The fire was small yet cozy. I stood in a sheltered place so the wind would not be so bad. It would be difficult for anyone to know I was here. Also, it was a defensible position. My bow would take care of any that tried to approach. The quiver held a substantial number of arrows. Double barbed tips. They would not be easily removed. Those that survived would meet my sword. The master's I had studied with trained me to weave a whirling blade of death. But for now, quiet. I travel lightly, carrying only what I need to survive in the forest. My one exception. The Moka pot and coffee. And this is the beginning of my tale. The quest for coffee.
These things always begin with rumors. You hear of something spoken in hushed tones. A mountain deep in the woods. The woods filled with unknown horrors and treacherous obstacles. Death and carnage around every tree. Peace for the moment. My small metal cup with coffee. The sound of the wind in the trees. My ears keenly attuned to anything not of the ordinary. If you aren't alert, you die. A demonic bear nearly had me for supper once. I have been wary since. The cloak wrapped around me makes it difficult for others to clearly see me. Something about its properties causes me to appear indistinct or bleary. It was a good investment.
Oh yes, I forgot what I was talking about. Sorry. I was on my way to a mountain. A high and blustery peak. It was said that a mage lived there. That he made coffee that could heal any wound and perhaps bring back the dead. Although it escapes me how a dead person could drink coffee. I am in this for adventure. Not that trying to survive isn't an adventure. Cutthroats, Archers, murderers, thieves, and corrupt officials make life a risk. I just want to survive and make some coins with an occasional job. Killing is an easy job. So here I am.
I settled down next to the fire and sleep. I'd been traveling for about 21 days. In that time, I survived three bears, two wolf attacks, a mountain lion, and five bands of killers and thieves. I didn't kill them all, only when I had too. Sometimes running is the better alternative. The killers just wanted to rob me, take my life and my stuff. They learned too late that I'm not that easy to dispose of. And I look at it this way. Killing them is making the world a safer place. I was also able to glean a few of their supplies for my own use. Not a total loss. Some food, a good knife, fire tools and the like. I slept.
The morning was grey, cold, and windy. The hood of my cloak was up to keep the wind at bay. I walked slowly and cautiously with bow in hand. I did this for a couple of reasons. One never knows when you will be set by danger and dinner might run across your path. Oh great, it was beginning to snow. Midmorning had me on a well-worn path. This should lead somewhere with people. But it also posed danger. Thieves liked lone travelers. It wasn't long before I was on the edge of a little hamlet. The mountain was in full view. There was a place for some hot food and a decent mead. I could sit and relax just a bit. I keep my back to the wall. Don't like surprises. The food was passable, some sort of stew with root vegetables and a mystery meat. A piece of hard crusty bread and goat cheese. So much better than starving. I asked the owner about possible guides up the mountain.
He got all wide eyed and frightened.
"No!! No one goes up the mountain. Great danger. Bad magic and death."
He almost shrieked. Looks like I'll have to make my own way.
I sat there sipping my Mead and bemoaning my fate and luck. This would take longer. From the corner came this cackling sound. Some old croon sat there. Her hood went back to reveal a weathered face, grey rat's nest hair, and missing tooth grin.
"I can show you up the mountain." She rasped.
"But you must take me along with you."
And then there was more laughing and cackling.
I thought. "Really? You don't even look like you can make it across the floor. Let alone up a mountain.
I sat there for a few moments staring at her. It is not my habit to speak ill of someone. But she was one ugly old woman. And that damn cackling!! Gnarled hands and fingers, bloodshot eyes, yellow teeth, (what there was), cracked and yellow fingernails, blotchy scaly skin, and skin stretched over a skeleton that gave the appearance of death. Why would I bother to spend time with an old woman, let alone try to take her up a mountain? I got up and left.
She let go a crazed laugh and cried out, "You'll be back Archer. You'll be back."
I walked around the small village. There was the purchase of a few more supplies and I found a Fletcher. Having a very full quiver is not a bad thing. I even found a place that had some coffee beans. They were bought and ground for the trip. The nights were cool but would be colder as I ascended the mountain. I continued to search for a guide up the mountain. I was always met with the same fear and trepidation as before. A day or so of asking around and I had covered the entire village. No one wanted to go. Except that obnoxious old woman.
I found an inn, a relatively safe place to sleep. It had a door that could be locked. I would sleep somewhat securely. But you never know. The Inn Keeper could be a murderer and thief. My sword and knife lay close by. Sleep did not come quickly or easily. I lay there tossing and turning, wondering how I would get up the mountain. It was all very unsettling. So many unknowns, and that old woman. Why am I thinking about her? She is more like a nightmare. Sleep did come.
Somewhere in the night, I awoke. A slightly creaking door maybe? My hands gripped my weapons in the darkness. A shadowy figure crept towards me. There was the glint of light on a blade. In crossing motion, my sword flashed across his chest while my knife made a deep gash in the throat. The sound of a dying gurgle was all to be heard. The Inn Keeper would have a mess to clean in the morning. I checked the door, stepped over the body, and went back to bed.
The Inn Keeper had nothing to say in the morning. He just stood there sweating and pale. As I gripped my sword, I thanked him for the "free" night's stay. I went in search of food. There was a place down the street I found by following the scent of cooking.
Breakfast consisted of roasted chicken, a large loaf of bread and a decent-tasting cheese. Others have gruel of something like it. Not me, I want real food. Greasy fingers savored the fowl. Ripping large chucks of bread to sop up grease. Slicing thick wedges of cheese. This was good food and all washed down with a dry Mead. I sat back to survey the carnage I had left on the table. Most was consumed. I looked towards the street at some sound or motion. Instantly on the aware. Nothing? When I turned to face the table, there she sat. The old woman. She spoke before me. "I want food. I want to finish what you left." Then she just began to munch on my leftovers. The remaining edibles disappeared rather quickly.
Once it was all gone, she wiped her mouth and direct dirty sleeves. She was disgusting.
She spoke.
"Did you find a guide Archer? You did not. I know it. I guide up the mountain."
Then the longest cackle in history proceeded from her pale thin and bloodless lips. I began to realize there was no escaping this old hag. Fate or whatever. I slumped in my seat. How was I going to get this bag of bones up a mountain? I envisioned carrying her the entire way as she laughed. It was a horrifying thought.
I just shrugged my shoulders and spoke.
"Fine, we'll leave in the morning."
All I received was more laughing. She followed me all day on spindly and tottering legs. Laughing, always laughing. When I ate, she ate. Even that evening when I found a different Inn. She followed me into the room, plopped on the bed and went to sleep, snoring and grunting. Just when I didn't think she could be worse, she broke wind.
I had positioned in a chair against a wall opposite the door. Just in case there was a repeat of last night. I slept; she snored like a herd thundering through the room. Would I have to put up with this? The night passed and I didn't have to kill anyone. A good thing I suppose. They were probably afraid of the unholy sounds the hag made.
But I got up and packed. She rolled up to sit on the bed edge, lifted one ass cheek and farted for at least a minute. How impossibly repulsive can she be?
