The ‘inn’ really wasn’t worth the title.  It was a dilapidated building that barely contained five rooms including the stables.  The bar actually took up most of the floor space and the separate ‘rooms’ were more like closets with lice-ridden hay mattresses.  It was the type of place frequented by the rough and less-than-intelligent, or those that are in dire need of a place to stay a night. 

            The place was built behind an outcropping of rocks that sheltered it from most weather, which, up north, is nearly constant.  It hadn’t been built properly either, so the walls leaned into the rocks, giving the whole place a crooked and sinister look.  And in the darkness, with dim light seeping out from the gaps in the planking, it looked even worse.  And that was particularly why he chose to stop there.

            The man was covered in a heavy overcoat that went to his ankles.  It had a hood that covered his head.  On top of that was a large hat that could only be described as ‘floppy’.  The brim was so wide that it drooped at the edges and was as wide as his shoulders touching them at the tips.  The top of the hat was very tall, and pointed, but bent so it lay backwards hanging off the back brim.  Between the hood and the hat, only his chin was visible, and that just barely from the large collar of the overcoat.  Beneath the coat was a thin vest of chain mail that went to his thighs, tied at the waste by a leather belt that had a myriad of leather bags looped to it.  He wore shin-high boots that had at one point been black with polished silver buckles, but now was caked in layers of mud.  He carried a large walking stick that was a head taller than he was, and capped by a small green gem that, even under the grime of travel, seemed to faintly glow.

            He walked up to the old tavern and pushed his way through the cobbled-together plank door.  The conversation, what little there had been of it, continued as if the wind had merely passed through.  Four men, dressed in bright, heavy clothing sat huddled around a barrel topped with plankings serving as a table.  The man smirked slightly, and took a seat at the bar.  The innkeep walked over throwing a grimy towel over one large shoulder.  He was a hulking, brutish man dressed in warm fabrics and a dirty apron that seemed to be a size too small as the strings cut into his bulk.  He had a large grubby face pockmarked by patches of thick, frazzled hair that gave him a rather bushy appearance.  Two of his lower teeth were missing, and his breath smelled strongly of garlic, tobacco, and alcohol. 

            “Whaddya be havin’?” he drawled in a thick voice.  The innkeeper looked strangely at the man as though he was looking at a walking pile of detritus. 

            “Cider.  In as clean a glass as possible,” the man said quietly.  The innkeeper stared at him, and conversation abruptly died behind him.

            “Wha’ the ‘ell is syder?” he mouthed the word slowly, confusion running amok across his face.  The man took note of the four men at the table behind him rising slowly to their feet.

            “It’s a concoction made from fruit, generally apples,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

            “Apples, he said?  Hah!  Didja hear that mates?  He said apples.  Apparently, this fool can’t see from under his hat, cause obviously there ain’t be no trees outside ter grow apples!” the voice was high and full of mirth.  It belonged to a tall, wiry man wearing mostly scarlet, sitting at the table behind him. 

            “I dun sell none o’ that syder business.  I sell real drink ‘ere,” the innkeeper said defensively.  He kept his eyes on the stranger, avoiding eye contact with the four approaching the man, but sweat had begun to bead on his forehead.  The stranger noticed. 

            “Yeah, mate.  Real drink.  ‘Ere!  ‘Ave a beer, on us!” the fiery man dropped a gloved hand on the stranger’s shoulder brushing the hat.

            “I don’t drink piss.  If you don’t have cider, then wine will do.”

            “Piss he says?  Hey barman!  Diya ‘ear tha’?  said another of the four wearing mostly blues.  His voice was laced with venom. 

            “Apparently, you boys are itching for some action,” said the stranger.  Three of the four men grinned maliciously.  “That’s good,” he continued quietly.  “So was I.”

            A gust of wind came up, howling through the plankings of the door.  For a second, the fiery fellow looked like he might have had second thoughts, than used his pathetically useless logic to conclude the man before him was quiet, therefore weak.  Smiling again, the man in scarlet brought up his hand, and a ball of flame ignited with a spark. 

            The man changed position slightly on the bar stool.  The pyromancer mistook the movement for fear.  “That’s right floppy, I’m a pyromancer, and I’m bout ter fry your ass good.”

            The man reached up, flame building, and overturned his palm to slam the fireball straight down onto the man’s head.  But something happened that the pyromancer didn’t expect.  His arm fell off. 

The pyromancer looked dumbstuck for a second.  He had seen his hand fall to the floor.  He had watched it twitch slightly as the fireball died out in the palm.  He felt his side grow warm.  And then, after all that, his brain finally caught up with reality, and the crushing nonfeeling of shock hit him like a sledge and he began to scream.

