Hollow Atraxia

The sign read “Fen Village”, it was painted on in deep black. The wood of the sign was weathered, belying the sense of new from the painted words. It stood on two posts in front of the crumbling stone wall that was opposite of the road to the actual village. Here was where the paved road began, a separate stretch branching off into the village while Fen Road disappeared out of sight to the North. It intrigued him, the village. He had been used to ruins like the temple. But, even while the other men passed the sight of the village by as less than normal, Octair stopped to stare.

He was careful not to reveal his awe at what seemed to the men to be ‘a mediocre village’. But a feeling he had never felt before welled up within his heart, it lifted his head and straightened his back. It put a small smile on his lips, and the fire back in his eyes. Pride. Not pride for anything he’d done, but rather for what his fellow men had done. They could create such wonderful things with their lives, things that had been long destroyed in his past. So he felt pride, for his fellow humans, he felt pride that the world was doing quite fine.

The wagon train was camped just outside the village, with minimal guards set to watch over it. It was only noon, but they were to spend until tomorrow morn here. Just about all of the men were in the village, which could almost be called a city in of itself. Tradition, going by what his fellow Royal Guard members said, deemed that they stayed in only the best inn for the night, and buy only the best ale. And those two things could only be found at Fen Inn; not the only inn and tavern in the village, but the largest and the highest of quality.

Alone, he walked through the streets of the village. There was one main street, paved directly to the center of the village. It was the busiest and the largest. At the very center of the village was the monument, a large stone tablet taller than any man with words engraved on it. HERE STANDS THE FINAL MOMENTS OF KING FEN was the only part of it easy to make out. The rest of the words which continued to fill most of the space on the table were somewhat small and read of various unimportant things. Mostly it was about the life of the king Fen. Surrounding the monument was a circle of houses, most of them had two stories with windows overlooking what could only be the market ‘square’. And a market was what it was, for all around there were vendors of different types and carts filled with different things, and different people haggling over a variety of items. The constant noise of everyone in the village made it impossible for him to make out anything of what the people were saying unless he stood a few feet away. He himself browsed the wares of the market square, never stopping for too long as he made his away around.

It wasn’t until he came upon a shop with many different clothes hung in display did he pull his coin purse out and think of buying. His armor was well and good, and would be for some time until he could afford better, but he also needed plain clothes. Especially if he were to match suit with the Princess. That though confused him immediately, he didn’t think he had any desire to be with Vivien. Even more so since she was someone of royalty, and he a mere mercenary. He shook his head to himself, he was getting too comfortable with the ways of this world.

Instead of turning away though, Octair entered the shop which filled out the entire first floor of the building. Immediately a small man, bowing his head and clasping his hands, approached him. “Welcome sir, I see you are in need of… fine clothing.” Octair, honest to himself, had no idea what he was doing. So no matter how full of remarks the man was he would gladly take his help. “Yes, I do need… something. Plain clothes. I’m not sure what to wear though… or buy.”

For a moment the man seemed to size him up, looking over him this way and that, sometimes even fiddling with the clothes he wore. “Hm. Yes, well. A gold mark, nothing less, and I’ll go about measuring your fit. There’s need for assurance that you can pay, you see…” Before the man had even finished speaking Octair had pulled out his coin purse and held out one gold coin. He immediately took it, never showing any surprise at the jingle in Octair’s purse, but he felt as if the man was ripping him off. One gold mark though, was only one of fourteen in his purse.

Before long the man had Octair’s armor off, even with much reluctance on Octair’s part, the man seemed to be pulling off his armor and and clothes as if it were his business. Though, he supposed it was. At one point, as Octair had handed him the last of everything but his breeches, the man carefully eyed the few clothes Octair had with extreme interest. Bewilderment, Octair thought it was, and he could guess why. The clothes he had worn were subtly different from those of any he had yet seen in this world. Not much different, but to the trained eye of the tailor it made all the difference. He didn’t remark though, not until he turned back to Octair and saw him in his whole, without the covering of all his clothes. His skin, bare, showing the testament of his past. Then the man suddenly got a strangely soft look in eyes, and smiled a very gentle smile as he patted Octair’s shoulder. He thought he heard him mumble, “poor boy…” but it was too quiet for him to make out.

