Blackfeather

Part One: First Meetings

Chapter 1

The merchant smiled to himself. It had been a while since his last meal, and this traveller, a lone Elf, smelled like he was almost ripe. Stuck by the side of the trail for what felt like an eternity, the Elf was cold to the bone and missed his family desperately. They would be worried by now.
One of the bolts from his wheel had come loose—something that had happened to him before. And inexplicably disappeared—which had not. With no spare, he cursed his unpreparedness. True, he had travelled this route countless times without issue, but Winter seemed colder these days, and the thick blankets of snow made for particularly difficult terrain. 
As excruciating as it was for the merchant to wait, he knew all that built-up frustration and exhaustion would make his meal all the more delicious. The smell alone was intoxicating. After a few more hours of waiting and watching in the dark, the merchant wiped the drool from the side of his mouth, lit his lantern and began to whistle a happy tune.

"Havin' some trouble, mate? Y'look more lost than a sinner in a church choir."
The merchant had watched the Elf wandering in and out of the wagon multiple times, occasionally digging around in the snow for his missing bolt. His hands were already starting to crack and blister and were shaking terribly.
"I thank you for the concern, friend. It seems I've somehow lost the bolt for one of my wheels. I figured I would give up searching for tonight and try again once the suns are up."
The merchant laughed.
"Ah well, don't shoot the messenger mate, but you'll be waitin' a long bloody time."
"How do you mean?"
"Foliage round 'ere's denser than me missus. No way any sunlight's gonna peak through. Seems like it's always night-time in this forest."
"Why it only got dark a few hou-..." the Elven man trailed off. When did it get dark? He could have sworn he was travelling in the dappled afternoon suns not long ago, thinking about Johnathon, and the girls, and his bed.
"When's the last time you saw the suns, mate? You recall what day it was? Do you actually know how long you've been out here?"
The elf stood there and said nothing. His husband and two daughters. Why couldn't he remember their names?
"I just want to get home."
"Well mate, it sure is fortunate a kind-hearted bloke like me stumbled upon you, isn't it?"
"Unless you happen to have a bolt that's fitted for my wheel, I don't see how you c-"
"I'll bet I do mate, I'll bet I do. I got many things in this trusty swag o'mine. See, I'm a merchant by trade, gotta be prepared. Never know when y'might come across a potential customer."
The Elf groaned and cursed himself for engaging in conversation with this irritating little man. It was so cold out here. There was a fire at home. At least, he thought there was.
"Even if you did have one that fit my wagon, I don't have any gold to offer you in return."
"Don't take gold, mate. Ain't got no use for it. I'll tell ya what, how about I have a look in my swag and see if I can't find you a bolt. If I can fix up your wagon and send you on your merry way, then we can discuss payment."
The Elf sighed,
"Alright, but just know I keep my daggers on me at all times. So, it would be in your best interest to not try anything funny, friend."
The merchant's grin spread even wider than before, as a thin trickle of drool ran down the side of his mouth.

Chapter 2

Soren sighed. He didn't like noise. The music and chatter of the small, crowded tavern made it difficult for him to concentrate. He had been practicing this spell for a few days now, with little progress to show for it. It was supposedly one of the simpler conjurations, making his ineptitude all the more frustrating. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he downed the last of his pint, and tried again.

Staring at the unlit candle in front of him, he lifted his claw, and stretched out a long, black talon.
"Conjure. Flame." He whispered.
The tip of his talon started to glow, ever so faintly. It was hard to tell what colour, exactly. Somewhere between white and gold. Soren stared at the candle in front of him with even more determination, and slowly brought the tip of his talon to the wick.

His eyes widened hopefully, as the wick sputtered and started to smoke. A tiny, yellow flame sleepily rose from the candle. His feathers began to puff up in delight...

Suddenly, the door to the tavern slammed open, letting in the cold night wind and extinguishing Soren's small victory. His fallen face looked up towards the barkeep, who nodded solemnly, and began to pour him another pint.

The figure who had undone Soren's efforts was incredibly short, stocky, and closely resembled a pile of dirty laundry with legs. Bundled up against the miserable weather outside, the only part of their face that wasn't concealed by furs or rags, were a pair of beady, grey eyes. The stranger scanned the tavern, until those eyes settled on a miserable looking Soren. Kicking the door behind them with a thud, they shuffled over towards the sad creature.

Had Soren been born with any sort of backbone, he may have been thought of as intimidating. He was around seven feet tall, and covered in black feathers. His giant wings never folded up neatly enough behind him for his liking, and he was painfully aware of how his long, sharp talons may be unnerving to those unfamiliar with him. He had begun wearing round-rimmed spectacles in an attempt at distracting people from his wide, Moon-like eyes. They didn't do much, but they made him feel a little better.

The stranger looked him up and down before sitting across from him. Soren didn't like being stared at, but he could understand their caution.
"You must be my driver."  Soren said.
"And you must be my cargo. I oughta charge you extra for being an oversized load." They chuckled. Their voice was deep and husky.
"Oh," said Soren nervously, "how much extra? I'm sorry if my size is an inconvenience."
The stranger laughed again,
"A shot of whiskey should cover it."
"Of course." Soren breathed a sigh of relief.