The stranger finally turned around on the stool and stood up.  “Pyromancer, eh?” he said quietly.  “It’s a sad state of affairs when toothless morons such as yourselves know such small tricks.  But if you imagine yourselves mancers, then come at me.  Show me your tricks.”

The innkeeper dove out the back door.  And then the tavern exploded as a massive geyser ripped through the floorboards and then out the roof.  The aquamancer rode his water outside taking his three friends with him, the geomancer carrying their one-armed comrade.

“How was that fer a trick, ya floppy bastard?” said the aquamancer as he touched down some distance from the remnants of the tavern.

“Pretty lousy, I’ll grant you it had style, but brute strength is never a substitute for real skill,” the stranger’s voice had not risen even a small bit, as quiet as before, but coming from all directions, riding on the wind.

The four moved into a circle, back to back.  “Where ye at, come out an’ fight us fair!” shouted the geomancer.

“Fair, you say?  Four on one?  Well, three.  I think your friend has died from shock.” 

The geomancer let the still body slump to the ground.  “You’ll pay fer that, asswipe.” He growled.

“Oh how original.  Let’s start, shall we?”  The stranger came down in front of the geomancer on a gust of strong wind.  He stood there casually with his walking stick held in one hand, and his other hand tipping up the brim of his hat slightly.  “You first?”

The geomancer howled and slammed both hands into the ground.  Pillars of rock exploded from the ground lurching straight up.  They split in the middle, and then again at the end making them seem like arms jutting from the ground.  The end piece split three ways making rudimentary fingers.  The rock-arms moved quickly, flying out to try to catch the stranger and rip him in two, but when they collided, the stranger was gone. 

“Trying to catch the wind?  Let’s see if you have the skill,” came the calm disembodied voice.

“Fuck’r!  Come out of hidin’!  Show me your face!”  The arms whirled around in all directions attacking any and every shadow. 

“I’ll find him,” came the voice of the fourth member, who until this moment had said nothing.  He cupped his hands, as if holding something fragile, and then threw it upwards.  Summoned by his power, the pixy shot skyward illuminating the area in a soft green glow.  The three searched into the gloom, and saw nothing.

“A summoner?” came the voice.  “No, not quite.  You’re a prism mage.  User of all, master of none.  Why are you with these imbeciles?”

The fourth man looked slightly paled that the stranger had guessed his class so quickly, but recovered quickly.  “They are my brothers,” he said simply.

“Shame.  You seemed more intelligent than your brothers.”

“There!” the fourth shouted as a shadow moved.  Immediately the earth arms swung over obliterating the spot followed by a hail of dagger-shaped icicles.  The brothers were working in unison.  When the geomancer moved his arms, the prism mage moved his pixy closer to the spot.  In the strange light, they saw that only a crater remained.

“We get ‘im?” asked the aquamancer.

“No,” said the geomancer strangely.  His brothers sensing the wrongness turned to look at him, and watched him fall apart in a tide of chunks and gore.  The earth-arms fell to the ground making strange mounds of dirt.

“Two more chances,” came the voice. 

The two remaining brothers panicked.  They hadn’t even heard, or felt, the wind that had sliced their brother.  Like those against the pyromancer, the blows were quick, silent, and deadly. 

“Where are you!?” shouted the aquamancer as he sprayed his scything icicles in all directions.

“Not where you’d expect,” the voice this time had a location.  The aquamancer felt the little hairs prickle on the back of his neck.  He had a small chance, if only he was fast enough.  He spun, his arms coming up, his fingers outstretched to launch his fury but then he kept moving.  He didn’t stop as he’d intended.  He looked down and saw one of his legs, severed from his hip twitching slightly on the ground.  Unable to control his momentum he fell hard onto his shoulder.  A loud pop signified its dislocation.  Seeing pinpoints of light swimming through his vision, he knew it was over.  He shouted to his last remaining brother to run, and then unleashed the ice inside.

The aquamancer exploded in an icicle pincushion.  The shards continuing to expand for meters until it enveloped an area nearly fifteen meters in diameter.  The prism mage had heard his brother’s last desperate cry and had blinked – teleported – far enough away to miss the blast.  Disoriented and blind in the darkness, his pixy having disappeared in the chaos, he knew he too was soon to be finished.  Their opponent was far more powerful a mage then he had ever encountered before.  Even back at the Academia Arcanum, not even the professors had been so powerful in wind magic. 

“Who are you?” he cried out into the darkness.

“Thinking, are you?  I’m an unfortunate encounter.  Nothing more.”

