“It doesn’t take long to travel between Lacsbearn and Bontearia. It doesn’t take long at all if you take the Break Channel Causeway.”
“The Causeway was damaged during the last storm; no one can pass across it now.”
The old man smiled, “Aye, no one can. Only one way left to you then. Across the mountain to the North, there still remains the old foot path.” He then leaned in, “the road is long and hard, and you best need beware of the Mountain Folk. If you move quickly and don’t stop for no one, you may be safe. Or you may not.”
The trader from the valley below frowned, “One alone can not travel the mountain path. Yet, if I do not try more than just my business will be in ruins.”
A younger man who’s weathered features belies his youth, spoke between mouthfuls of ale, “A guide then, or a bodyguard.” He looks the trader over as if assessing his worth, “One as you are bound to possess enough coin to hire. In a place like this there are bound to be those who would willingly place their lives in line for the right price. I would go myself, only my wife would have my head before the Mountain folk got to me.”
The Old Dowager Inn, the last place of civilization for travelers before setting out across the mountain to the City of Bontearia, was as run down as decrepit as the name suggest. A place of good drinks and decent food, but one known to attract not so decent characters. It is here that the Trader chose to spend this winter night, drinking mead and talking to the locals before setting out on the final leg of his journey. It is here that he fears would be the end point of his travels upon learning of the loss of the direct path, a bridge that spanned a chasm over 4,000 meters in depth and some 14,000 kilometers in length.
Leaning back in his chair, his hardened glass mug now half empty of the dark brown brew he had been nursing most of the night resting on the table in front of him, the Trader looks across the floor. Few aside from themselves where there tonight. Perhaps they are not so foolish as he to even consider making the now dangerous trip, perhaps that is why few are here now. It was an odd insight, but insight is what businessmen such as himself develop as a skill from the day of their first cash transaction.
Looking to the older man sitting to his right, “Perhaps at one time this Inn would have been filled with willing takers for such a proposition.”
The old man nodded his head, the grey of his beard swaying ever so slightly as he did, “Aye, tis true. Rumors of the Mountain Folk now spread far. Tales of those who cross paths with them, only to vanish, never to be seen again. Or those whose broken bodies were found in the valley below, signs of injuries that canna be caused by even a fall of such height, now keep those who would attempt it away. Causeway will be repaired come spring.”
“Yet I can not wait until spring to complete my journey.” The Trader sighs, then leans in for anther gulp of his mead.
It is then that a voice approaches from behind, “You are in need of aide in making it safely across the next mountain. I am in need of something that is in your possession. Your options are few and we can come to a deal simply enough.”
Turning to look, he sees a woman of pale skin and raven black hair tied back in a single long braid standing near. Her cloak was red like the rarest ruby, her eyes were silver like the blade of the short sword she wore against her leg.
“If your desire to complete your journey is strong enough, you will find me here one hour before sunrise. If it is not, if you fail to show up, ready to leave, then I will do so without you. You have a choice to make, make it wisely.”
With that, the woman turned and walked out of the building.
OOC: Preview of the first chapter of a story I am writing. Can you guess who the woman is?