Soon after that Octair was once again fully armored and on his way down the street. The man hadn’t asked for more money, and instead assured Octair that he would have his new clothes brought to him tonight. Octair hadn’t bothered to ask how he knew where he’d be tonight.

The village was a lively place, more than anything he could have imagined. And the experiences of the village were by far more than anything he had read. It was a large place, yet at the same time very small. He continued walking until he found himself at the edge of the forest, on a dirt trail that was the boundary between village life and forest dwelling. The forest seemed comparatively dark from where he stood in the light of the open village, giving more sway to the separation of the two. And it was the dark of the forest, strangely enough, that called to him with gentle voices.

“You can stand there all ya like,” chirped a voice nearby. He turned to stare at the source, an elderly woman in rag clothing even worse for wear than his own, standing at the entrance to a hovel at the edge of town. It was the only hovel, he noticed, that was facing towards the forest and not away from it. “Pray, just don’t go in. Silly beasts know enough not to eat ya where ye stand, but take one foot in those woods and mark me good, they’ll gobble you right up!” After what could only be a warning, the woman ducked back inside her hovel, shutting the door tightly behind her. He turned back to the forest, again feeling a longing for it as the darkness materialized in his sight.

But he wasn’t eager to return to a world like that of which he came, so instead he stepped away and made his direction back towards the center of town. It was at the inn he would find the pleasure of company he sought, the warmth of friends and of fire. He never looked back at the forest, and he never saw the glaring eyes watching him from the darkness as he strode away.

The Fen Inn wasn’t hard to find, just like the men had made it sound, it was the largest building in the entire town. It was still only two stories high, but the building stood on a corner and walking around it one could see the vastness of it. There was a main entrance on one side of the corner, where the tavern obviously sat, and on the other was a side entrance with the stable. The entire inn was the size of eight large houses put together. And, judging by the number of windows, had a great deal many rooms. It was indeed worthy of a princess staying here.

Rather than enter the bustling tavern where the main entrance to the inn lay, he chose the side entrance and found himself in the stables. It was packed with horses, one in almost every stall out of a long row of stalls, and they nickered and eyed him suspiciously as he passed by the front of them. The men who rode horseback during the journey, many of them Royal Guardsmen, hadn’t been permitted to let their horses in the town. Instead they were cared and watched over by servants in the outlying field, as much of a field as it could be with all of the trees. Octair had seen the princess ride horseback into town upon a gilded horse, only four other men had accompanied her on horseback and one of them had been Larro. She had been wearing her leather armor, but still managed to look noble, and the people of the town had noticed, bowing or cheering as she passed.

As Octair passed a stall he noticed a beautiful horse, and on the railing of the stall was a gilded saddle. The princess’s horse, he recognized it to be, which meant she was already inside. Not a surprise, she had ridden the horse here after all. He approached the stall and watched as the horse gradually sauntered over to him. When he held out his hand to pet the horse affectionately he was interrupted by a small rustle above him. Immediately his hand went to his sword, but he didn’t unsheathe it as he stepped back to peer up at the face of a child. The boy was laying in the hayloft above the princess’s horse, a lopsided grin on his face. “Oi, sir. The punishment for horse-thieving be death here, you know. But I s’pose if you were willin to risk your life for just any horse it might as well be her Highness’s.”

Octair lowered his hand from his sword and went back to the stall with the princess’s horse, ignoring the boy as he dropped down beside him. The horse gratefully accepted the hand that pet it.

“Uwah, sorry sir, guess you not be a thief. That horse knows you, alright. Wouldn’t even approach me when I offered friendship. That there horse is mighty trained, fer sure. Pardon me for askin, sir, but you don’t much look like one of the soldiers, but yer wearin armors like one?”

Octair was having a hard time discerning if that had even been a question, but shook his head before saying he was a mercenary hired to the princess.

