It was still dark when the rider made his way into Estolad. The sun was beginning to bloom in the east, and tendrils of orange and red streaked the far horizon and ended the pitch-black night, but the dark was still thick around them and shadows were everywhere. He could see very little except for the occasional candle in a window, for no lights lit the streets and the moon had fallen down to the west. Sera progressed slowly unsure of where he was going, or even if he were in the right town; he was doing little more than walking aimlessly in the night.
Still, he found his salvation before the first edge of the sun came up, for the small Kaima Inn was still lit up and he could see the sign in the dim light, but he smiled when could see people inside moving back and forth in front of the windows. They were not crowded this early, luckily, and he took a deep breath. Seraphiel was no savage, he did not live on the dirt unless he was forced to. The thought of a nice bed was a warming thought, and he would welcome the suspicion wrought by his appearance merely if he had a warm place to sleep. The thought was merely too tempting to pass up, so as he came closer he dismounted his faithful steed, and led him to the side of the building. They had a small stable built, and he tied his horse up and removed its saddle and bridle. Khazid’hea looked at him thankfully, and he realized how tired the both of them truly were. The both of them needed a quick respite.
The rider moved back to the front entrance, and pushed aside the door. The old tarnished hinges wailed painfully, and he glanced at the door briefly as he stepped inside. The owner of the establishment, a burly man with a crooked nose that appeared to have been broke recently, saw him first. A woman who appeared to be his wife began speaking well before she saw him, but that didn’t stop her obvious surprise. “Welcome,” she said while sweeping, “Do you need a…” she stopped having turned to see the large rider, “… room for the… day.” Sera merely brushed her surprise off as nothing out of the ordinary, and looked at the bartender. The door closed behind him as he approached the man, and bowed slightly.
“Greetings,” Sera said nonchalant, “Would you be so kind as to allow me a room for the night?” Before the man could answer, however, Sera had pulled a small bag of gold coins from his belt and laid it upon the counter. The man, surprised yet again, began searching through a large book next to him, and he nodded.
“Yes, of course,” he said turning around to grab a key hanging from the wall, “Here you are. Room 3 on the upper floor.” He said as he handed the key over to the rider. Sera again bowed, and pushed the bag a bit closer to the man as he did so. He did not even take the time to watch as the man ripped it opened and began counting the gold. He was not surprised, either, when he heard the both of them cackling happily as he made his way to his room. The door to the room creaked just as loud as the one downstairs, but he disregarded the sound and pushed on inside. It was poor, barely furnished, and not decorated in any manner. There was a small table, two chairs, a bed, a bin to wash in and a chest of drawers. It was probably the poorest room in the entire inn, but had no qualms about it.
Seraphiel removed his armor and sat it aside. He placed both of his blades beside it in a corner, and then covered them all with his cloak. Locking the door first, he drew himself a bath. He could barely fit in the tub, but he managed to clean himself thoroughly without much trouble. When he was finished he dawned a new pair of breeches and a tunic, and laid down upon the bed. After a few moments his eyes closed and he drifted off into sleep, and remained there for several hours even as the sun came up…
Business had been slow for Mrs. Kaima and her solitary inn in the village of Estolad. She once recalled a time when all of her beds were filled, the dining lounge primed with conversation, and pockets bulging with coins to boot. She lived for these happy days and good attendance, for it gave her something to pass the time and an amalgamation of people to meet. It was nice to have a variety of patrons with whom she could converse, make meals for, and pry herself away from the mundane rituals of a small-town inn keeper’s wife. But the momentum of regular guests had dwindled with the coming of the war for Arda’s moon. She had to put away her large baking pans and stare at her empty beds, with only her only husband for company. Since then her inn had gone past its prime. The usual upkeep, favored with activity, was dwindling. The dust had settled where, once jolly, travelers has turned to stay.
But Kaima was always terribly empty. They were once graced with the presence of a tired traveler, where they would find temporary solace. And, just like the night before, someone had appeared in through her wooden doorframe requiring the services of the only inn in Estolad. This time it wasn’t the hulking dark figure of a stranger that had crossed the threshold, but a more familiar, handsome face. She had been busy, admiring her empty reservations book in the front of the lodge when the early morning had brought her, her savior. His broad shoulders swayed slightly with a competent swagger. The sun was shinning behind him casting his features in shadow, yet she had an expert memory to know that this man was no stranger to her establishment. He entered the same ways with every passing. Pushing the door open just enough to be framed in the doorway, then moving up towards the counter to let the door shut itself behind him. She watched him approach until his face fell into the light streaming in from the outside morning sun.
His features were always sharp and clean, his eyes framed under strong brows, and his hair short and non-encumbering over his brilliant gaze. He was always tanned and his skin seemed to glow healthily even in the dimmest light. He was the kind of man she would have liked her daughter to bring home, or if she was just a few years younger… When their eyes met in greeting he welcomed her with a straight-toothed grin and she could feel herself flush, and her hand reaching up to self-consciously primp her graying curls. He was one of her most charming guests that often passed by, who seemed to travel often, and had called himself Jupiter. Just Jupiter.
“Why hello Jupiter!” She beamed, despite herself, as he stopped just in front of her podium to polite smile in return. “Lodging up for a room tonight?”
“Oh, I was just stopping through,” He answered, his tone as relaxed and calming as always. Jupiter tore his eyes away from hers and seemed to he eyeing the dining area just over her shoulder, “I was actually hoping to indulge in some breakfast, if it weren’t too much trouble?”
Her face lit up in excitement. Finally she had more than one mouth to feed! And there was another upstairs to join in the excitement; oh, how her day was looking up already. Her mind seemed to be revving with anticipation so that she almost forgot she had failed to answer her striking guest. “Oh why of course Jupiter! I was just going to put the buns in the oven.” Mrs. Kaima gave him a subtle wink as she turned to lead him in towards the tables. The weaved silently through the maze of furniture until she had seated him in their biggest, roundest dining table, which she hoped he would appreciate. Her small feet were shuffling about, to make sure he was comfortable, and, only when he was seated, did she come to a rest at his side, peering down at him jovially. “Fresh squeezed juice?”
He was removing his traveling cloak now, to hang it on the back of his chair, he stopped for a moment and his lips curled into a small appreciative smile. She beamed back and rushed into the kitchen across the room, happy to finally be serving someone familiar, more humanly, and attractive. From inside the kitchen, she removed the clothes from her rising dough and set them in her wood-burning stove, where the heat would rise and radiate off the stone walls for an even browning.
From the dismal setting of the dining area, Vaudeux listened to the inn keeper’s wife scurry away behind him, and adopted a disgusted look as soon as she dissapered. Sometimes the trials of being polite were tiresome, especially with the admiring gazes and longing from those around him. Not like he didn’t appreciate her service or the deserved attention to his ample visage, for it was the longing to enjoy a good meal and not the company of the righteous do-gooders of Estolad. Estolad, where he was treated like a king in the small Inn, the nicest and dustiest table, and the warm food that was soon to fuel his travel-worn body. Contemplating sinking his teeth into the hard shell and soft centers of a loaf, he gazed upwards to the wooded ceiling, support beams crisscrossing in a mismatched pattern, a shrewd grin flecked from the corners of his mouth.