Though this story is fantasy, all characters in it are of a legal age. The protagonist is in his mid-twenties, though it will not come up. If you wish to skip to the steamy part of the story, you will find it in section 4. Thank you.
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2: The Grace of Gods and Barn Doors
A day out from Grisford, I knew I was pushing my luck. The night before, I had made camp in a small clearing near the old grove forests. I couldn't chance a campfire--it's a signal fire to bandits and beasties alike. So I fell asleep bundled in my bedroll, waking with the frosty dew of an early spring morning mixed with a light, steady rain. Tonight I wanted a real bed.
The coolness of the morning fell off around midday. I snacked on a ration of biscuit, checking my bearings. I was a little less than a day away from Tarynn. If I double-timed it through the night, I could make the journey by sun up tomorrow, get my payment from the guild, and sleep in a few days before hitting the road again. That was the plan, at least.
My first mistake came at an old tavern just off the path from the main road; The sun was high and getting hotter, and I no longer had the forest trees to shade me. I may have stopped by the place years ago, but if so, I did not remember. I could weather the heat, I thought. Then a clap of thunder rumbled in the distance behind me. Gods be damned, the storm was fast approaching--and I could not weather the weather.
The Gelded Griffon
had crudely painted sign of a golden griffon hanging above the door. I am almost certain that they meant 'gilded' and not 'gelded' but damned if I was going to explain the difference to the owner. They might try to gild me.
The place was all but falling apart inside. There were a few patrons--likely locals from a village without a tavern or alehouse--but not enough to fix a broken floorboard. I hopped over it on my way to the bar.
"Whatcha want?" a pudgy codger asked me from across the counter.
"A tankard of your best brown, sir." I had a feeling their best brown was their only brown.
"Aye, three pence." The bartender walked to a wooden tap and poured a tankard of dark brown liquid. He sat it in front of me and I slid my three coins to him, enjoying the smell of malted barely.
I could see a few shadows shift behind me and gave a nonchalant glance over my shoulder. They were likely watching my purse. The real question was were they going to rob me or try to get a free drink out of me? I wasn't flush enough to show such generosity, and they weren't men enough to take it.
There were three of them, two big and one, well, still quite large but smaller than the other two. They weren't farmers, that was for sure. Mercs between jobs? Ex-adventurers? Either was likely.
They pretended to mind their own business, all the time watching me. I didn't know when they would make their move. Probably when I was drunk and alone.
I sipped my ale, casually looking out for any change in the atmosphere of the room, one that might warn me of impending danger. An omen of sorts. As it happened, it walked in through the tavern door, announcing itself with a naive smile.
I wasn't the only one who stared at the pilgrims, mouth agape, when they came in from the storm. I was just the one with the most teeth.
There were three of them, two crusty old priests and one priestess. The rain had soaked them through and the two men shuffled in, robes dripping puddles that drained down the gaps in the wood floors. The woman though...
Her robes clung tightly to the curves of her body, giving away secrets she might have hidden on a dryer day. Her skin was like porcelain, so pale she seemed to glow. Her hair was tucked under a habit, but her eyebrows were auburn arches. For a moment I caught her green eyes but she looked away, in conversation with her companions.
Outside, the storm only grew worse. Soon, the wind picked up and the shutters outside banged one way, then another. The roof was as holy as the pilgrims, leaking rain in rivulets along the walls. I wasn't sure the building would stand. Then the rain stopped and sun came back out.
Patrons started to file out, the pilgrims among them. That's when I noticed the three men in the corner leaving as well. They had eyed me like feast day mutton before the woman had shown up. Know, it seemed they had other plans, I guess money wasn't everything.
* * *
I made my way down the road as quickly as I could while hauling my pack, tracking the two parties in the direction I figured they were headed. They were pilgrims, their black robes and headgear told me so; I wasn't certain what god they served but I knew they were headed towards Grisford or Tarynn. I chose to double back down the path to Grisford. The pilgrims had arrived not long after I had--and I make good time on the road. If they were headed the same way I was, I would have passed them, therefore, they had to be headed the opposite direction as me, towards a northern shrine. That meant Grisford.
I found the first priest on the roadside. He had been stabbed in the stomach a dozen times or so. It was butcher's work. By the wounds in him--punctures from a one sided blade, a dull edge and a sharp edge--I knew at least one of them had a knife, maybe six to eight inches in length. There was no sign that he defended himself, meaning he was held by one or both of the other assailants during the stabbing.
I followed a fresh trail of boot tracks in the mud that led off the road. I crouched, stooping as I ran, likely looking very stupid to anyone who might have seen me. But it was still daylight and I needed to make myself as small as possible from a distance. The trail was easily followed through a field of boot-trenched mud. It led towards a barn in the distance. I arrived just to see its front doors shut.
I moved as quickly and as quietly as I could, heading to the back of the building. It was fenced in so I hopped the pole fence and dropped into a muddy mess of what had to be part cow dung. I had two options, chance the back door--which could be barred--or scale the barn to the loft above. I chose the latter.
I crawled through the loft window and was happy to see there was a proper loft. Silently, I crept to edge. The three men had either killed or knocked the second priest unconscious and were rifling through his possessions. The priestess stood beside him, her face worried, but looked otherwise unharmed. Now I had another choice to make and I readied my dagger. I would be outnumbered but I might be able to even the odds if I surprised them.
"He has at least two shillings and a purse full of pennies," one of the two larger men said. We can call him Calendar for the brief time we know him, because his days are numbered.
"That's good. That other'n didn't have nothing at all. Not even a piece of cheese or nothing." said the other big guy, Gurgle.
"Shh... they had to be carrying food somewhere, check the bitch." This was Leader.
"No!" she screamed. "Stay away from me!"
"Oh, don't worry. We won't hurt you yet. That comes later," Leader said. "We're gonna all have a nice meal together and some drink right here. Then, when we start feeling real romantic, we are going take turns reading you some poetry."
"But I can't read," Gurgle said, his hamhock head a portrait of confusion.
"Don't be foolish," Calendar said. "He means we're going to put it to her good."
"Right he is," Leader told the priestess. "and after we've all had a go, we're going to go again."
The priestess shook her head, clenching something silver at her chest. Leader noticed it and yanked it off her neck.
"
Luciana
?" Leader laughed mockingly. The silver pendant was a circular wreath of laurel.
"Who's that?" Gurgle asked.