“That explains it, then. So you’ll be stayin here like the rest of them? Just make sure ol’ Brolly knows yer one of ‘em or it’ll cost it ya double.”

“Where can I find him?”

“He ain’t hard to spot, sir, he’s mighty wide if you know what I mean, wears a greasy apron like I figure every innkeeper does, and the only hair on his head is his beard. You’ll find him right good.”

Octair nodded his thanks to the boy and walked to the door that lead into the inn. When he looked back, the boy was still at the princess’s stall, gazing at the horse within.

Immediately inside he was confronted by a few choices as to where to go. To his right he could hear clangs and noises of a kitchen, he could smell the meats they were cooking as well, making his mouth water in appetite. To his left were a set of stairs leading to the second floor. But the tone of a lute caught and held his attention from directly ahead. With it were many voices, some of them singing, some of them cheering and yelling, amidst it all were many other sounds. But he heard only the lute, and his heart skipped a beat as he took a step forward towards the noise. First, the sight of many men came into view. It was a large common room, with a dozen large wooden tables scattered about and benches along the walls, with chairs everywhere. Serving girls fluttered about, bearing food and cups to the men who sat at the tables. When the entire common room came into view he saw the small platform at the very front and his eyes rose to the man playing the lute. His heart sank as he looked upon the face of the man, not recognizing him for a friend he thought he was.

It was silly of him, he realized, hoping for a friend to be here, to be alive. Him being here was miracle enough, but a second was too much to hope for. The lute was different from the one he had seen his friend play, but still a lute with it’s oval shape and strings to play by. The man thrummed the strings, producing a steady tune by which some of the men in the common room, mostly those that had a mite too much to drink, were singing a song to. They weren’t very good at it, but it lightened the atmosphere in the inn and put a smile on every face.

And at the very center of it all was Elk. The large man stood out in a crowd, easily a few heads taller than anyone. He had his own cup, which was frothing over as he swung it this way and that in good cheer. He didn’t sing though and Octair decided that might be a good thing.

The boy had been right about the innkeeper, although not a spectacularly outstanding man to spot, he did, nonetheless, stand out. With his bald head and short, scruffy beard he could have been taken as any other of the men in the tavern. Except he was the only person here who was rather… large. And not in a muscular way, his stomach bulged out over his belt and was even more notable by his apron that hung off of it and never touched his legs. Octair met the man close to another door to the kitchen, which was fittingly large for the inn. There the man stood, arms crossed, smiling at the patrons to his establishment. He had noticed Octair approach, and turned to him as he closed the distance. “What can I do for ya?”

Octair turned his head and eyed the common room, thinking of his options. He remembered what the boy had said and started with, “I’m another soldier in the Royal Guard, staying the night here like all the rest.”

The innkeeper eyed him dubiously. “That don’t look like no standard wear for a Royal Guard. How can I be sure you’re not just swindling me for a discount?”

He frowned for a moment before his eyes came to rest on Elk, who was still merrily drinking. The happiest he had seen him since he had met him. Octair pointed to Elk, and with Elk’s size it was only too obvious who it was he was pointing to. “Elk, there, can vouch for me if you’d like.”

For a moment the innkeeper stared intently at him, frowning in consternation before suddenly laughing loudly. “Aye! Elk? I’ve known the giant almost all me life! That you even know his name proves everything just fine. It’ll be four silver for everything ye need, you don’t have to pay the full gold. I’ll get ya a fine room upstairs for ya.” He whistled loudly, which was impressive given his stature, and waved. A servant girl hustled over quickly, “show this fine lad to the baths, when he’s done show him on up to his own room.” The servant girl smiled up at him, it was a weak smile showing her exhaustion from working with such a busy inn. But he smiled back and followed her as she led him back down the hall, stopping midway to open a door for him to go through. “This is the entrance to the baths,” she spoke in a small voice, “the next room has all you need, leave your things in this room, please. When you’re done I’ll show you to your room.” She left then, closing the door behind her, leaving Octair alone in the room. There was another door opposite to the one he came in, where he suspected the baths to be. The room he was currently in wasn’t very large, but had wooden benches built into the wall all around.

