"I'm in need of a horse," he told the old glum face in-keep who sat scrubbing out mugs. "Preferably one that isn't lame, and younger than you," Ansil said jokingly. The in-keep only scowled and turned his back to Ansil, continuing to scrub the mugs.
Leaning over the bar Ansil placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Seems you didn't hear me in-keep. I..." The in-keep ripped Ansil's hand from his shoulder, his face red.
"We sell no horses to strangers here and we have no time for sell swords either. So keep your fucking hands off me and leave my inn or else I'll call the guard." The in-keep's face had turned crimson and his nostrils flared like a bulls. The whole inn had gone quiet, their eyes glued on Ansil. They were not kind eyes, Ansil noted. They were suspicious, tense, and cold eyes.
"Is it a crime to sell sword." Ansil said, turning to the residents of the inn. None showed any sympathy though. In fact they seemed to grow more suspicious, more tense, and more cold.
"It is one of the highest of crimes!" One of the inn's residents in the back had risen. He was an old man clothed in a rough gray wool robe and nothing else. He was shoeless, his feet were gnarled and dirty and on each foot was a triangle ta-too.
"The highest of crimes," Ansil scoffed.
"One of the highest of crimes," said the old man stepping forward.
Ansil's hand went to his sword hilt. When he did, the inn's residents almost in unison turned to look upon Ansil more closely. Ansil felt it and chill went up his spine raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Yet he stood firm, his hand at the ready.
"Never heard of such a crime."
"You wouldn't have. It is a new crime to men like you. But know now our lord has always decreed that a man whose loyalty belongs to gold shall receive a harsh fate." The old man said, stepping towards Ansil.
Ansil stepped back, his hand still tense around his hilt. The old man persisted though, extending his hand out to Ansil. The sell sword stood still this time letting the old man place his wrinkled hand on his shoulder.
"You should leave this land and reconsider the path you walk. After all a man of sword and gold and only sword and gold will find no solace in death. Nor will he find any in life. So I urge you to find a new path or else I fear your soul is destined for damnation."
The words were heavy yet the man said them lazily. It was as if they were as instinctive and automatic as the old man's shallow breaths.
To Ansil it felt like all the people were a score of puppets being controlled by some unknown power. He had first felt it when he set foot in the land of Manic. It had been overcast for all three days he had traveled through the strange land and yet there had not been a speck of rain. And when he passed a dwelling the occupants would come out and watch him till he was out of sight. Staring not saying a word, their gaze hollow and eerie. It had added to the uneasy feeling the forest had given him. The wood extended for leagues upon leagues, a dark and dense mysterious thing. It almost seemed to hold power. When the trees bent the wind shifted with them. When the wood creaked the clouds darkened. And when the wind whistled through the trees the air grew colder. The land of Manic wasn't natural.
"Take your hand off my shoulder old man." The man removed his hand from Ansil.
"Meant no offense. I was merely trying to save a man from an easily avoidable punishment." The old man said, smiling weakly. "However I see my attempts are in vain. Should have known. After all, trying to save a sword's life is about as pointless as trying to stop a pig from eating filth."
Ansil's hand clenched tighter around his hilt, his knuckles turning white. The sell sword felt a hot rage going through him. The same rage he felt just before a fight.
"You're lucky I let you keep your hand old man.," Ansil said as he stormed out of the inn back into the cold dreary day. When he stepped out Ansil came face to face with two hollowed eye guards.
"Trouble," asked the guard on the left. The guard on the right mouth moved yet no sound came out.
Ansil studied the guards. The two men were of medium height and skinny. Their eyes sagged with weariness and their mouths were partly open. And they seemed to sway in the wind like saplings.
"No, not that I can see," Ansil said, smirking. His hand was still on his sword ready for a fight. The two guards turned to each other whispering.
" Then leave," said the guard on the right. Ansil released the hilt of his sword and saddled his horse, it wasn't worth it.
"Took all that whispering to come up with two words," said Ansil as he kicked the horses side, and galloped past the guards.
Ansil rode fast and hard for several hours wanting to put as much distance between himself and the strange people of Manic. Yet in all the miles he rode he was nowhere close to being free of the strange land,for it was one of the largest lands in Caldara and one of the most unknown. Where most men would have chopped down the trees hundreds of years ago, large thick oaks stood tall and proud. Ponds and lakes he passed if they had been in any other land would be bustling fisherman, here they were desolate. And fields fit for farming had not the slightest hint of ever being stepped in, aside from the eyes of creatures who dwelt within.
After some time Ansil came to a fork in the road. He had traveled to the point that the forest of east manic and awest manic finally met to form one great forest.. The right path led to what looked like the thickest part of forest, where it veered west out of sight in no less than a hundred feet. The left path went straight into what was almost clearing compared to the rest of the forest for about half a mile as far as Ansil could tell. Though the better path seemed obvious Ansil was hesitant remembering the advice of an old friend. He could still hear the gruff voice of the man and the smell of smoke and pine that he emanated.