
"Uh, an axe," replied the farmhand lamely. Rhys shook her head. "That won't do against a dragon. Grab my bow and quiver from my saddle and get ready to start shooting. Do not lose it."
"I--okay," sputtered Erik, nodding. If ever there was a time to prove himself, now was it. He fumbled with the ties attaching Rhys' bow and quiver, both ebony, to the frightened horse's saddle before finally freeing it.
He looked around for Rhys and found her standing in the middle of the road, staring intently at the dragon as it circled overhead.
"If there's anyone outside, get them to safety!" she called without breaking her gaze. Erik looked around. In the distance, he saw two guards running towards the commotion, but other than that, none of the villagers were visible. This early, no one was likely to be out and about, although it was likely that the entire village had been roused by the thunderous roar.
"Have you ever done this before?" asked Erik, and he was proud to say that his voice barely even shook.