Bloodlines

Chapter 1: The Stranger

The cloaked figure rode into town on a chestnut mare. It was a drizzly evening, with the sun just starting to gently kiss the horizon goodnight. The townsfolk had already closed up shop, doors shut and locked, dim candlelight shining dully through the rain streaked windows. Yet one building was still booming with life and joy, the tavern.

The traveler had been riding for many days, her horse tired and lethargic, while she herself was in need of the comfort of a warm bed and a strong drink. The horse slowed from an ambling gait to a walk, dragging her hooves towards the tavern.

"Easy there Porche," the woman grunted, pulling the horse to a stop.

She swung her leg over and slumped off the mare, landing with a loud and revolting squelch as her riding boots hit the mud. The winter rains had blessed the lands with a bountiful harvest for the farmers, however the stranger could tell it wasn't just water mixed in with the mud in front of the bar. She lifted her knees high as she tied Porche up to the horse post, and kicked as much of the mud off her dark brown leather boots as she entered the bar.

Inside, she was greeted with an assault of the senses. Loud piano music played a nauseatingly joyful tune, while boisterous drunkards yelled either angrily or affectionately at one another. She could not tell which one. Finally, the smell hit her; a combination of body odour, piss, and greasy food. However, the stranger did not mind. Most of the towns she travelled through were similar to this. Villagers seeking comfort in the drink as the sun set, bar keepers not paid enough to clean up the excrement. This is all she had known for years, and found the noise and commotion a comfort after the lonely path she had travelled for so long.

However, she was not only here on pleasure, but also business matters. