NPCs by Drew Hayes

Author:Drew Hayes [Hayes, Drew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2014-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

15.

Night fell before any semblance of peace returned to Appleram. The corpses of the demons were trimmed, skinned, and stripped of all useful parts, then buried on consecrated ground and blessed by any adventurers who had a bit of divine connection. The remaining inventory of the storage shed — what little remained — was scrupulously evaluated. No item with magical potential was left unassessed, and anything even slightly tinged red was suspect to exceptional scrutiny. Those who’d been injured in the fray were healed with divine magic, the healers curing the poisoning in the blood that the demons’ strikes had inflicted. Those who were beyond healing, or already gone, were mourned, buried, and stripped of gear by their adventuring party. The latter act gave no one joy, but there was no sense in entombing a friend with his chainmail when that same armor might keep another alive.

By the time Thistle, Gabrielle, Grumph, and Eric returned to the inn, they were wiped beyond measuring, every bit of energy and magic expelled. They greeted the innkeeper and staff with polite nods, slurped down a few bites of stew and rolls of bread, and collapsed in exhaustion with nary a word said among them. There would be time for talk later. All that mattered for the night was the sweet release of sleep, carting them off to a land where their bones didn’t ache, and their eyes weren’t burned with images of fallen corpses. In a small blessing, perhaps metaphorical and perhaps literal, none were troubled by nightmares, or dreams of any sort. They slept the slumber of the dead, cut off from the world until morning came, all too soon in its arrival.

As the group stirred, they became aware of a presence in their room, aside from one another. Sitting at the table, helping himself to a dish of porridge from a still-steaming pot, was Mayor Branders. The four faux adventurers slowly pulled themselves out of their cots, wandered over to the table, and took their seats. To his credit, Mayor Branders waited until everyone had served themselves before speaking.

“I do not care for adventurers,” he said, his voice thick, and rougher than the previous day. It certainly made sense; he’d been doing ample shouting of commands when he restored order after the attack. “I never have. I see them as flippant, uncaring folk. They ride into town, slay a few monsters, spend some gold, hit on our bar staff, then float on to the next encounter. They have no roots, no ties, no sense of obligation.”

The other four focused on their porridge, holding back the words of agreement they wanted to speak. Mayor Branders had the same impression of adventurers as any of the regular folk, the same they’d had only a week ago.

“So, when an advisor came to me, suggesting the idea for a tournament to draw them in, bleed them dry, and then swindle them out of prizes, I’m ashamed to admit, I allowed myself to be won over.

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