The Wanderer

  The Wanderer had been walking for hours now, concentrating on the path ahead of him. To his left and right there was nothing but untouched wilderness, the paved path was the only sign of civilization far and wide.

  It was a rocky landscape; the only green coming from a few wild bushes and herbs whose roots had won the battle against the stony earth.

  It was clear he was getting closer to the mountains. The Wanderer, however, was not bothered by the landscape; he enjoyed it. He always preferred a little harder ground under his feet rather than soft meadows or, even worse, damp moors.

  It was the middle of the day, and the sun was shining high on the horizon, but the cool mountain winds ensured that it was not too hot, and he wondered what it was like here in winter.

  The last time I was here, I met at least four other travelers at this point. So, it must be worse than expected, he thought, grimacing slightly. Even though he wasn't here for fun, or at least not just for fun, he always used any excuse to leave his home and travel the world.

  I can already hear the others complain when I get home, but the wind blows where it pleases. His defiant thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he heard some crows above him. Instinctively he pulled the hood of his cloak further over his face. He had put a lot of effort into the concealment spell that made him look like a human, but of course he never knew who was watching, whether from near or far.

  He was sure his brother would have swatted the crows right out of the sky, but he knew better. Crows weren't evil, just opportunistic, and in these times, everyone had to watch out for themselves, if they were watching him at all. To pass the time, he whistled a little to himself and listened to the howl of the wind sweeping over the rocks.

  Before he knew it, a city wall came into view, a large wooden palisade with a gate at the front that was probably there for the traders and their carts. Next to the large gate, he could see a smaller door with a viewing slit that was probably a passage for people.

  He stared up at the sky. The sun was now setting, but normally the gate should still be open at this time.

  Carefully, he stepped in front of the door and knocked three times, loudly and slowly. The slit was pulled back, and a pair of wrinkled, annoyed-looking eyes peered out.

  I guess I've extended someone's working day, the Wanderer thought, unable to suppress a slight grin, apparently much to the annoyance of the gatekeeper. "Who are you? What do you want here in Schlucht?" he asked irritably. OK, let's calm the situation down before I have to sleep outside, he thought quickly and pulled his coin purse out of his coat pocket.

  "I am a wanderer and I want to wander and lose a few coins along the way," he said and held the bag in front of the man's eyes, shaking it slightly. The gatekeeper stared suspiciously for a while, grumbled something incomprehensible and closed the slit.

  After a few moments he heard the relieving sound of a key turning in its lock and the door opened. The Gatekeeper, who was wearing a tattered brown coat, simply held out his open hand. He gave him two silver Sterling, which the porter eyed suspiciously, but finally pocketed them and waved him in.

  He walked through the door and turned back to the gatekeeper. "Thank you, my friend, can you perhaps tell me where...?" he began, but the gatekeeper interrupted him with a harsh "I'm off work," closed the door and went on his way, leaving a bewildered Wanderer alone at the gate.

  When will people realize that bad times don't get better with bad behavior, he thought with a sigh as he set off to find a Tavern. As he walked through the dark streets, he noticed that Schlucht was a relatively large settlement. It was certainly not possible to see from one end of the town to the other with the naked eye.

  No comparison to the old days, but pretty good considering the circumstances, he thought as he walked past a row of large half-timbered houses towards the town Centre, the most likely place for a reputable inn. Ah, just like before, were his first thoughts as he saw the large square in the heart of the town. In the middle of it stood the impressive fountain that he remembered from his last visit, flanked by two statues, a sheep and a cow. The two stood facing each other, their heads gracefully raised high.

  If he remembered correctly, beginning at noon the two animals would shoot a jet of water from their mouths while they were surrounded by children playing and climbing on the statues.

  His gaze wandered over the houses that stood around the square and finally stopped on a house with a sign above the door that read "To the happy dwarf." The whole thing was decorated with a picture of a little man with a red cap who seemed to be grinning and waving a tankard.

  I've never seen a dwarf with a red cap or even one that grins, but this looks like an inn, he thought. With this in mind, he walked towards the inn, whistling happily. When he got there, he pressed the door handle. " I got lucky they're still open," he thought happily as he entered the inn.

  Inside he found himself in a typical tavern. Several round tables with wooden chairs, as well as a bar with several stools. The tavern was mostly clean, but he noticed a few isolated stains on a few tables and the floor, which was a good sign for him. Shiny and dent-free weapons and armor are never used and a tavern that is sparkling clean sees no visitors, he thought contentedly and continued into the pub.

  The interior of the inn was only dimly lit, from an almost burned-out fireplace at one side and a flickering chandelier that hung in the middle of the room. The innkeeper looked at him with slight surprise. He was scrubbing the counter and talking to a man who, judging by his leather armor and sword at his side, was probably a member of the local Guard.

  The supposed town guard stared at him suspiciously, while the innkeeper looked at him with concern. To forestall any possible hostility, he thought it best to step into the glow of the fireplace and pull down his hood. With what he hoped was a friendly smile, the wanderer walked towards them.