Octair sighed with acceptance as he removed his sword and laid it on the bench, then began removing all other clothes. Uncomfortably naked, he felt vulnerable as any man should be without a weapon, and opened the second door. Steam assaulted him as he entered into the second room. It covered his skin with warm moisture, making him even more uncomfortable. This room was much larger than the other. Seven copper tubs were lined up against the farther wall, already full with steaming water. To his right, the wall that held the door he came through had stools lined up with wooden shelves in front holding soap and brushes, along with a bucket of similarly hot water by the stool. It was to his left that he noticed another servant. The boy was without a shirt, and he looked up at Octair from where he sat on the floor. His mouth opened, as if in surprise, before he quickly looked away.

Octair looked upon the boy, his skin clear and without any noticeable scarring. He smiled to himself, thinking that that was the way it should be. He went to one of the stools first, and there he began a diligent washing. Using both the soap and a brush, he scrubbed away a weeks worth of grime before dumping the contents of the bucket over his head. He held no embarrassment for washing in the company of another, even when that company stole glances at him when he thought he wouldn’t notice. The water of the bath was hot, but not impractically so. He allowed himself a small sigh of enjoyment as he sank into the water, dunking his head once before relaxing. It was a surprise the room wasn’t full, with the number of men staying the night at the inn.

After a while the water became lukewarm and his skin pruned, he decided then it was time enough for relaxing. The servant boy was still doing his best to look away as Octair got out of the tub and made his way to the door. He stopped just before leaving, and said without turning away from the door, “is there anything to dry myself with?” After a moment the boy replied, looking away from him, “there will be a towel.” Octair grunted, a little confused as to why he was being treated in such a manner, then went into the other room where the air was much cooler. There was a towel, like the boy had said, and everything but his belt-knife and boots were missing. As he dried himself off with the towel, he stared down at the clothes that now sat where his others would have been. Then he thought back to the tailor, promising to get new clothes to him by the end of the day.

It was a tunic of black and white, a soft, long-sleeved collared shirt that buttoned up nicely was half black and half white, separated down the middle, the sleeves were black where the torso was white, the cuffs were the same way, and the collar was entirely black. It fit him well, good work by the tailor himself no less. The pants reached to his ankles and were entirely black along with the socks. His boots, though black, were faded and didn’t go entirely well with the tunic. Strapping the belt-knife on, he left to the hall feeling renewed.

In the hall awaited the previous serving girl, this time her smiled had much more energy to it when she looked him up and down. “Looks good on you sir. Just this way to your room, if you please.” Again, he felt naked without his sword and hoped to find it and his armor waiting for him in his room. So he followed close behind her as she led him up the flight of stairs and past a great many rooms until she stopped in front of his and opened the door for him. “This is it, sir. If you wish for anything, just ask and it’ll be free of charge.” She gave him another smile before leaving back the way they came. Inside was more lavish than he had anticipated, there was an actual bed for one thing and a wardrobe against the wall for another. A thick rug was spread across most of the room and a small table sat against the window overlooking the street. The bed wasn’t as amazing as the one he had seen in Princess’s wagon, but it would be the best one he had ever used. The only one he had ever used, actually. And as he had hoped, his things were on that very bed, the servant girl must have brought them beforehand. Outside the window the sky was already dark, but the town was not so. Lamps dotted the streets, on poles or hanging from building walls, and they were already lit with a small flame. By itself, the flame wasn’t much to cast away the dark of night, but altogether they lit the streets enough one could comfortably walk through them.

Octair was a little disappointed he had wasted so much daylight wandering around the town. But he convinced himself that perhaps in the morning tomorrow there would be enough time for him to really see what the town had to offer. For now, he though of food and grabbed his coin purse sitting next to his sword. He didn’t think it was necessary to bring the sword; he wouldn’t be leaving the inn.

