[Tags to
@DragonSong ]
The hunter deserved a darker road. That's what he told himself.
The forests of these Serenian Highlands had an ethereal majesty to them, one that made Decebal feel distinctly out of place. For a Connlaothian, the hunter had never felt like one of his countrymen. The memories of his past sunk in deep, and he knew no matter what he'd never been one of them, likely to never be.
Coming south had been a temporary relief however. It was better to keep wandering than to remain and let the shadows of his mind overcome him. Decebal kept the horse beneath him steady, easing his hand into the mane of the animal, as they trudged into the lonely village of Aveiard. Rain soaked the ground beneath them, hooves sinking into deep mud and hair clumping here and there.
The horse chuffed and paused when Decebal pulled back on the reins, instead walking with his mount, a gentle drizzle dotting the soft cloth of his hood. He kept his left arm hidden beneath his cloak, just so, and pulled the animal along with his right, keeping easy footing.
For Serenians, the locals didn't seem all that inviting here. But honestly he hadn't known what to expect. He reminded himself he wasn't here to socialize, except where necessary. He had a job to do, and finding the little fledgling that would lead him right to it. He'd managed to come this far on his own, seeking out the vampire Lorian Croft.
Some said he was killed long ago, gone from the face of the Earth. But Decebal knew better than to believe silly rumors. Still, those rumors had led him here to this very village. He hadn't hoped of finding his quarry right away. No, he still had a ways to go for that, however every step was one that brought him closer than before.
Decebal tied the horse at the stable, paying the young man there generously to care for his horse. He gave the animal a few light scratches on his nose, the cloth slipping from his left arm. Decebal eyed the burned and grotesque flesh there, meeting the stable hand's gaze. There were no words exchanged. Decebal turned around and walked away, stepping lightly into the tavern.
It was a start.
The tavern proper was well-maintained, if a little shabby but the village wasn't exactly swimming in gold. Decebal smiled and sat down at the bar. There the bartender welcomed him and nodded. "What can I top ya off with, friend? You clearly don't look like you're from around here."
"Oh, water for me. I haven't had a proper drink of water since coming down the road."
"Where ya hail from?"
"Connlaoth. I've come to Serendipity to get away from the war. And to look for an old friend. I got my last letter from this village. And I just hope that they're still around. Have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Gwen Cooper?" Decebal asked, taking a small sip from the tankard served to him.
[left it open for you to respond as you wish! Hope it's okay.]