The Epic Tale of Cregan

Chapter 3: Liar's Most Useful Tool

The sun is just barely starting to set as Romeow stops at the edge of the forest, sitting down and staring off at what's ahead. Cree sees the cat stop and he also halts his walking, all while Regan is too busy taking in the sights of everything else to notice.

"Ty, isn't this place simply fascinating! I mean, just look at these trees! And the flowers! And—"

Cree sticks out his arm and Regan runs into it, immediately stopping his current babbling.

"What is it?" he asks in an exaggerated whisper.

Cree frowns and nods to the road ahead. "A town. We should be cautious." He looks over the small rustic town from where they're standing. It really does look a lot like Sage, minus the snow and technology, and much smaller. The small houses made from stones and wood, with vines creeping up the walls. Colorful markets bustling with people dressed in tunics and corsets. Shops with wooden signs hanging above the doors to announce what they sell.

He grumbles and lowers his arm back down to his side. "We need a plan. I say we should stop to rest at the tavern for the night and go from there. We're bound to hear something of use," he states.

Regan clears his throat and readjusts his tie. "Inn," he corrects.

Cree slowly turns his glare to him and tries reading his face. "What?" he asks. Regan picks up Romeow and puts him in his bag, then nods towards the town.

"You said tavern. It's actually an inn."

Cree stands up straight and shakes his head quizzically. "What's the difference?" he asks.

Regan gasps and holds up a hand, looking away as though his mind is physically unable to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Cree grumbles and returns his focus to the town. "Whatever. Stay focused. We need to find out where the tav—" he growls. "Where the inn is, but we can't draw too much attention to ourselves... we need to be discreet. Let's work out how we should go about... Regan?" He glances behind him to see that Regan had somehow vanished.

For a clumsy six-foot-three lunatic, he's surprisingly sneaky. He doesn't know whether to be impressed or terrified by that fact.

Cree looks back to the town and growls as he sees Regan running up to the first person he sees; a man wearing a plain tunic carrying a straw basket filled with bread and apples who's on his way home after closing up his market stand for the night.

"Fucking hell..." Cree groans and rushes after him.

"Hi! Excuse me, kind sir! A moment of your fine time if I may. Could you by chance point me in the direction of the inn?" Regan enthusiastically asks the man.

Cree runs up and grabs his arm. "Regan, what are you doing? We can't just—"

"The inn's that building right there." The man smiles and points to the long building a few houses down the main road from where they are. "It's called the 'Drunken Ducks'. Just speak to Magna if you're lookin' for a stiff drink," he says kindly. Cree studies the man intently, now it's his turn for his mind to be incapable of understanding what's going on.

Regan smiles back. "Why thank you! You are most kind!"

The man nods. "No problem, stranger! Now, is there anything else you need before I take my leave?" he asks.

Regan nods as well and looks around. "Yes, actually. One more question. Might I ask where we are?" He turns back to the man.

"You two lost, I take it? You're in New Cresthill, friend. Nothing much to see here, unless you're planning on heading to Ecrin or catching the faerie to Arkala," the man explains.