Then on the tip of her nose, on the plump ridges of her lips, and on the ends of her eye lashes rested beads of moisture. The green light seemed fuller. She entered the fog. Her eyes widened. All she had to do now was look for the light of the mysterious tavern.
“When you hit the fog,” she said, “keep going. It’s the only light you’ll see. I guess the old man didn’t expect me to make it this far?”
The forest appeared a little lighter now that she had entered the fog, which scattered orb’s green rays further down the path. She felt safer somehow. The fog wrapped around her, coldly embracing her. She felt a tug against her lower back, as if being guided onward. Minutes passed, and then another hour or two. She felt a gentle push against her back. The fog wanted her to press on. Keep going! It was a welcomed encouragement. Her feet ached, her weary legs wobbled, and her collarbone was sore.
She looked up, wondering if she’d see the moon. The canopy of trees was so tightly woven there was no way she’d see anything. She saw no moon, no stars, or clouds. It must be tomorrow, she thought. Or maybe a new evening? Yet, she had no natural light to indicate what time it was. All she had was the green orb and the soft push of some foggy entity.
“Am I being guided by spirits?” she thought out loud. The green orb pulsed a little brighter than before. She brought it close to her eyes, watching it’s essence whimsically swirling about. The push against her back was a little more forceful, but not so much so that it felt unfriendly.
“I’ve never had a spirit guide,” she said, almost smiling. The foggy embrace lessened. She felt it release her altogether.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. When she faced forward, the path before her led to a warm light that softly illuminated the front of a mossy stoned, worn-down building. She felt a swell of joy and anticipation. Swinging above the door was a sign, aged and cracked.
She read the sign, words painted in a dull orange, whispering to herself, “Witchwicks.”
She couldn’t believe she had made it. She looked back at the forest. If she wasn’t so worn out she might feel victorious. She held the little green orb and said, “Shall we go in?” She went to place the orb in her bag and then thought about the skull. Maybe the orb should go in a pocket, she thought. She reached into her cloak, found an empty pocket and dropped the orb there.
Safe and sound. She walked up to the door and just as she was about to enter, she glanced down, standing in a cold puddle that rippled from her feet. In its reflection, she faced a thoroughly soaked, cold and muddy young woman. Don’t forget the smell, she thought. She brushed a few strands of her wet, dirty blonde hair behind her ear, wiped her face down with her sleeves and whispered, “What else do you have, Ayla. Go for it.”
She opened the door gently, quietly peering through the crack. Between the door and frame, she glimpsed a warm vertical slice of adventurers in joyful banter, playing drinking games and dancing to lively music. She could feel the heat from the massive fireplace in the center of the tavern. The mantle was six feet high, decorated with skulls from vampires to wargs. The fire itself roared, devouring logs that must have taken a giant’s strength to place. The tavern stretched beyond the fireplace, filled with mischievous patrons and roaring laughter.
Why didn’t she just go in? Standing outside in the cold, she admired the scene through the crack of light. Just get on with it, she thought. Why are you so scared? Even after-
“Are you going in or not?” asked someone from behind. Ayla jumped, completely caught off guard.
“Oh, sorry, so sorry.” Ayla dipped her head apologetically, grasping the sides of her dress. The magical vibrations calmed her. She was looking up at a tall woman, dressed in crimson, glowering down with a deep and resolute gaze. Her sleeveless jacket was open and swaying. She wore a red flowing shirt, the cut plunging inches below her sternum, exposing most of her large, smooth breasts. Her shirt was tucked behind a black belt, sporting a series of small satchels. Her tattered crimson skirt sprawled out like a muddy, beaten flower. Her raven black hair was pulled back and wrapped into a messy bun, which supported the back end of a red, wide brimmed witch hat. Her left arm was gloved with an mechanical demi-gauntlet that reached up her arm to a massive pauldron, quietly whirring as various cogs and gears twisted under metal plates. Her right hand gripped a metal wand.
“After you,” said Ayla.