  "Greetings, I know it's late, but do you have a bed free for a tired traveler? I can pay too," he said, with an expression on his face that he hoped would be seen as reassuring and pulled his coin purse out of his pocket. The gray-haired guard and the bald innkeeper both looked at each other in surprise for a moment. As I thought travelers are unusual here, especially at this late he thought to himself as he walked towards the two, still smiling.

  The innkeeper, now recovered from his surprise and offered him a stool. "Of course, we still have a bed free for a paying customer. It's not like I'm full here overnight, stranger, but if you want something else to eat, I'm afraid I can only offer you some leftover stew," the innkeeper replied eagerly. After all, the innkeeper is more business-minded than the Gatekeeper, he thought to himself and suppressed a sigh of relief.

  He had feared that he would be fobbed off with a brief "I'm off work" here too. "I'll take a stew, I'm glad that not all the inhabitants of Schlucht are as unfriendly as the doorman," said the Wanderer, thanking him. "He's just not used to working anymore," said the grey-haired guard, which made the innkeeper laugh as he went to get the stew. "My name is Ivar Brenner, nice to meet you," the man introduced himself and held out his hand. The Wanderer accepted, feverishly thinking of what an appropriate name for a person in this time and area would be.

  "Nice to meet you to, my name is... Stephan Sturm."

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  "Nice to meet you Stephan, welcome to Schlucht," replied Ivar, his eyes attempting to give him a thorough inspection.

  They were a dark green, surrounded by a few wrinkles and, despite the late hour, still wide awake, he noticed. Early fifties perhaps, he estimated as their hands separated again. He was sure that if he had completely transformed into a human and not just looked like one, his hand would hurt now.

  "Stop breaking my guest's hand, Ivar," complained the innkeeper, who returned with a bowl of stew and a spoon, which he placed in front of his guest. The wanderer, who called himself Stephan Sturm for the time being, briefly examined the innkeeper. A medium-sized, plump man with no hair. Satisfied, he began to eat; after all, skinny innkeepers were not to be trusted.

  He began to dig into his stew. "If I may ask, what exactly brings a traveler to Schlucht? It's rare that we hear anything from the surrounding towns, but you seem to come from a little further away than Westhold," asked Ivar curiously . "Forgive him for being curious, he's part of the city guard, questioning people is part of his job," said the innkeeper, who had started wiping the counter again.

  Ivar burst out laughing and said: "If there are other people here in the City Watch, I'm afraid I haven't met them yet. They must have taken time off without telling me. I'm afraid I'll have to take over their shifts and their paranoia until they get back."

  "Yes, curiosity never hurts," the Wanderer said between spoonfuls of stew. " It's nice that you share my sentiment on this, so Mr. Sturm, what brings you to the formerly beautiful City of Schlucht?" Ivar asked again, still in a polite tone, but the Wanderer noticed that the humorous undertone from before had disappeared completely from his voice.

  "Well, if you're interested, it's true that I'm not from that... er, Westhold that you mentioned, a neighboring town, I assume?" he replied. "Westhold and Emmertal are the only other towns nearby," Ivar answered curtly. In a tone that practically seemed to shout, "Don't distract!", so he quickly continued.

  "I came here from Auros. I studied history there, which eventually led me here."

  "You must have a lot of money if you could afford to study in Auros," Ivar noted.

  "Not anymore," the wanderer simply replied.

  "I understand," Ivar said with a grin.

  “Ah, then you are probably interested in the old dwarf ruins in the mountain. I’m afraid you made the journey for nothing,” the innkeeper now joined in the conversation again.

  When the wanderer looked at him questioningly, he replied in astonishment: "I can hardly believe that you don't know about that. 20 years ago, or so, a dragon appeared here during a storm and took up residence in the old dwarven' halls." Now it's getting interesting, thought the wanderer, and asked with what he hoped was masterfully feigned surprise: "So that's why we don't hear anything from your corner of the world anymore. What's it like having a dragon as a neighbor, has he trapped you here?"

  "Well, fortunately, you hardly ever see the lizard itself. At best, from a distance, when he goes hunting, but that's not really the problem. The real damage is caused by the dragon's men," the innkeeper replied grumpily. " dragon's men?" asked the wanderer, who called himself Stephan Sturm here, confused. "Glorified bandits, the lizard has probably set up his lair here and, as is usual for his kind, he is now starting to collect treasures," Ivar explained with a heavy sigh.

  "And these dragon men are helping him, aren't they?" the wanderer asked in a resigned voice. "Yes, the worm is acting like a damned sovereign. Claims to protect us from dangers that don't exist and demands that we pay him in return. The dragon's men are like his tax collectors, to put it nicely. In the worst case, they occasionally "recruit" a few of us to help excavate the old dwarven fortress. Hoping the old residents left something valuable behind. The people are treated no better than slaves, from what I hear," the innkeeper replied in a bitter voice.

  "Basically, they're all just simple bandits. Nothing we usually couldn’t dealwith, but anyone who tries to take action against them has to be afraid that the dragon will pay them a visit. Besides, the stupid reptile has bought them some pretty good equipment from somewhere," Ivar said dejectedly.