“An unfortunate encounter?!  Nothing more?!  My brother’s are dead because of you!”

“That’s how things go.  I’m not sure if you know, I think you just reunited with your brothers, but they were murderers and rapists.  They were using their skills to prey on the weak.  I had a billet to take them out, so here I am, and that job’s done.”

“You’re a fucking bounty hunter?  Who the hell are you?  What’s your name?”

“Ewan.  Ewan Scott.”

“Scott?  As in the Scotts?  Impossible!  That family line died out years ago!” 

“Not impossible.  Just improbable.  The Merty Brothers were on my billet, but they were listed as three, not four.  Go back to the Academia.  Finish schooling.  I’m done here.”  There was a gust of wind, and then silence.

“Scott?  Where’d you go?  You sonofabitch!  I will find you!  You will pay for my brothers!”

Ewan didn’t really hear.  He was some miles away by that point floating down into a small hamlet.  The inn here was cozy and well lit.  He liked the innkeeper, a good man from a good family, and the serving wenches were good on the eyes.  The beds were clean and the food was good.  They also knew what cider was. 

“Ewan!  Welcome back!” the innkeeper said as he entered the tavern.  Large candles glowed merrily across the common room and mouth watering smells wafted out from the kitchen.   “You get your marks?”

“Of course,” Ewan said in his usual quiet manner.

“Of course,” repeated the innkeeper.  “Well, I’m sure the constables will pay you the usual fee in the morning.  I have your room prepared upstairs.”

“Thank you, Herriman.”  Ewan tossed him several copper warlocks and moved down the tunnel to his usual room.  He stayed here often, and the inn staff knew him by sight.  The serving wenches would fawn over him if given a chance out of Herriman’s sight.  Not that Ewan didn’t appreciate, or desire such contact; it was just so shallow that it rankled him enough to try to avoid the ladies if possible.  Thankfully, none appeared between him and his room.   

He closed and bolted the door behind him and finally removed his hat.  It was his signature piece.  It had belonged to some obscure, eccentric family member, but now was one of the last few pieces remaining of his family.  He had claimed it along with the staff when he had returned home to find it in ashes.  His brother and sisters missing presumed dead since his parents had been brutally murdered.  He hadn’t returned to the Academia Arcanum after that, and that was almost twenty years ago.  His life had been long and hard since then.  His family, a ruling branch in Val’Edian had always been disliked, and finally a rival had seen the opportunity and had taken it.  The Scotts were declared criminals and thus their murders justified.  No where had really been home since.

Ewan had wandered around, continuing to refine his wind magic.  He never hid his name, and always proclaimed it loudly when asked.  This alone had led to more scraps then he liked to admit.  But he had become stronger through the conflict.  He had searched, of course, for those responsible for his family’s death, and that quest had led him down a long, hard road filled with adventure and danger that could have filled a book.  But he had never found what he’d been searching for.  Eventually, he settled into the bounty hunting business.  A sordid affair to be sure, but one that constantly tested his skills.  He made enough money to live off of, and he thought of it as protecting people from tragedy that he knew all too well.  The job seemed to agree with him.

He pulled off his heavy overcloak followed by his chainmail vest.  He sat on the bed and started to undo the buckles on his boots, removing the glamour he had placed on them so they shone once more.  He felt his hair prickle before hearing the pop. 

“So, you get ‘em, master?” said a devious little voice.

“Yes as a matter of fact, but…”

“But what?  What happened?”

“There was a fourth brother.”

“He wasn’t on the billet.  You were forced to kill him, and now you feel terrible about it, boohoo.”

“No.  I let him go.”

“You did?  So what the hell’s the problem?  I absolutely hate that I have to call a crybaby my master.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have lost the ritual then.”

“Ah go hump a horse.”  

Ewan laughed at his friend.  The imp hopped on the other bed and held his skinny arms to his chest, sulking.  He let out a loud harrumph and his tiny bat-like wings ruffled. 

“Well Teezak, you have any information for me?” Ewan said after a moment of contemplative silence.

Teezak flopped backwards and stretched out on the bed, pointedly ignoring the question.  For a demon, he was the smallest kind, an imp.  He was burning ember red and was so thin to be almost stick-like.  He was hunched over, adding to his demonic appearance.  Small bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulder blades.  His hands were four fingers instead of five, and ended in small wickedly-sharp claws.  The claws secreted a natural poison inherit to all demons.  His face was usually twisted into a wicked grin showing his rows of pointed teeth.  His nose was long and seemed to be made of rubber as it usually bounced a bit when he moved his head.  He had scruffy grey hair that he had pulled back into a short ponytail between his long ears.  His eyes were quick and devious, overshadowed by long eyebrows that hung off the side of his face.