“Mhm,” the woman nearly shoved Ayla to the ground as she threw open the door. Ayla caught a whiff of gear oil and cherry perfume as she stepped out of the way, only for her heel to catch against a stone. She dropped back, landing in the puddle. The woman stopped and glanced over her shoulder, but she was already inside the tavern. She disappeared behind the door frame.
Ayla sighed, pushing herself up. The water soaked through her cloak and dress. Honestly, she figured, it probably helped with the smell.
With the door wide open, Ayla finally stepped inside. As she listened to the sounds of roaring patrons absorbed by tales of adventure, Ayla experienced the best thing that could have ever happened at this point in time: no one noticed her.
As she scanned the tavern, its warmth wrapped around her, reaching through the sturdy floorboards under her bare feet, embracing her body, and flushing her cheeks. She took a deep breath. Even the air felt different in here. It was clear, soaked with a myriad of pleasant aromas. She sensed sweet honey, nutty ale, roasted chicken, and cinnamon apple pie. Her eyes moved from the bustling main floor to the bar, which was absent of the bartender at the moment. To her immediate right was an impressively large, floor to ceiling cabinet with multiple columns of cupboards. There was an old rolling ladder hanging from a rail, allowing access to higher ones. Each cabinet door was unique, boasting a range of muted colors like teal, chestnut and carmine. Some of the doors had patterns, such as rows of planetary bodies, or columns of mystical signs. Some of the doors had notes nailed to them, and others had locks. She also saw rows of knobs, each of them centered below the cabinets.
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“Looks like a wizard’s cabinet,” she said in awe. Suddenly, something to her right sparked and whizzed to life. She turned and saw a stone archway built into the wall just to the left of the tavern’s entrance. It was flanked by barrels holding spears and swords and other weapons designed for impalement. The keystone flashed a bright green symbol, and the wheeling portal cracked green lightening as a small crowd of goblins burst through. They cheered each other on, exclaiming how happy they are to be in Witchwicks. Another goblin across the tavern leaped onto a table and shouted for them while waving fanatically. The little caravan made their way over. The portal collapsed on itself, revealing a blank stone wall.
She leaned in, running her fingers down the stone archway. “So this is what a portal looks like?” She had heard about them, but had never seen one in action. She waited for a moment, hoping to see the portal flash to life once more.
A door to her right, just beyond the cabinetry, was kicked open and a dwarf emerged. The second he passed through the door, his nostrils flared. “What’s that stench?” he asked, his nose leading him to Ayla. “That you? You reek!”
I guess my bath in the puddle didn’t help. Ayla dropped her hood, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. The dwarf pushed through a small swinging door as he entered the bar. She timidly approached the counter, getting a solid look at the dwarf. He was nearly as tall as she was, which meant he probably had crates behind the counter that he used to keep himself relatively eye level with other customers. He had a mostly white beard, though some copper could be seen when he leaned towards the light of the fire. His nose was smaller than the average dwarf’s. His eyes were large, brown like dark chocolate, but weary looking. His outfit was simple. He wore a white shirt, sleeves torn baring hairy, muscular arms. His pants were black, tattered at the ends of the legs. His boots were well weathered, cracked and loosely worn. His apron was stained. It was probably the only one he’d ever used.
Ayla mustered a smile. She probably looked like a tired drunk, but it’s all she could do.
“I’m looking for work,” she said meekly. “Are you hiring?” There was a desperate tune in her words.
“I’m not looking for a pig wrestler, sweetie.”
She laughed nervously. “It was a corpse.”
The dwarf raised an eyebrow.
“I was attacked by an undead on my way here.”
“Necromancers like hanging around these woods. Glad to see you’re safe.”
She was too, but –
“Just the one undead?” he asked.
“There were cannibals too. The undead was, well he was big.” She mimicked his size relative to herself. “He had six arms.”
“You’re either the luckiest little lady alive or you’ve got a god watching your back.”
“So, are you hiring?” She fidgeted with her dress under the cloak.