  "I remember when I was a little boy, there were street parties here almost every day. Trade between the towns in this area was good and you could still get all kinds of treasures out of the old dwarf tunnels," the innkeeper remembered dreamily. "Has the tunnel collapsed?" asked the Wanderer interested. "Haha no, but now you can put everything you find straight into the claws of that damn dragon, he has his hoard there," laughed the innkeeper humorlessly.

  "And if you meet the glorious men of the dragon between the cities, you can first pay their toll," Ivar added gruffly. "Is there no one here who can help you? What about the dwarves?" the wanderer asked curiously. The innkeeper and Ivar looked at each other in amazement, but then burst into laughter. "I think Mr. Sturm, you got a little confused with the timelines in your studies. I can guarantee you, the only dwarf in the entire area is the one in front of my inn,” said the innkeeper, his face red from laughter.

  He quickly joined in the laughter to make it look like a joke. You idiot, there are no more dwarves here since the Morans came through here, he scolded himself in his thoughts.

  "I like your humor, Mr. Sturm, if that's your real name, but all that's left of the dwarves here are a few of their toys. That is, the stuff that was so unimportant to them, that they left it behind. We used to use most of it in mining ourselves or on the wells. They are supposed to be a gift from the dwarves to the first Human settlers or something like that, but apart from the tunnel and the ruins themselves, that's it for dwarves in this area," said Ivar after taking several deep breaths.

  Did he see through me or was that just a joke? Damn, what do I do now? It's best not to respond, yes that sounds best, just change the subject quickly , the thoughts hastily flashed through his mind.

  "Yes, I'm often told that I'm the joker in the family. But jokes aside, I mean, Schlucht and the surrounding towns belong to the Kingdome of Drevik. What do the people of Dresnost think of the situation here?" he asked, but he already had an idea what the answer would be.

  Ivar and the innkeeper looked at each other briefly before they started laughing again. "Well, our healer is from the capital, she said that after the King received the news, he called for brave and voluntary dragon slayers, meaning free of charge. I guess he's still waiting for them," said the innkeeper after he had caught his breath.

  "We are so isolated from the rest of the kingdom out here, if tax collectors hadn't ridden through every now and then, you would have thought that the people in Dresnost didn't even know that we existed," added Ivar, shrugging his shoulders. "That's right, at least the dragon keeps these villains away from us," laughed the innkeeper.

  "Hmm, I know a little about dragons, I met a few during my time in Auros. Maybe I can talk to him," said the traveler with a smile on his face. The two laughed again. "Yes, maybe you can get him to apologize and give us our Stuff back with interest," said the innkeeper.

  "All jokes aside, this dragon doesn't care whether you get along with the djinn or other dragons. It has happened that he has left his lair specifically to attack djinn traders who happened to be nearby," Ivar said in a serious tone before finally standing up. "Well then, Boris, a pleasure as always," he said and nodded to the innkeeper. "Mr. Sturm, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, if I see a dwarf, I'll let you know," Ivar said his goodbye and left the inn, while the hearty laughter of the innkeeper Boris and the slightly forced laughter of a certain Stephan Sturm echoed after him.

  Shortly afterwards, the wanderer wished Boris good night and went to his room, which seemed to consist of little more than a bed and a wardrobe, but that was all he needed. After taking off his boots and coat, he collapsed onto the bed. He didn't really want to sleep, though. For one thing, he wasn't tired, and for another, that could mean an unpleasant encounter with one of his siblings, whom he really didn’t want to deal with right now.

  Instead, he tried to remember what it looked like the last time he was here. He remembered that dwarves used to be a common sight in the surrounding human cities. The Mountain dwellers always had good relations, with the humans who lived near their Bastions, and the djinn they liked at least enough to trade with them, and with dwarves, that meant something. He once heard that a dwarf wouldn't even sell a hammer to an elf, Nephilim, or generally anyone he didn't trust, even if they offered him their weight in gold; they weren't completely dominated by greed when it came to that sort of thing.

  After all, their stubbornness and distrust prevented them from joining the Morans. Although I wonder if they regret that now ?, he asked himself, thinking of all the dwarven ruins that were scattered across the mountains, one of which he could almost see from his window. The dwarves would surely spit fire in anger at the thought of a dragon taking up residence in their old halls. As far as I can remember they never got along, probably because they shared to many similarities, he thought to himself with a slight grin.

  Both are loners, both tend towards greed, are incredibly proud, distrustful and as stubborn as the mountains they call home. Although it must be said that dwarves are at least not as devious as dragons. Their cunning is basically proverbial, he reminded himself. It promised to be an interesting conversation with the self-proclaimed scaly ruler of these lands.

  And if all else fails, which it probably will, there's always this, he thought, patting the object in his pocket with a mischievous smile. A smile that immediately disappeared when he thought about how his siblings would react when they found out he had taken it from its Vault. But he was sure the dragon's reaction would be worth all the trouble.

  He spent the rest of the night imagining the look on the dragon's face when the time finally came.

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