Opening the door to his room, he could hear the merriment of the men still below. Instead of heading directly for the stairs though, he turned the opposite way and began to walk by all the rooms. A door opened to his right and a man, a soldier presumably by his rough appearance, stepped out into the hallway. Octair nodded in solemn greeting to the man, who nodded similarly in response, and as he passed he glimpsed into the room he had come from. Expecting to see a room like his own, he was surprised as inside opened up into one much larger room. Beds, not quite as nice as his own, crowded the large room inside. A few men were already snoring restfully on a few.

The door closed soon after he had passed by, and he didn’t look back as the man walked the way he had come, creaking the wood with every step as he made it to the corner where the stairs were. Continuing around a corner, Octair almost stopped and slinked back around the corner, out of sight. Here, a new hallway out of sight from his room, stood two guards dressed in the armor of Royal Guardsmen. He didn’t recognize them; there were many of the Royal Guard he hadn’t met yet. They stood on both sides of a door, their postures not lazy but not alert. The door they guarded was one of only three doors on that side of the hallway and the other two were placed well away from it, hinting to it being a rather larger room than the rest. There was only one reason men would be up here guarding a large room while the others were below enjoying themselves and that was the princess.

Since he didn’t recognize the men, he doubted they recognized him. Praising his good choice of new clothes, he began to walk by without so much as a glance when the door opened. Cursing his bad timing, he stopped, knowing that he would never make it around the next corner without causing alarm and suspicion, and watched as a person he hadn’t expected walked into the hallway. “Octair!” Larro called to him with unexpected bonhomie, and strode to meet him. “Almost didn’t recognize you in those clothes,” his hand made a motion summing up Octair’s appearance, “same unruly hair I see. What are you doing up here, while there’s drink and excitement downstairs?”

His glee was infectious, and Octair found himself smiling along with him. “Just walking. What about you? What are you doing coming out of her Highness’s room?”

Larro laughed, “Had you fooled, didn’t they?” He nodded towards the two guards, “they’re guarding my room, actually, as a distraction. Every bloody fool on the street knows the princess is here, why point out exactly where with a couple of guards? No, she’s in the bigger room next over. There are, of course, men inside.”

Octair had to admit, he had been completely fooled. He had assumed royal entourage meant royal confidant. But the tactic impressed him, and he saw Larro in a new light. “Going down to join the rest now?”

“Yea.”

“I’ll come with, then.” Larro gave him a puzzled look, but that disappeared as they made their way to the stairs down. Halfway down the stairs, the puzzled look came back. “You walk very quietly,” Larro poked at him. Octair’s steps didn’t make any noise like Larro’s did. “Yea,” he said nonchalantly, “it’s a habit.” They didn’t talk further as they finally made their way towards all of the carousal. The tavern was still as full with raucous men as before, though he didn’t see Elk among them. Atop the small platform, the man with the lute still played. He probably couldn’t stop if he wanted to. “I’m going to get something to eat, how about you?” Octair turned back to Larro to see him frowning at the scene of the tavern. He only shook his head in mute response and continued frowning at all the men. Wondering why, Octair followed his gaze to the more inebriated few. There were more than there had been before. Better yet, he didn’t see any place to sit, a lot of men were standing with their drinks and nowhere to go.

So he sighed and gave Larro a look that told him not to wait on him and turned to the door to the kitchen. The innkeeper hadn’t been in the tavern, but he did find him here. Standing with his arms crossed and a pained expression on his face, he stood listening while a woman as large as he shook a plump finger at his nose. The woman had a hard expression on her face and wore an apron even dirtier than the innkeepers. Her hair was covered by a white scarf and her mouth moved in angry speech. Octair couldn’t hear what was being said, even if it did seem to be none too quiet, as many other women were making noises of the kitchen. All of them eyed the innkeeper and the woman with amused expressions on their faces, as if this were a common thing.

He found himself feeling sorry for the innkeeper, but opted not to interfere. Instead he caught the attention of a nearby girl. “If it isn’t too much…” he pointed out the innkeepers situation with his eyes, “…trouble, might I have something to eat?” She turned to the innkeeper and the woman then smiled at him. “No trouble at all, sir. I’ll get you a plate, so you can just make yourself comfortable in the common room.” He nodded, thinking it a good idea, if only he could somewhere to sit.

