The chiming of the water-clock in the square awakened Vaal. Grey morning light streamed through the thick and cheaply made window of his room at the Six Dancing Horses Inn.

Groaning, he sat at the edge of the bed and stretched. He was not used to such poor accommodations, especially not here in his home city. Harpsfell was known for its exquisite inns and galleries.

Not that he minded staying at the Six Dancing Horses. The food was good, the owner amiable and the two maids far from homely. Still, it was missing some of the more welcome comforts. Many of the better inns in Harpsfell offered running water, heated beds and other spell-crafted items.

Still half blind from sleep in his eyes, Vaal grabbed the only spell-crafted item the Six Dancing horses offered, a plain ceramic jar, empowered to keep the water within hot. He poured the contents into the washbasin on the nightstand and splashed his face in it.
Finally fully awake, Vaalingrade Ashland ran a hand through scruffy black hair that hung to his earlobes. As he did, he studied the other. A tight binding of black leather wound from his elbow to his palm, held in place by Dey’s silver hand. At least he had remembered to secure the wrappings after last night.

Frowning at the hand as if it had just said something rude, Vaal stood from the bed. He was hardly something fearsome; only as tall as an average Chordini woman, he was pale and a bit on the scrawny side. Aside from the wrappings on his hand, he looked like a farmer’s son and not a very old one at that.

Pulling on a shirt, Vaal paused to look at himself in the ancient stand-up mirror on the far wall. The homespun shirt hung lopsided over his woolen breeches. Both pieces of clothing looked to be made for a commoner, but an expert tailor would notice their high quality.

Ignoring the slovenly state of his shirt, Vaal stepped into his boots, a care worn pair made of black leather. A cloak of drab green wool followed the boots, fastened with a bone pin. Then came a headband made of black material. It all but disappeared under his bangs.

Finally, he picked up his sword harness from the corned. With a swift motion, he drew his weapon from its well oiled leather sheath. The blade shone darkly in the grey light, black iron, etched with the pattern of a rose vine. Here and there, a jag of metal extended at an odd angle where a thorn would grow. A master smith would click his tongue and frown at such a weapon; ungainly, especially for the man who wielded it, the thorns interrupted any chance the weapon had of scoring a killing blow and made it impossible to sheath. A rose of ebony made up the hilt, with a simple crosspiece etched with leaves.

Vaal called his sword Last Kiss and it was the only traveling companion he had had in the last few years. Truly, it was the only one he had needed.

Resheathing the impossible to sheath sword, with equally impossible speed, Vaal strapped the harness across his back, the ebony rose peeking over his shoulder and stole out the door.

***

The common room of the Six Dancing Horses was empty and silent, except for Jaiya, one of the maids, and the sound of her broom when Vaal came down the stairs.

“Mornin’ to you, Master Ashland.” Jaiya smiled warmly, “I trust you slept well?”

Vaal returned the smile just as warmly. “Quite well, thank you, Jaiya.” He had no idea why the girl insisted on calling him ‘Master’ despite both his insistence that she stop and the fact that he appeared otherwise.

“Would you be minding if I asked after why you’re up so early?” The maid asked. Most of customers of the Six Dancing Horses drank and gambled until the wee hours and slept until noon.

“Just some errands to run. That and I’d like to have a better look at the city.” Not that I’ll tell you that I mean ‘Old City’, Vaal mused to himself. “Its been quite a while since I’ve been here.”

“In that case, you simple have to see the Temples. Some say they’re one of the great wonders on the face of Ere.” Jaiya loved to play tour guide to newcomers to Harpsfell. It made Vaal wonder why she wasn’t employed by the city yet.

But Vaal had no intention of going to any temples today that any normal person knew about. “I’ll most likely end up there in my wanderings.” On second though, faith may be helpful before going down the city the Kaydan mentioned. He started for the door.

“You know Master Ashland, you’re unlike any of our regulars. You sleep early and rise early as well. You pay us well and never treat us bad. I’m glad you’re staying here.”

“As am I.” Vaal said over his shoulder as he stepped on the door.
It was a typical Chordini summer morning. Summer, in Chordin meaning ‘less cold’. A chill breeze blew south from the glaciers and down the streets of the city atop the plateau. Vaal took a deep breath as he paused on the porch of the Inn. The cold air energized him like nothing else.

Allowing the cloak to flap loosely around him, he glanced up and down the street. Most cities on Ere woke before dawn if they slept at all. But Harpsfell, the Bard City where excess was king and magic did most of the mundane work slept in more often than not. A scruffy dog was wandering up the street, unafraid of any wagon or foot traffic that would have made his saunter a suicidal act in Spinar at this hour.

Thinking about Spinar brought Vaal back to his senses and the task at hand to the forefront of his mind. He stepped off the porch and headed north toward the markets