Lord of Nature

While Cyrus waited for his food, he noticed a group of men situated near the door. They wore worn tunics, and spoke in hushed voices, though Cyrus still caught a whisper of what they said. 

"Has there still been no word from Heldren? I thought he was supposed to arrive two days ago." A young man spoke first, appearing not much older than sixteen. His eyes darted between two older men, and he clenched his mug tightly. "Could he have gotten lost? Or maybe bandits-"

"Enough," One of the older men snapped. He scowled. "Heldren wouldn't have gotten lost, and he knows better than to be caught by bandits. I'm certain he'll be here soon."

"But Ersen has a point, Felron. Heldren said he'd stop in Mourtop, and then be here before the end of the week, and that was the last we heard. If he was hung up by something, he would have sent word, but there's been nothing. With the strange things we've heard, I'm begging to worry."

"I- I know," The old man said, sighing. "It's unlike Heldren to be this late, but it's not like an entire caravan could just go missing. Not in these parts anyway."

The men's conversation moved on, and Cyrus leaned back in his seat. A sense of dread washed over him as he considered the possibilities. 'Perhaps they ran into a beast similar to the boars. If that's true, then what else might be out there?'

Cyrus shivered at the thought.

"Are you alright?" 

Cyrus jumped as the barmaid appeared beside him, carrying a plate of brisket and rolls glazed in honey, along with a foaming mug. Locks of auburn hair slipped over her shoulder as she set the platter down while glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Cyrus gave a sheepish smile, and relaxed his shoulders. "Yes… Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You looked a bit tense, is all," she said, hugging the platter. She brushed the hair away from her face, and smiled. "Well, let me know if there is anything else I can get for you."

The woman turned to leave, but Cyrus caught her arm.

"Wait, do you have any rooms available?" Cyrus asked. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Something preferably cheap, and I only need a single cot."

The barmaid pursed her lips with a furrowed brow. "Hmm, I believe there are still a few rooms left. Though the cheapest will cost you five bronze a night. Will that be alright?"

"It will." Cyrus handed her the coin, and she motioned towards a door across the tavern. 

"Head through there once you're done for the night, and take the room on the far left. I'll let the barkeep know it's occupied."

"Thank you," Cyrus said. 

The barmaid nodded, and headed back to the counter. Cyrus pocketed the rest of his coin, then grabbed a fork, and dug into the brisket. The warm meat melted in his mouth, and possessed a far tastier texture than the dried jerky, and hard bread he ate the past three nights. 

While he ate, he noticed the men heading out. As they left, Cyrus overheard the one named Felron speaking to the other old man. 

"I want you to send some men to Mourtop. Find out if Heldren has arrived yet, and what's taking him so long."

"And if he hasn't? What will we do?"

Felron pushed open the door, causing the fire to stir. "I suppose we'll have to continue on our way. We can't stay here forever, and Heldren knows this. I'm certain he'll figure it out when arrives, and finds us gone."

The men's voices faded as the tavern door fell shut. Cyrus brimmed with unease, and hurried to finish his food. Once done, he tossed an extra copper on the table, and slipped through the doorway. A dim corridor led him to the bedroom the barmaid mentioned.

Once inside, Cyrus lit the lantern hung beside the door, and scanned the room. Moonlight streamed through the window, gracing the single straw cot with a silver curtain. Both the nightstand and wardrobe were made from redwood, and a writing desk lined the wall beneath the window.

'For five copper a night, this isn't so bad,' Cyrus thought. He tossed his cloak onto the desk, then latched the door with a thick wooden beam. From there, he retired to the straw cot, and tucked his coin purse beneath the sack pillow.

The cot crinkled as he laid back, allowing his body to sink into the straw. He retrieved his amulet, brushing the tree as the moonlight reflected off the bronze. His fingers tingled from the cool metal. 

'I'll need to search the city for a scholar tomorrow. Hopefully someone will know something about this,' Cyrus thought. He sighed, dropping the amulet back to his chest, and glanced out the window. Thick white clouds drifted through the night sky, their depths outlined by the brilliant radiance of the moon.

Beyond, the night sky sparkled as the stars flickered amidst the sea of black. Cyrus watched them until his eyes drifted shut, and he fell into a slumber.

A heavy fog blanketed the streets as Cyrus emerged from the tavern, tugging his cloak tighter. His breath puffed from his lips as he breathed in the crisp air, and shook off the remnants of sleep. Behind him, the door creaked open as someone slipped past, muttering their apologies. 

Cyrus gave a slight nod, and stepped off the stoop, making his way towards the center of Galeden. As he walked, the city came to life, clattering as doors and windows swung open, releasing the aroma of fresh eggs and porridge, while the morning calls echoed as the citizens began their preparations for the day.

To avoid any unwanted attention, Cyrus kept his hood low, and stayed near the edge of the road, beneath the eaves of the buildings. His destination was the market place, which he felt would provide the best results when searching for someone, despite not knowing who he was searching for in the first place. 

'This is going to be a long morning,' Cyrus thought, turning the corner. A crowd blocked the street forward, packed shoulder to shoulder around an old well. Their backs were tense as they stood in eerie silence. 'What are they doing?'

With a frown, he scooted along the wall, peeking through the crowd as he pushed towards the other side. A pale man in a black robe stood proudly at the center, his wild hazel eyes bouncing beneath his thick arched brow. His narrow cheeks flushed bright red as he threw up his arms, and parted his wire thin lips.

"Hear me, people of Galeden! I come from the temples of Dilthane to warn you of the dangers of magic, which is still as real today, as it has been for centuries! Don't you know there are still beings out there, who wield unnatural power. Power they've acquired through dark ways, and which they use against people such as yourselves! They roam these lands, still free as they lurk through the forests, and hide in the mountains, waiting for an unsuspecting man or woman!"

The man shook his fists, one of which clenched tightly around a silver pendant, shaped in the form of a withered rose wrapped around a cracked sword. An amethyst was nestled into the swords pommel. "We know not what they are capable of, only that it is dangerous, and terrifying! I ask you to think of your wives, your husbands, your sons and your daughters! Their futures remain uncertain as long as these beings remain free and wild!"

Cyrus flinched as the crowd erupted into a fury, jostling him with their elbows and shoulders. Lowering his head, he hurried onwards, his pace brisk until the noise faded into the calls of the market. There, the citizens of Galeden filled the street, their coin purses snapping open and closed as they bustled between the wooden stalls and open shops in the early morning. 

Choosing to forget the priest, Cyrus found himself swept in by the flow of people, his mouth watering from the sweet scents in the air, while the odd trinket here and there caught his eye. Nearby, a group of men gathered around a merchant selling hammers and nails, their voices hushed as they discussed different projects. Occasionally, they'd glance over their shoulders as their wives and daughters picked through the stalls and shops ladened with cloth. With sleek and time trained fingers, they tested the wool, and examined the silk.

'Gods above. Where do I even start?' Cyrus wondered. He stepped to the side as a group of children darted past, chasing a leather ball. 

Overhead, the light of the sun trickled through the buildings, turning the tendrils of fog into gold. Tightening his grip on his pack, he glanced between the stalls until he spotted one selling jars of ink and linen parchment. 

'There. If I was a scholar, then wouldn't I need supplies?'