Believe In Your Flyness

Onwards. - Post-Canon (14k) Summary: The discovery of two murder victims in a small town upsets an otherwise peaceful retirement. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61484590

Transitory - AU - Canon Divergence (18k) Summary: What happens when a kidnapper forgets his chloroform? Three kids make a run for it. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62533552 tag teaming - NSFW/Explicit Fic (5.8k) Summary: good things came in threes. link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60578683 this and the world - Canon (2.3k) Summary: success looks like a king-sized bed and only the most important future plans. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60325654

whitewater - AU set in canon (3.2k) Summary: Sam is kidnapped, is rescued, and deals with the morning after. Link: archiveofourown.org/works/60060364

the fifth sense - Canon (1.9k) Summary: for a man so often lost in thought, Sam certainly prized touch. Link: archiveofourown.org/works/60009892

One dark and stormy night, the small village of Ruinspoke played host to a water-logged adventurer.

In fact, it played host to dozens of water-logged adventurers. It had played host to both water-logged and dust-dry adventurers by the hundreds in the months before, and by the thousands in the years before that. There were ruins of the elden and mysterious variety nearby, which was like catnip to the average curious-as-a-cat and decently-armed wanderer. More importantly to the Ruinspoke townfolk, when a recent infestation of kobolds discovered that the town guards were not as invested in defending the handful of neighboring farms as the kobolds were in raiding said poor farms, adventurers became the go-to defenders. Generally speaking, it made for a decent balance.

Because it was a dark and stormy night, the regulars grumbled when the old wooden door swung open to admit a gusting wind and pelting rain. From its howl, a tall, broad-shouldered dragonborn swayed in. His heavy, hooded cloak stuck close to his frame, and nearly tripped him on his way to the nearest, shadowiest corner-table. Though the stool he crashed into attempted an escape from its occupant, he caught himself on the table edge at the last moment. Thus secured from the rain by the tavern’s warmth, he slouched himself against the wall with an air of exhausted gratefulness and stalwart do not speak to me.

A regular rushed to close the door that had failed to shut against the storm. When he succeeded, he politely limited himself to merely a grouchy glare toward the newest adventurer before he returned to the bar at the front.

One of the tavern’s regulars had been an adventurer herself before she discovered she could make just as much coin with a much longer life expectancy if she kept a stool warm and played a decent song. That particular regular improvised a verse about bad omens, open doors, and the virtue of poor reputations for cozy taverns, which elicited a hearty chuckle from her ale-soaked audience. Temget, the dwarven owner of Ruinspoke’s best and second-most popular tavern, shook his head from the bar.

Time passed. The tavern-goers enjoyed homebrewed beer as well as far worse ale. 

Resolute to not let one stool go without profit for an evening, Temget eventually approached the adventurer directly. He then sold, in rapid (and overpriced) succession, three mugs of the homebrewed beer and an entire loaf of wheat bread. He thereafter left the dragonborn alone.

Another regular, a slender dragonborn named Uadjit who always brought her own game to pass the time, eyed the newcomer. 

When the hood was finally put down, and two mugs’ worth of beer and the bread were gone from his table and into his stomach, Uadjit gathered her cards and approached him.

“What brings you here, adventurer?” she asked.

“Just passing through,” he replied. “The storm caught me by surprise.”

“Caught the farmers by surprise, too,” she said. “It was supposed to be dry until the day after morrow, can you believe it?”

“I can’t, I suppose.”

“But really, what brought you here?” she pressed. “Was it not the ruins? What of coin or heroism?”

His nose twitched. His eyes went round. “Do you have a need for heroism? Is that why you ask?”

“I haven’t,” she said. “But Almer Hikath from up the street does. Well, not the heroism you’d imagine from a storybook, but the sort of heroism common to us small-folk. He’s also got coin for any who assist.”

“That’s the important part, certainly.”

