Chapter 1: There's a Murderer In Moss Haven

Well, it happened again. Kicked out of another adventuring group. I take out a parchment scroll from my pack and unravel it. A list of adventuring parties I’ve joined and subsequently been removed from after one blunder or another. I mumble an incantation and move my finger across the fourteenth on the list, Morkan and the half-orcs.  So long Morkan, it’s not my fault the spell backfired, well, maybe it’s partially my fault, but how was I supposed to know that you didn’t want the bandit leader permanently turned into a sheep? Just another failure, gods I need a drink.

“Hey buddy,” I turn and see an irritated half elf on a draft horse glaring at me. “Pick a direction, you’re holding up traffic.” I’m tempted to turn him into a sheep until I see my horse actually  has blocked the main road towards Byron’s Crossing and hastily put my scroll away and take the path with the worn wooden arrow pointing towards Moss Haven, I can’t go back to Hunter’s Hill, and I definitely can’t go to Byron’s Crossing. Not yet anyway, I need to lay low for a while, let word of my failure pass and become old news before applying to another adventuring group, I’ll probably have to come up with a new identity soon, no one is going to want Ceddrick the Failure in their group, something strong and magical like Merlin. Maybe the fifteenth will be my lucky break. Hopefully Moss Haven is quaint, quiet and full of booze.

The path to Moss Haven is rough, and with the spring thaw in full effect, the unkempt road is full of mucky holes. The fresh spring air is full of blooming wildflowers and the songs of birds returning from their migrations south. I dismount and lead my horse, a chestnut mare around the treacherous holes on the road. Oaks and maples line the road, thick cushiony moss grows around their trunks, at least I can make myself a comfortable pillow out here if the inn is full, I muse. Finally, the road starts to even out and I remount my horse and trot into town. The first sign of the town is the decrease in trees and the increase in small cottages with thatched roofs covered in thick moss, small gardens with little green stems sit next to each cottage. The road transitions from clay to cobblestone as I enter the town proper, townsfolk are going about their businesses with a strange sense of anxiety, several carry baskets of fruits and vegetables, others carry bags of milled flour, others still carry fresh rabbit carcasses for their suppers. None of them pay me any mind, but why would they, I’m nothing special, just another nameless adventurer to them.

There’s a sign advertising the Celebration of Sealers, happening in about a week, a little more. Maybe I’ll stay around for that, I never pass up a good party, who cares what it’s for. The first several two-story buildings in Moss Haven appear to be for the magistrate and other royal purposes, a tax house and regional document library. Next, I see Quell’s Cloths, Lionheart Leathers and Swords’R’Us, all could be useful in getting better gear if I have any money left over from stabling Cowpoke and a night or two at the inn. There’s a general goods store across from the blacksmith and a large marble fountain in the town square, a sculpture of a man holding a sword stands valiantly in the center. The hilt of the sword looks newer than the rest of the sculpture. The fountain is surrounded by stalls and carts with merchants bartering and calling out to the townsfolk passing by. I ignore the chorus of calls as I ride through, potions, trinkets, magical artifacts, all for sale, offered the best prices north of Byron’s Crossing.

“You there!” I don’t make eye contact but the merchant calls again, “you, up on the horse!” I look behind me and sigh. “Yes, you!” The merchant is a slender elf in poorly transmogrified clothes. His long black hair is pulled back underneath a large hat and his eyes sparkle at the possibility of making a sale. I dismount and lead Cowpoke towards the cart.  “Could I interest you in a potion of luck, or maybe…” he raises his eyebrows, “love?” He swirls a vial of shimmering purple liquid in my face. As I look around and inspect his wares in notice the townsfolk giving this particular merchant a larger berth than the others.

“No thanks,” I say, “if you have one of unlimited wealth let me know.”

A sly smile crosses his lips, “are you sure I can’t interest you in an elixir of strength or a tonic of clarity?”

“I don’t need any of your snake oil, elf,” I don’t need any more interruptions I just need to get to the inn and the bar. “Good day.” I was a bit harsher than I had planned to be, but I can’t go back now. I lead Cowpoke away from the merchants cart. I see the town hall just outside the town square. Just passed town hall I see it, finally, on a weathered shield shaped sign I see two bears above faded writing, Bearclaw Inn and Tavern. Further down the road I see the stables, I’ll head there first then check the inn.

