Hellrien stood watching as Burwod's back disappeared into the bustling main street of Bree. Then she turned, got herself a room in the Prancing Pony, tossed her things in the corner and threw herself on the bed. Next morning she would get on her horse and continue the journey alone, heading east towards Ost Guruth. There she was supposed to acquire provisions while waiting for Burwod to arrive once his business in Bree was concluded.
She dug up a bottle of brandy from her saddle-bag and took a sip. Then she loaded her pipe with pipe-weed - a habit she had picked up in the stronghold - lit it and remained lying on her bed, staring at the roof. But soon she closed the bottle, put the pipe away and blew the candle out. She slept like a log.
Next morning she dressed herself in her ragged vagrant clothing. She didn't want to draw attention to herself nor identify herself as one of the Order in the Lone-Lands, so she reckoned her best bet was to assume the role she had had before she had met Dorvairse and the others - a homeless drifter. She noticed the curious glances of some of the locals in the common room when she ordered her breakfast, but she didn't want to answer questions she didn't have thought of answers yet, so she just gobbled up her breakfast and exited the Pony as fast as she could.
Hellrien had paid 500 silver coins for a big stallion with angular head, long legs and powerful chest. The money had come from the stronghold coffers. That was one of the upsides of being in the Sworn Brotherhood - they were not paid in wages but each member was taken care of and everything they needed was provided by the Order. Hellrien saddled Half Pint, her horse, tied up her saddlebags and blanket roll, hung her bow onto the saddle and rode out of the South Gate, heading east. To her right there was grassy, lush woodlands, while to her left foul stinks of Midgewater Marsh hit her nose every time a breeze of wind blew from the north.
Hellrien took the journey leisurely and allowed Half Pint to determine the pace. The farther they got from Bree, the less people and houses she saw. There were only trees and knolls and cliffs as far as the eye can see, and the water in the Midgewater Marsh was tawny and sludgy.
She picked up the pace to expedite the journey, for she wanted to reach the Forsaken Inn before nightfall. When darkness suddenly started to fall, she could see a silhouette of a building emerging from afar.
As she got closer she could see it was a huge stone building with dilapidating and crumbling shingle roof - in fact, it seemed like a big portion of the roof had already collapsed inside. This had to be the Forsaken Inn. Half Pint was now advancing at walking speed and Hellrien spent the last moments of light to survey the landscape around the building. There seemed to be nothing but arid wasteland and cliffs surrounding it from all sides except west - where she was coming from. She presumed that the meagre amount of rain that ever fell down here was sufficient to grow just enough grass for the Eglain to sustain themselves with some form of animal husbandry, possibly even a very modest agriculture.
She had reached the Lone-Lands.
It was already dark when Hellrien reached the inn. Faint light was shimmering from most of the windows, a dog whimpered somewhere. She rode slowly towards the inn and saw a modest hut farther to her right that could have been a stable. She headed her course over there. After talking to an uncommunicative stable-hand and tying Half Pint up she stood still for a moment, glancing around. She could hear faint murmur of voices emanating fron the inn.
Hellrien walked over to the door and peeked inside the half-dark tavern. A short and narrow hallway opened up to a spacious room, where she saw a bunch of men and women hunched over their swill in their grey and brown woolen outfits. She could see the stars and the moon through an enormous hole in the roof.
When the floorboards creaked, heads turned around to regard Hellrien standing on the doorway.
”Heey”, Hellrien said, drawling. ”Can I get something to eat around here?”
The words floated in the air. The patrons just stared at her. Nobody made a move or uttered a word.
”I can pay!” She rotated a silver coin in her hand.
A woman in ragged dress and dirty apron stood up.
”You can have stew, if you're not too particular about what it's made of”, she said in a surly voice.
”Good. And one mug of... cider.”
Hellrien tossed her hat on a table and dragged a low bench closer. She sat down, her back purposely facing a windowless wall. Over her hat she could see all the patrons sitting or standing in that spacious room in front of her.
The waitress walked to the other side of the room, where a big pot was stewing above the fireplace. Hellrien loaded her pipe and kept throwing glances at the patrons from beneath her lids. Nobody was paying any attention to her, but there was something menacing in the air.
Hellrien lit her pipe. In that instant the woman returned with a plate. Hellrien blew the smoke slowly out of her nostrils. She received a jar of cider and a broken mug in front of her.
”Thanks”, she said, grabbed the mug by the handle and drank it down in one go. The cider drained down her throat, ravaging her tongue. It was sour and bitter, but surprisingly strong. A nice, warm, relaxed feeling spread to her limbs.