The dwarf’s attention was stolen by a patron. The man was a half-giant, barking about waiting longer than the rest for a pitcher of ale he’d ordered. The dwarf held a hand up to Ayla, “Hold that thought,” and then wandered down to the other end of the counter. Ayla took a quick peek over the counter. Yep, he was walking on fruit crates. She stole a glance of herself in an empty pint glass. Her eyes widened with shock. “I really need to clean up…”
“Tess, will you get their order already!” Ayla hadn’t noticed, but a young woman was leaning against the front of the counter. Her hair was black, cut short. She had a playful bounce to her. She pointed across the tavern.
“That guy over there is a creepy wizard, Fraz, he keeps eyeing me like he’s gonna turn me into a snake or something! I just know it! Even mumbled some incantations. I swear I heard them. A snake! Could you imagine?”
“I heard that!” someone hissed from the window behind the bar.
“Present company excluded!” shouted Tess.
“Gonna turn you into sloth more likely!” grumbled the dwarf, “Go get his order!”
“You know how much wizards freak me out, Fraz.”
“Tess,” said Fraz, very seriously, “You forget about our chat the other night? Go get the damn order!”
“You were nicer when Scarlet was around!” shouted Tess, spinning around like a dancer and hopping away. The dwarf sighed.
“Look,” he said, eyeballing Ayla with a lowered brow,“You smell like shit. If you’re gonna work here, you need to freshen up, like yesterday. You’re scaring my customers and they don’t scare easily.”
Ayla looked over her shoulder to catch more than a few disturbed glares. She nodded, “I don’t have a place to stay. Are there any rooms available?”
“What luck,” said the dwarf.
“Sorry?”
“You, I don’t know why, but you gotta be a sign for someone.”
Ayla was confused. If only he knew everything she had endured to get here.
“I had a barmaid quit this mornin’, or was it yesterday?” He leaned against the counter, stroking his beard. “She took all of her shit and high-tailed it outta here. Said something about the pay not being enough and between us, she might have been right. She was always fussing about something so she got a little less. You? You a whiner?”
“I don’t whine, I don’t think…”
“I don’t want a whiner. I want someone who’ll get the job done. Look. Look at them,” he swung his arm, waving his hand as if blessing the patrons of Witchwicks. “These guys are tough. Some are killers. They’re dirty, stinky, though maybe not as much as you right now, and they don’t know when to quit. Don’t be surprised if they drool over you or pinch your ass, you understand?”
Ayla nodded.
“Most importantly, they’re thirsty. Can you handle yourself?”
Ayla nodded again. “It had six arms…”
The dwarf sighed heavily, leaning against the counter again. He looked her over. “You’re pretty cute. Too cute, if you ask me. Not sure you’re cut out for this place, sweetie.”
“I can do it,” she said. “I -” she hesitated for a moment, then forcefully said, “I need to work here.”
Someone hollered from across the tavern, “Fraz! More ale! Bring a whole apple pie too!”
The dwarf picked his nose and flung the booger over the counter, “Why?”
“Why do I want to work here?” asked Ayla.
“Did I stutter?”
Ayla soaked in the environment. The patrons were boisterous, spinning tall tales, acting out the dungeons they’ve explored and villains they’ve slain. The ale was flowing, and the music was inspiring. They seemed rowdy, but they also seemed like this was their place to blow off steam. If the dwarf, Fraz, was right and his patrons were killers, that’d mean no one would dare disturb the peace they found here. That’s how she saw it and that’s exactly who she wanted to surround herself with.
“Honestly,” said Ayla, “I need an employer who won’t ask too many questions. I’m willing to take a dock in pay for that. I can handle myself. Your patrons, they’re the kind of people I need right now.”
“Need, huh?” Fraz eyed her for a moment, and without breaking his stare, reached into the front pocket of his apron. He snatched up a pair of keys and tossed them across the counter. Ayla caught them midair.
“You can have Scarlet’s old room. Follow the counter all the way down. Your room is the last door, furthest left.”
Ayla smiled wide, feeling a newfound hope growing in her chest.
Finally, she thought. I can stop.
“Tess and I can cover tonight,” said Fraz. “Expected to with Scarlet quittin’ on me. Plus we got a couple extra hands runnin’ around here. What’s your name, again?”
“It’s Ayla.”
“Ayla,” said the dwarf, “take a damn bath.”