While Soren attempted to get the barkeep's attention, the stranger began to shed their many layers of clothes, revealing a dwarven woman. Her pale skin was sunburnt around her eyes and covered in intricate tattoos from the neck down. Her hair might have been blonde, but the dirt and grease matted into her locks made it difficult to tell. She watched in amusement as Soren tried to work up the courage to tell the barkeep that he had been chatting to the goblins on the table on the other side of the room long enough, and that he'd like to order some drinks, before slamming her fist on the table and shouting,
"Two shots of Blackwood whiskey! You don't want to keep my friend here waiting, he's crazy! You remember what happened to the Tough Mutton Inn?"
She broke into a gap-toothed grin as the whiskey hit the table.
"What... did happen to the Tough Mutton Inn?" Asked Soren quietly, who wasn't sure if he was nervous or relieved.
"Oh, I burnt it down. Cheers!"
-

"Ignea Blackburn." The dwarven woman introduced herself, after realising that Soren had left it a little too long to ask her name and was clearly trying to figure out a way to do so that wouldn't seem rude.
"Soren. It's a pleasure to meet you." He replied, sitting back a little more comfortably in his chair.
"Well Soren, it looks like we've got quite the trip ahead of us. If you don't mind me saying so, you don't really strike me as the adventurin' type. So why exactly am I taking you all the way across Wintersveile?"
Soren sighed, he hated lying.
"I'm on a... research expedition of sorts. I'm not really at liberty to discuss the details."
"Hey, I get it. A lot of my clientele prefer to keep their business affairs private. How's about we forget the questions and I show you to the coach, eh? I reckon I've got enough whiskey in my belly to face that blizzard again."

-

Soren's eyes narrowed. The coach looked small. Far too small, at least, for a seven-foot creature like himself. Ignea, however, seemed more concerned with feeding her two horses than Soren's ability to cram himself through the dwarf-sized doorway. As the step ladder creaked beneath his talon, the door before him stretched upwards and outwards, until it was perfectly comfortable for him to walk through.
"Fascinating..." He whispered.

The inside of the coach was roughly the same size as a small cabin. A fire was roaring next to, quite possibly, the most inviting bed Soren had ever seen. The room was well furnished, complete with a coffee table, armchair, dresser and bookshelf. Much to Soren's delight, there was even a chipped tea set laid out next to an old, blackened kettle and jar of tea leaves. A few ornately decorated oil lanterns floated in midair around the room, casting a dim, golden light over the quaint furnishings. He would have to ask Ignea all about the arcane mechanics of her coach in the morning.

Dropping his rucksack on the floor with a thud, Soren collapsed onto the bed and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 3

Ignea was a morning person. Always had been. She loved the way the pale, pink sky peeked through the tips of the snow-covered pines. She loved waking up her two beloved horses, Huginn and Muninn, with crisp, red apples and scratches behind their ears. She loved the smell of fresh snow and the satisfying crunch it made beneath her boots. She felt as though it was the only time she had where she could take things at her own pace. When she set herself up for a long day's journey, she liked to imagine that she was the only woman in the world. Just her, her horses and the open trail.

Unfortunately, a loud crash from inside her coach served as a reminder that she was, in fact, carrying a passenger.
"Well, sounds like our l'il birdie's up and about. Let's hope he hasn't broken anything, eh boys?"
Huginn snorted. Muninn shook his head disdainfully.

Ignea stepped inside the coach to find a distressed Soren desperately trying to put out the flames enveloping the tip of his tail. His awkward, gangly frame hopped and flapped about the room wildly. The chaos was almost enough to distract her from her father's tea set, which now lay in shattered pieces across the ground.
"What in the he-"
"Put it out! Put it out!" squawked Soren, knocking over the dresser with a massive, outstretched wing. With a string of curses, she clambered to the top of the coffee table, grabbed the flailing creature by the scruff of his neck, dragged him outside and shoved him, tail first, into the snow.
"That's gonna cost more than a shot of Blackwood's..." grumbled Ignea, as she trudged inside to clean up the mess. Soren wasn't paying attention to anything besides his roasted behind. His golden, glowing talon hissed as it rested in the snow, and after a while, grew dim.

-

As Soren sat next to Ignea at the front of the coach, he wondered if there was a spell he could learn that might allow him to sink directly into the ground. He quite liked Ignea and found her stern silence just as painful as the flames that had almost turned him into the world's largest roast chicken.
"I can't apologise eno-"
"You already have." Ignea groaned. "I might forgive you if you would just shut up for a while."
Had it not already been a while? Soren wondered. Had it not already been an eternity?
Ignea sighed.
"It's just... that tea set was pretty important to me."
Soren looked at her quizzically, then thought that might seem rude, so did his best to look at her in a decidedly non-quizzical way.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ignea snapped.
Damn it, thought Soren.
"It's just, you don't seem like the kind of person to care about something like a tea-set."
Ignea was silent for a little while.
"It was my father's."
"Oh?"
"Oh."
"Again, I'm so sor-" Ignea's stone-grey eyes cut him off with a menacing glare, and Soren clamped his beak shut. More silence.
"What was he like?" Soren asked.
"I don't normally chat much with my passengers, let alone go into my family history. Why do you ask?"
"It seems like he was important to you."
Ignea looked at him, and Soren was taken aback by her eyes. What once glinted and shone like sharpened steel were now as soft as grey clouds on a rainy day.
"He was. He was wonderful."
The snow had started to fall again, and Ignea began to pull up her hood. Soren stretched out his wing, sheltering her from the slowly falling flakes. Ignea looked up towards the strange creature.
"Say, there's a couple decent pubs in the next town. Let's get something to eat, ay?"
"Only if I pay for it."  Soren replied.
"Naturally."
Ignea flashed a wicked grin, and Soren felt as though he could breathe out again.