16 Vhalar 716
The cool air brushed against what little skin she had exposed, mostly her face and neck. The tip of her nose was rose-colored, and she squinted at the brisk wind that blew. She was used to the Hotlands, and this cool weather did nothing to improve her spirits. At her side was her longsword, and across her back her bow. Her quiver jostled with every movement, and the sound of the wooden-shafted arrows clanking together soothed her. Each step brought her closer to her job, to excitement... To Death Nell.
Her cloak was drawn close over her black-and-red leather armor, but it did little to abate the chill in her bones. She hated the cold, and she knew that the sooner she killed the damn beasts, the sooner she'd be back in the tavern, warming herself with fire and whisky. She grimaced against the chill and marched on, clearing her mind of such intrusions.
The farmstead in question, owned by one Phillius Gribben, was a half-trial's walk from the city gates. She considered riding Brigid, her horse, but instead chose to keep the horse out of danger. If the wolves slipped by her, they could kill her horse, and she'd be severely upset by the loss of the animal. Not that she cared much about the horse itself. It was necessary to her. Sure, she felt something for it, but not enough to cry herself to sleep.
Her boots crunched over the dirt and stone as she drew to the door. The lantern in the window was lit, and she knew they were sitting to supper. She could smell seared meat, likely pork, and buttered potatoes. The thought made her mouth water, but she wasn't there to eat. She could do that later. With a gloved hand, she knocked hard on the door. She was sure she startled the older couple, because she heard clanging of tableware, as if they'd dropped it in their surprise. Wooden chair legs on wooden floors, and the door swung open.
Farmer Gribben and his wife stood, plainly dressed and haggard-looking. Phil, as he liked to be called by his friends, wore a few trials' stubble and deep purple bags under his eyes, and his wife Tessa looked no better. Her hair, usually lustrous honey blonde, was graying and frazzled. Nell, who looked radiant next to the two, frowned at them.
"Ya here fer the job?" Phil's voice, deep and heavy, sounded exhausted and defeated. Nell's curt nod was all he got, and he invited her in. As he heated a kettle for tea, Tessa told her about the issue in detail.
"It started in Saun... See, we've been raisin' sheep an' cattle for food an' milk, an' the wolves're drawn to'em. An' they come 'bout thrice a week. Slaughter an' eat 'em. Stupid wolves, thems for us to eat." Her voice cracked, and Nell frowned. She didn't say anything to comfort the woman, didn't say anything at all. Instead, she let Phil wrap his sinewy arm around her shoulder, a piece of fried pork hanging from his mouth.
"Look, all's we're needin' is them wolves dead. We don't care hows, just as long as they don't eat our sheeps. Been spendin' more nels tryin' ta keep them alive than they're worth." Farmer Gribben sat down, staring hard at Nell and her weaponry. He noticed the colors of her armor, but if he recognized them, he said nothing. Instead, he offered Nell a wooden plate with pork on it.
"Not hungry. Price is forty-five gold nels, agreed?" Her crystal blue eyes watched every movement of the farmer and his wife. They nodded eagerly, and Nell wasted no more time. She stood quickly, causing the two hosts to nearly topple over themselves in terror. "Show me the carnage."
Her cloak was drawn close over her black-and-red leather armor, but it did little to abate the chill in her bones. She hated the cold, and she knew that the sooner she killed the damn beasts, the sooner she'd be back in the tavern, warming herself with fire and whisky. She grimaced against the chill and marched on, clearing her mind of such intrusions.
The farmstead in question, owned by one Phillius Gribben, was a half-trial's walk from the city gates. She considered riding Brigid, her horse, but instead chose to keep the horse out of danger. If the wolves slipped by her, they could kill her horse, and she'd be severely upset by the loss of the animal. Not that she cared much about the horse itself. It was necessary to her. Sure, she felt something for it, but not enough to cry herself to sleep.
Her boots crunched over the dirt and stone as she drew to the door. The lantern in the window was lit, and she knew they were sitting to supper. She could smell seared meat, likely pork, and buttered potatoes. The thought made her mouth water, but she wasn't there to eat. She could do that later. With a gloved hand, she knocked hard on the door. She was sure she startled the older couple, because she heard clanging of tableware, as if they'd dropped it in their surprise. Wooden chair legs on wooden floors, and the door swung open.
Farmer Gribben and his wife stood, plainly dressed and haggard-looking. Phil, as he liked to be called by his friends, wore a few trials' stubble and deep purple bags under his eyes, and his wife Tessa looked no better. Her hair, usually lustrous honey blonde, was graying and frazzled. Nell, who looked radiant next to the two, frowned at them.
"Ya here fer the job?" Phil's voice, deep and heavy, sounded exhausted and defeated. Nell's curt nod was all he got, and he invited her in. As he heated a kettle for tea, Tessa told her about the issue in detail.
"It started in Saun... See, we've been raisin' sheep an' cattle for food an' milk, an' the wolves're drawn to'em. An' they come 'bout thrice a week. Slaughter an' eat 'em. Stupid wolves, thems for us to eat." Her voice cracked, and Nell frowned. She didn't say anything to comfort the woman, didn't say anything at all. Instead, she let Phil wrap his sinewy arm around her shoulder, a piece of fried pork hanging from his mouth.
"Look, all's we're needin' is them wolves dead. We don't care hows, just as long as they don't eat our sheeps. Been spendin' more nels tryin' ta keep them alive than they're worth." Farmer Gribben sat down, staring hard at Nell and her weaponry. He noticed the colors of her armor, but if he recognized them, he said nothing. Instead, he offered Nell a wooden plate with pork on it.
"Not hungry. Price is forty-five gold nels, agreed?" Her crystal blue eyes watched every movement of the farmer and his wife. They nodded eagerly, and Nell wasted no more time. She stood quickly, causing the two hosts to nearly topple over themselves in terror. "Show me the carnage."