”Can I have a room here?” she asked, burping.
The waitress looked at her for a moment. There was something odd in her expression when she considered Hellrien's question. Finally she smiled briefly behind a row of squirrel-like teeth.
”You can have a room”, the waitress announced.
Hellrien thanked and ate her stew. It was bland and foul-tasting, but she was hungry so it all went down. She lit her pipe again and followed the hustle in the tavern. She decided to sit down until something happened.
Ten minutes passed by. Quarter of an hour. Half an hour.
Suddenly the waitress said:
”What are you doing here?”
”Ohh... I'm just milling here and there. I guess I'm looking for a job or something - as long as it pays well.”
”There's no work here”, said the waitress. ”I advice you to ride west, to Bree. There's a lot of work there. A lot of opportunities.” The dialect in this part of the world was a little peculiar, so Hellrien had to think a moment before she understood the meaning of some words.
”I'm in no hurry”, Hellrien responded indiffently. She swung the bench back to lean against the wall and kept smoking her pipe.
From below her half-closed lids she noticed a group of men in one table exchanging quick glances.
The waitress said:
”I will show you your room now. Pay up front. Two silver.”
Hellrien nodded, tossed a handful of coins on the table for the food and cider and grabbed her hat. She was moving slowly and carefully.
The waitress lead Hellrien through a doorway into a narrow staircase descending into the basement of the inn.
”Careful. Watch your steps now.”
The basement level was dimly lit with candles here and there, but Hellrien could see there were doors and doorways leading into rooms and storages. The waitress lead her into one and lit four candles on a tall candleholder from a lantern she had been carrying. She turned to face Hellrien and smiled. There was a strange, almost malicious glint in her eyes.
”Good night”, she said and left. There was no door between her room and the corridor.
Hellrien put her saddle and things on the stone floor and looked around her. The room was about 12 feet long from every corner. The plastering on the walls was badly worn, revealing the rotten wood structure underneath. There were three dirty mattresses covered with blankets, two on wooden bunks and one on the floor. Two wooden stools sat by a wall. That was all the furniture there was. The plank roof was covered with plaster that was shedding on the floor like dandruff. There were no windows. Things you have to suffer, Hellrien thought. It stank sour and stale. She went over to the doorway. The frames were so rotten they would have fallen into pieces with one good kick.
Hellrien shrugged and kicked the mattresses in some kind of order, putting her own blanket over the one provided by the house. She sat on a stool and dug up her bottle of brandy.
Loading her pipe was getting easier each time she did it, and she sat smoking and tippling from her bottle. Not a mouse was stirring. Minutes passed by. She reloaded her pipe. It was beginning to taste bitter. She stood up and yawned sweetly, scratching her neck. She set her vest on the stool, the sword on one of the bunks and left her moccasins by the wall close to her bed. She put out the pipe, blew out the candles and wrapped herself in her blanket.
Darkness was perfect. She thought she heard a door closing somewhere, and after that, faint footsteps. But she wasn't sure.
Suddenly she stirred wide awake. A terrible wailing noise emanated to her ears. Her hand squeezed tighter around the steel handle of her sword. Her eyes drilled through darkness. What was it? Could it be the wind? It sounded like someone being tortured somewhere, or a pig being slaughtered! Where did it come from? From the walls? Beneath the floor? Cold shivers went through her spine. It had to be the wind... no way any person could make such a sound. Or maybe it was goblins, or something more sinister, sneaking around the inn?
She mustered all strength she had to force herself to breathe calmly. It was quiet again. Perhaps she had misheard.
Now she heard it again - louder this time... quite clearly. Like somebody screaming or crying in the corridor, coming closer to her room.
Hellrien turned cold as ice. Her hands were steady. She had retreated into a corner of the room. She was prepared to face whatever was coming, the sword was ready to strike, her both hands wrapped around the hilt.
There was the noise again. But... how was this possible? It wasn't coming from the corridor after all... but from the corner behind her! She turned her head. A barely audible, muffled sigh fluttered from the darkness.
Hellrien sat completely still. Now the noises seemed to come from beneath the floor. It seemed like whoever was making those noises was crawling under the floor towards her. She fixed her eyes to the direction where it seemed to come from this time. Her other hand was tensed against the floor, ready to shove her aside, another hand squeezed the sword handle.
Now she could feel it. Her neck tensed from panic.
Something inhuman was scraping the floor directly beneath her.