That worry was unnecessary, he saw, as he went back out into the common room. Some men who had been enjoying the festivities far too much now stood to the side, still as cheery as before. Larro was seated at a table near the corner, and with him was Neth. Octair joined them, sitting across from Neth, wondering when the man had shown up. “How did you manage to convince them?” he asked, nodding to the drunken men now trying very poorly to dance to the music of the lute. At least they weren’t bothering with trying to sing anymore.

Larro flashed him a grin, “benefits of rank.” Octair opened his mouth to try and jibe Larro with a sarcastic comment, but was interrupted by a steaming plate of food setting down in front of him. His mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth as he eyed the strange, but appetizing, contents of the plate. The plate wasn’t small, by far, and held different foods. Meat he didn’t recognize took up most of the plate, then there was a small bowl of dark brown soup, and lastly a strange, round vegetable with brown skin. Faintly did he recognize it as a potato before he had taken a quick bite of it. It was hot, almost too hot, and the flavor wasn’t wonderful but something about it was just delicious. It was gone before the serving girl even had the chance to ask them what they would like to drink.

Neth ignored the conversation, only staring between Octair and the plate of food. Larro, though, spoke up for all three of them. Requesting ale all around, he leaned into giving the girl a flirtatious look. Octair continued to eat, the potato already gone and the soup almost so as well, watching the other two with faint amusement. Towards Larro especially, he had seen how ridiculous flirting could become and watched as the girl ignored Larro’s insinuations with delight. He waited until the girl had gone and Larro had settled back with a grimace to actually laugh.

Larro directed his grimace at Octair, “I’d like to see you try.”

He had to put down the leg, at least he thought it was a leg, of meat before he actually spoke. “I’d much rather watch, I can be much more appreciative of it that way.” Larro only grunted. “What is this by the way?” Octair didn’t wait for the answer before continuing to eat.

“Chicken,” he said bluntly, then eyed the drunk men as they started to sing to a new tune. Neth was as silent as ever, now he sat not really looking at anything. Octair had cleaned the plate by the time the serving girl had returned with three mugs of ale in hand. She took away his plate with an odd smile at him while he gazed into the wooden mug suspiciously. The liquid was as brown as his soup was, it wasn’t what stopped him from immediately chugging it down though. Out of the corner of his eye he looked to the drunk and foolhardy men suspiciously and at what they were drinking. But he was thirsty, and he wasn’t one to refuse what was kindly offered to him, so he took a cautious sip. The taste surprised him, it was bitter. So bitter it was almost sweet. He took a second taste, this time rolling it around his mouth thoughtfully. He decided he liked it, not enough, he thought offhand listening to the failed attempt at singing by the men, to drink to such a state. So when all three had finished, and Larro had offered another, he politely refused.

There was no telling when the drunken men would sober, most likely not until after a nights rest. And no one could tell when they would give up their attempts at singing. Instead of waiting so see, Octair casually stood and bid the two men a good night, then made a prompt return to his room. His sword was still on the bed, where he had left it, and the rest that he owned was the same. Picking up his chain-mail shirt, he stared at the crescent-moon emblem with nostalgia. To think, not long ago, taking off his armor would have been unimaginable. Now he strode about without even a proper weapon. Sighing, he decided he was getting too soft in this peaceful world, and moved everything off the bed and over to the table. A quick glance out the window showed only a couple midnight strollers on the streets, he partially closed it so the light would still shine in. His sword he left standing against the wall by his bed. He still felt ridiculous in the black and white clothes he wore, but it wasn’t a feeling of dislike. Not wanting to ruin bran new clothes, he decided not to sleep in them and slid beneath the warm sheets of the bed with nothing but his briefs. It was more comfortable than he had imagine, and already he was dozing off. When sleep finally took up he let it with no worries. No princess, and no monsters, invaded his peaceful dreams.