Behind the stables is a fenced pasture for the horses, I give Cowpoke a good brush down and lead her to the empty stall at the back of the building. There are five other animals in the stable, two geldings an onyx draft horse, a pure white stallion and an old donkey.

“S’cuse me,” I turn my head towards the gruff voice and see a grizzled old man with arms like tree trunks walking towards me. Damn, I start to move my hand in the gesture to cast an invisibility spell. “This ain’t no free housing, ye got to pay.” Relief washes over me, he’s the stable master.

“I apologize,” I say, stopping the incantation, “I was looking for you, and when I couldn’t find you, I wanted to get the last stall,” why do I feel nervous, it’s his fault for being derelict on the job, there goes his tip.

“Names Dyrk,” the stable master sticks out a hand the size of a dinner plate, he has long white hair and a thick white beard, “nice looking mare ye got there,” he examines Cowpoke. “Good breeding, get her down by Byron’s Crossing?” His handshake is strong enough to kink armor.

“Ceddrick,” I say nodding, “how’d you know that?” He may earn his tip back.

“Gotta know horses to work with em, how long you staying?”

“Undetermined, lets start with a week,” I take my pack off Cowpoke and throw it over my shoulder.”

“By the week it’s five gold pieces,” Dyrk smiles, “I don’t make the rules, Mayor Cahallan does.” I try not to roll my eyes and take out five gold coins with the king’s crown on one side and a dragon head on the other and pass them over to Dyrk. “How bout I buys ya a drink later at the Bearclaw, least I could do given the light weight of yer coin purse there.”

“It’s the least you could do,” I agree, I now only have seven more gold pieces to last me until I earn the next adventurer guild commission.  Hopefully the innkeeper doesn’t charge as exuberantly as Dyrk here. He laughs, a deep booming that seems to echo through the stable and into the forest beyond the pasture.

“Well nice to meet ya, Ceddrick,” he slaps my back, “I’ll see ya at the Bearclaw, tell Ness to save me a seat at the bar.”

I nod again and head towards the Bearclaw. I can hear the crowd before opening the door and I’m kicking myself for spending extra time chatting with Dyrk. I push the door open and the heavy scent off roast venison, potatoes and stewed onions foods my nose, I’m realizing how hungry I am. All the tables are full of patrons, the tables are covered with steins of ale, meat pies and platters of potatoes, I see a chicken and a rabbit rotating on the spit above the fire, a young boy rotates the spit, occasionally pouring the drippings back over the meat, crisping the skin. I make my way to the bar where the largest woman I’ve ever seen is serving drinks and ordering around the barmaids like Archmage Davin ordering students around at the South Crossing College, the worst mage college in the area, but the only one the son of a fisherman could afford. That’s not a flash back I need right now.

“Excuse me,” I say as I step up to the bar.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” the large woman says. “That’s Dyrk’s spot.” She has curly red hair and a round face.

“You must be Ness,” I say stepping away from the empty stool. She nods and eyes me suspiciously, “I am a traveler and was hoping there’s an available room.”

“Traveler from where?” She asks, “Becca, not that table you daft witch,” she points to a table by the hearth, “that table!” The brunette barmaid nods and turns towards the table by the hearth. “I swear by the gods the girls in this town, but I can’t fire her, her father is captain of the guard.” I’m not sure what to say and just nod and clear my throat.

“I’m on my way back from Glennflower,” I say, mostly ignoring her complaints about the staff.

 “Any connection to the Stavon Collection Group from Byron’s Crossing?” That’s an odd question. I shake my head.

“Never heard of them,” I lie, honestly, I have heard of Stavon Collection Group and Ness must have some major gambling debts, this doesn’t bode well for the weight of my coin purse.

“Excellent,” she hands me a key, “room six, up the stairs and to the left.” I thank her, take the key and head up the creaky stairs.

I’ve seen better rooms in dungeons. There’s a small bed with a mattress stuffed with straw poking out of it, a small desk and a chair missing half a leg. The window overlooks the road and the sound of the townsfolk drifts through the pane. I blow a layer of dust off the desk and set my pack on it. My stomach rumbles as I sit on the bed, despite the holes in the fabric it is genuinely comfortable. Next time I’ll succeed, I’ll prove every one wrong. I need a drink and some food, I head back downstairs.

