The thunder and winds were really crackling now, as if these newcomers had come to witness the most fierce storm Boravia had ever seen. Of course for many of the battered residents of this town it would have to be violent storm indeed, one that cracked the foundations of even these old hovels and houses about. The winds kicked up fiercely and Bucren’s cloak whipped and flapped about his legs and sides. It felt cold to the bone. And bleating of the sacrificial goat could barely be heard.<i>When it stopped was when the problems really started…</i><br/><br/>At first the other man’s politeness, the one who was the guard, felt a little off-putting. No one spoke like that in Boravia, simply because no one here really warranted being called a<i>Sir</i>, whether in rank or figuratively in spirit. Fortunately one needed worse insults, if it was indeed one, to shift Bucren towards wrath and retribution. He had endured it here many years. He did not want to think what these three might have to endure. “You are right. The town behind is Boravia. Beyond those walls is not. You’ll have to speak with whoever owns that land about that murder.” He simply answered the other man’s report with a shrug.<br/><br/>Nor would he have cared about any criticism of indifference on the townspeople’s part. You stop to investigate or bury a body out there, it was most likely the grave you would dig would be your own as well. But wasn’t it like that everywhere? They’ve come to an emporium of death. One slain body outside shouldn’t matter. That was life in his part. Bucren’s expression showed no shock or even regard for this news. But upon being directed to the<i>charming companions</i>at his side, he could not help but take interest, in both the reason for their presence, and the fact there were finally some sweet and pretty faces in Boravia to look at, besides the Burgomaster’s daughter.<br/><br/>An inn is what they needed. Seem typical for customers. And old Arik could use some actual business that weren’t the same old boring faces.<i>Like his own.</i>The first girl to speak mentioned a family matter that brought them here. Strange. Usually it was family matters that drove people away. This first girl, who along with the guard gave no introduction, asked whether they might take shelter from the rain within the nearby barn, even as the winds and rains picked up. Preemptively even his response, for Bucren knew better, his so-called colleagues told him to basically take the travelers and fuck off. Perhaps if they were lucky, all these outsiders would be killed off in one single night.<i>Then they could loot all their clothes and gear, whatever the wolves left behind.</i><br/><br/>Finally they got to business, when the one who called herself Esperanza Sergovia offered money and coin for services. Now that would open up some lips and minds around here. “Bucren.” He answered flatly in regards to his own name. His surname of course but they didn’t need to know that. Only a handful of people in this town knew his first name and he preferred to keep it that way. It wasn’t as if these newcomers, the man and the two girls, who looked awfully alike, were going to share their life story with him now were they? “I could tell you the inn is the worn down building with the cracked foundations and the broken roof, but that might easily apply to every building here.” Bucren said in his same tired, dry tone. “So I suppose I’ll have to show you. Nothing fancy<i>is</i>necessary, because it’s all we got here. Come along then.”<br/><br/>He turned on his heel and began to make his way back up the road. “And if you plan on stabbing me in the back, be sure to cut my ankles too because you certainly do not want me coming back for you.” He said, looking over his shoulder and giving the trio a half-smirk, his first smile since they arrived.<br/><br/>The storm was moving in now, violent and repressive to anything not rooted in the ground. Trees swayed but the houses remained motionless in the murk, only occasionally lighted from the flash of thunder above. Each house sat dormant though, for not even a light shined through as every window and threshold was barricaded against the elements. And those that came with the elements. It looked as if the town was preparing for a siege, which it was, one that came nightly and never-ending, day after day, week after week, till it became years with no count or end. For Bucren though it was everyday life seeing such sights. There was not a single person or beast about. Except of course for the bleating of the goat, far behind, which still could be heard when the wind ceased for a heartbeat as if to breathe, or the thunder lay quiet for a moment.<i>Ominous.</i><br/><br/>The main road brought them to the center of Boravia, which should have been the heart of the little settlement. It was, if that heart belonged to a man long dotard and decrypt in years. Weathered signs spoke of greater prosperity in past times but no longer. Other buildings sat about, including the town’s only inn. Bucren paused near where the road met the square to point it out. “Blood on the Vine.” He pointed out to the trio. “It’s the only place they’ll let you in, for a price.” He said and looked as if to say more, but a new bleating sound from a different direction gave him pause a moment. No, that wasn’t the goat. It sounded like a person. No, not the sound of a person being devoured by wolves. More like the sound of a person watching someone be devoured by wolves. Haunting.<br/><br/>He said nothing about it though. Just continued his trek to the door of the Vine, which looked as shuttered and blockaded as any other home. Bucren drew out his knife and used the hilt to bang on the door, not wishing to bloody his knuckles trying to get the door warden’s attentions. Yes, they had a door warden here, a cheap, devious little gypsy man. “It’s Bucren, open up!” He demanded. There was no answer but a little peephole cover was removed, as if expecting tribute. Instead Bucren crouched and glared into the hole. “Pias, you little wee shit. I got company out here, let us in. Tell Arik he’ll make twice as much on them so fuck the door price. Or fine, three a head, nothing more. Open this door.” He hissed, even trying to reach into the peephole to grab the warden on the other side, to twist and pinch and hurt in any way to further coerce the man to barter down the price and let them in.<br/><br/>It was a savage life here, after all.