Dio hobbled off the road, towards a young tree that stood near it, the man's rough calloused hand resting upon the equally tough bark that protected the wood.
He looked up the road, past the curve, towards the beckoning lights of the town's gates. Already he could feel the warmth of the hearth and the strong liquor upon his tongue. The old sailor steadied his breath, giving the weary body rest after the long walk.
The soft breeze felt cool against his stubbled cheeks, a relief when the body felt so hot. Dio reached down to grab his right thigh, the thick fingers sinking into the strong muscle as the pain throbbed and the terrible ache made it hard for the man to rest any weight upon the leg.
He hissed quietly and cursed the loss of his horse. What rotten luck that the Trollshaws woods had spooked the steed and the man thrown off, the beast vanishing off into the dark thicket; never to be found again.
It wasn't far now and it wasn't worth it to set camp, when the light beckoned to him with the promise of warmth, food and a much needed drink.
The frail bark broke off and clung to the tattered fibers of his jacket as the man pulled away to continue the journey.
Dio brushed his arm down and with a mutter of encouragement, the man forced his feet back to the road, feeling and hearing the soft noise of the gravel underneath his boots.
His travel slowed down further with the ache in his leg taunting him, the weight of the meter long blade hanging by his hip making the short walk that remained all the harder.
"Halt!" The guard stationed at the gate called to the tired traveler as he approached. "Who are you and what is your business, stranger?" The man added, staring at the weary nomad through the visor of the simple helmet he wore.
"Dio they call me and I'm a traveler and come here for shelter and rest." The old sailor answered and smiled.
The guard's hand fell to the club that he bore to rest on. "And what about that weapon?" The man huffed, gesturing for the southerner's foreign blade.
Dio smiled and patted the decorative hilt guard of his rapier. "Point me to the bank and I will be storing it there until I take my leave. I will not be carrying such in the town. This I promise you."
The guard huffed and nodded. "See that you do." He responded, a tone of authority leaking into his voice, the man's chest rising to size himself up against the foreigner. "Go on in." He waved the stranger through, even if he only had the man's word. Directions were given to where Dio would find the bank to store his valuables.
"Thank you, thank you." The sailor replied, smiling and offered the guard a bow of his head to show his thanks further. "You have a good night now." The gate watcher added as Dio slipped through the opening of the large, wooden gate that separated the town from the land outside.
As Dio walked the streets, he was assailed by the unmistakable scents of meals, prepared by families for the evening, the air filled with a rich variety of smells.
He could see silhouettes of the people against the warmth of the light that brightened their homes, as well as he heard the murmurs of words and laughter while passing by opened windows, their tankards clanking against each other as they were filled and subsequently drained. The town calming down after the long day, with sounds of merriment and joy, eager to prepare for the coming summer.
Maybe this time, he would have more luck than during his previous visit in the town of farmers and traders.
Dio made it to the bank, where he reluctantly paid to store his sword, though he was warmed by the knowledge that it would be kept safe and hopefully earn his foreign blood more trust within the simple town.
By this time, the man's leg was starting to give and his will to continue was fading quickly. Just up the road, the banker had told him, that's where he would find the famous Prancing Pony.
The sailor knew this tavern from a previous visit years ago, but a reminder of where it was located was taken with a smile and thanks.
It was a struggle to climb the small slope that led up from the bank, testing the man's patience, will and strength.
He thought of the drink that waited at the top of the hill, the warmth and promise of a rest for his aching leg. A little further, he thought, just a little further.
When the man finally reached the top of the slope he took rest against the stone wall, the old, but sharp eyes seeing the next challenge that awaited him. Dio cursed as only an old sailor knew how when he spotted the short length of stairs that stood between him and the drink that called for him to come and sate his growing thirst.
It took all the will he could muster to push from his current place of rest to limp over to the stairs, thankful that there was a wall to rest against just next to them that he could lean on as he climbed to the top and it was at that point that he nearly stumbled through the wooden door, finally having reached his destination.
The rush of warm air and stench that only a tavern carried filled him with joy, the place not having changed since the last time he visited and was far more welcoming than the previous tavern he had been forced to rest in. At least there was no hole in the roof here or haunting noises that sent a chill down his spine.
Dio fumbled with his words to the bartender, unable to remember the simplest words in the common tongue as he tried to order a drink for his dry throat. It took a moment before the man could finally mutter out the word gin, which was promptly understood and a mug poured for the newest arrival to Bree-town.
When he turned to sit with his drink, the man was disappointed to see that most of the tables were occupied and he had no strength to carry him further into the room. The fireplace would have to do and the questionable old chair used to support his weight so that his leg could rest.
Tired, he did not remain long in the commons and once the mug was drained, the man paid for a room to sleep in for the night. He would gather up his strength and return fresh in the morning to begin his search for work.