During his travels, Ewan had run into little Teezak who had been up to no good and attempted a binding ritual.  The ritual lasted all of five minutes with Ewan victorious.  Bound to Ewan, Teezak was for all intents and purposes a slave.  Ewan rarely treated him as such and gave him an open reign as long as Teezak performed certain duties for him, such as information gathering, which the small imp exceeded at.  Teezak didn’t see the charity.

“Well?” Ewan said again quietly.

“I don’t want to tell you.  You don’t really want to hear.”

Ewan sat up on the edge of the bed and looked square at Teezak, “Tell me anyway.”

“Ok, ok!  Don’t go all calm-crazy on me!  I heard a little bit of info from a merchant from the Southern Bends.  Apparently, since, you know this war’s been going on, a certain family has taken prominence in Val’Edian aristocracy.  You may have heard the name,” Teezak paused for suspense.  Ewan just stared at him.  “Valm,” Teezak finished with a  flourish of his tiny claws.

“Valm?  The elvish family?”  Long ago, when Val’Edian had been a city ruled entirely by elves, Valm had been a ruling family, second in line to the throne.  Ewan’s family line was born during that time, and the Scotts of the time had destroyed the Valm’s reputation ensuring they would never take the throne of Val’Edian.  Since then, however, the Valm’s have worked tirelessly to reassert their noble heritage.  Ewan snorted in disgust.  The family hadn’t changed in those centuries and was as dirty as it had been back then.

“Seems they’re using the war to puff themselves up,” Teezak continued.  “The Aided Emperor has been assaulting the coastlines more and more frequently recently, and this has upset some of the royal families.  Valm has stepped up, seeing their chance for glory.”  Teezak, fully aware of the strife between the Scotts and Valms smiled darkly.

“This really doesn’t tell me anything, Teezak.  I’m a little disappointed,” Ewan said quietly.

“That’s ‘cause I’m not finished yet, master!  It seems that the oldest son of Valm, a certain Berikolm, is using rather violent means to sway certain noble families to backing Valm.  The merchant heard he’d burned one family out declaring them traitors to the King,” Teezak’s eyes narrowed knowing that he’d just hooked Ewan.

“Who is this Berikolm?  Where can he be found?”

“Berikolm Valm,” Teezak recited, “He is a Marshal in His Majesty’s Royal Guard.  He stays in Val’Edian, close to his father, and near the King where his sweet lies hold most sway and do the most damage.”

“How’s this merchant know all this?” Ewan asked suspiciously.

“He, um, sells goods of ‘questionable legality’.  I guess this Berikolm has a certain fondness for younger women, or something of that matter,” Ewan grimaced.  “I don’t really follow the disgusting habits of human creatures in heat.”

“Elves,” Ewan interrupted. “Valm is a family of elves.”

“Not this one.  Oh?  You didn’t know?  Hehe.  No, this Berikolm is half-human, which makes him-“

“All human in the eyes of the elves,” Ewan finished.  Teezak smiled showing his needle-like teeth, but didn’t offer anything more.  Ewan stood seeming to muddle the information over in his head and then finally coming to a decision said, “Good job, Teezak.  We leave in the morning for Val’Edian.”

“Woah, boss.  You realize that Val’Edian is way South of us.  Like past the Southern Bends way south, right?”

“Yes, I’m well aware of where it is,” Ewan said quietly, still in thought.

“But are you well aware that the Aided Emperor holds the Southern Bends?  That’s occupied territory man!  Even a wind user of your level can’t be stupid enough to tangle with Aided troops.”

“I am aware of that too.  Regardless, we are going.  Things will work themselves out.  The wind carries over all.”

“Oh right, the words.  Say the family words and everything’s all better!” Teezak threw his hands up in the air.  Ewan glowered at Teezak, the most emotion Teezak had seen from Ewan in a long time.

“All right!  All right!  I got it!  Just don’t zip me again!  Took me days to stitch myself back together that last time.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”  The imp looked worried behind his bluster.

“Duly noted.  Time for sleep.  You’re free to leave for now,” Ewan said with a casual wave of his hand towards the window.

“Finally!” and with a loud Pop! Teezak was gone.

Ewan stretched out on the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers.  It took him a while to fall asleep.  His thoughts kept returning to Valm.  It was a name that rose up like a beast from a nightmare.  All the rumors, the whisperings in dark corners that he’d heard while growing up about that family flooded back.  Could it have been them?  They’d certainly have had the motive.  But why after so long?  His thoughts kept running around in circles until finally he slipped into sleep.