“There he his!” Dyrk calls out as I get to the bottom of the stairs, somehow the tavern is more crowded than when I arrived. “Come, Ceddrick, I’ve got a stool for ya!” I see an open stool with a large stein sitting on the bar in front of it. I head over and sit next to him, the tone has shifted in the tavern from chatter about the upcoming planting season to hushed whispers. “How’s yer room?” Dyrk slaps my back so hard I almost fall off the stool. I take a long pull from the stein and wipe the foam from my mustache.

“Fine,” I say. “Clearly not used very often.”

He laughs his deep booming laugh. “Don’t get too many visitors out here,” he says. “Mostly locals that know too much about one another.” He takes a drink and spins around to look at the tavern full of people. “I could name every one of these batards if I wanted to.”

“Please don’t,” I say finishing the ale, Ness is busy at the other end of the bar so I wave the stein at a barmaid. “Something stronger,” I say as Becca, the captain of the guards daughter comes over. She takes a bottle of Dragons Sweat from the shelf and I shake my head, I can’t do Dragons Sweat anymore, not after the incident at Fernshires Monastery, she grabs the bottle of Ursas Kiss, a barrel aged mead fills my stein. “Could I also get a meat and onion pie, room six,” she nods and heads back to the kitchen.

“Drinking to forget something?” Dyrk has turned back around and sips from his stein.

“If you must know,” I’m already feeling relaxed and more loose-lipped. “I am,” I finish the stein and have Becca fill it with more mead when she returns with the meat and onion pie. “I got kicked out of another adventuring group, and I can’t go back to Byron’s Crossing or home, I can’t let them know I’m a failure.”

“Aye,” Dyrk finishes his ale and looks at me. “Adventuring is a risky business,” he places his hand over the top of his stein when Ness offers a refill. “You’ll get your chance,” he smiles at me then winks at Ness, “everyone gets their chance, right Ness?”

“That’s right,” she winks at Dyrk and the two share a rather intimate smile before she starts barking orders at a confused barmaid named Sharah.

“Well don’t drink too much or you might miss your moment Ceddrick,” Dyrk stands and pats my back, “gotta get back to the horses.” The large man leaves the tavern, it seems the crowd almost parts for him, no crowd would ever part for me. I stare into the stein and see my blurry reflection, glassy eyed and rosy cheeks. I huff, finish the mead and order another.

The crowd has passed as the sunsets orange glow starts to shine through the tavern window. I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve had, enough not to feel like an utter failure, I’ve switched from mead to a rather hoppy ale that Ness recommended, her own brew. It’s much cheaper that the mead, which means I can drink more of it.

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” the comment draws my attention. The voice came from a group by the hearth, the boy turning the spit is cleaning out pots behind the bar. In my drunken haze I try and focus on the conversation by the fire.

“It’s the fourth one,” another voice says.” Farmer Colloga, the miller’s wife, Hera Wheatrose, the acolyte at the monastery, Brother Horace and now Fenn Wolffang.”

Now I’m really interested, a potential reason to avoid Byron’s Crossing, Moss Haven isn’t that boring after all. “We all know Farmer Colloga fell from his horse after a night of drinking.”

“Fenn Wolffang didn’t,” the first voice says. “Hopefully it starts to be taken more seriously now.” I don’t know what comes over me, probably the mead and Ness’ ale, but I stand and on wobbly legs stagger over to the table by the fire.

“I’ll solve it,” I say confidently I slam the stein down on the table, splashing two of the patrons with the remaining hippy ale. “I’m an adventurer, and it sounds like there’s a murderer loose in Moss Haven,” I say with far too much bravado, why do I do that when I’m drunk? The patrons look at me skeptically.

“Well, if you’re so confident go tell the town guard tomorrow,” one of the women I splashed with my beer says with a snide look on her face. “If you wake up that is,” the others around her burst out laughing. Great, more people to prove things to.

“You’ll see, I’ll solve this murder!” I declare and lose my balance as I try to spin on my heel and end up face first in a bowl of potato and sausage stew. “I’m terribly sorry,” the words slur out of my mouth and the old woman looking at me with a spoon halfway to her lips just nods silently, at least I didn’t end up with egg on my face, and surprisingly not the first time I’ve fallen face first into a stranger’s dish. “Put it on room six.” I hurry up the stairs to my room. While struggling to get the key into the lock I see Dyrk, maybe I’m imagining him, I can’t tell at this point.

“Here’s your chance,” he says, “prove all those bastards that you are worth something.” I open the door and collapse onto the bed.