“It sure is.” She smiled. She knew his type, and she was glad to have finally found an adventurer that didn’t travel in a herd. The more hands involved, the more expensive it became, and Almer didn’t really need that much help. “He runs the general store here. He has a milk cart that needs filling. Specifically for you, that would mean he needs help transporting it to a farm that’s not so far away. He’d do it himself if he had any chance with a sword; I’d do it for him if only I fared any better. I’m his friend, you see, and I’ve had to hear him belly-aching about that empty milk cart for nigh on tenday.”

The adventurer’s nose twitched again. He paused, for long enough that she feared he was thinking of a nice way to tell her to buzz off.

“He’ll pay you fairly,” she hastened to re-emphasize. “Half upfront, then half when you reach the farm.”

The adventurer asked, voice too-light, “Pray tell, what trouble is he expecting if he feels the need to be handy with a sword?”

“Nothing guaranteed!” She waved her hand as if to swat the notion away. “Just some rumors, you know, of kobolds and the like. Pesky rumors, probably nothing. Thing is, he’s the ‘better safe than sorry’ sort. Surely you’re handy with a sword, <I>thurirl?</i>”

He had one strapped to his side under his cloak. She only saw its red-gold hilt, but truthfully, she hadn’t even really needed to see it. Adventurers like him always had a sword, or a rapier, or a dagger, or anything else with a sharp end that could fit in a kobold’s eye.

Again, that hesitance. His mouth twitched up, then down. His head cocked to the side. He looked to his remaining mug, and frowned.

It wasn’t a no.

But the non-response did last a little too long. Just as she gathered her breath to break it, he looked back to her and smiled.

“Of course we’ll help.” He became so full of energy. His teeth gleamed and eyes, bright red, glittered. The rainwater had left his white scales shiny and bright in the tavern’s yellow light. “Honestly, if he can promise us a warm place to lay our heads for the next three days, that’s all we would ask for. It needn’t be anywhere or anything extravagant – a stable would do, truly.”

Something in her squirmed uncomfortably under the look, but she shook it off for the more pressing issue.

“Oh. <I>We?</i>” she tried to rally, though she couldn’t help glancing around his otherwise empty table. “Are you traveling with others…? Are they still out in the storm?”

That set him to coughing. He then shook his head, glanced away, and spoke with a soft, but self-deprecating chuckle. “Ah– no! I apologize, that was a force of habit. At the moment, I... travel alone.”

Aha. Ruinspoke had plenty of half- and quarter- and looking-for-new-parties, so that made sense. He must have been very handy with the sword, if he outlived his companions.

Since he’d agreed to help, she gave him a sympathetic wince. “I’m so sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”

“Wyll,” he said, then winced, himself. “... An odd name, I know. Or so I’ve been told.”

It was extremely odd, especially for who she had assumed was a fellow dragonborn that was local-ish to Tymanther, but she wouldn’t say that. She’d been raised in the middle of nowhere, not a barn.

“I think that’s a fine name. It’s nice to meet you, Wyll. I’m Uadjit. I’m afraid Almer’s likely asleep right now, so I can’t promise you a place for tonight, but if you go to his store first thing in the morning, I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you the cart and the route. He might have a few more questions for you, but let him know that I sent you.”

“Fantastic. Thank you, Uadjit.”  

Small and kind, he smiled again. Unlike before, it was nothing but reassuring. Something in her settled, and she decided she wouldn’t mind learning a bit more about him before he went off to work her friend’s errand. Since she’d secured the help, she also needed to make sure he wasn’t absolutely <I>bonkers</i>.

Ruinspoke wasn’t picky, but her people could stand to be, sometimes. 

“Before I have to leave for the night,” she slid into the stool opposite him, “would you want to play a game of cards?”

“I’d–” he coughed again, but recovered quickly with a, oh, don’t mind me, just recovering from the plague, at least I cover my mouth sheepish grin, “-- I’d love to. Your pick, as long as you don’t mind explaining the game to me.”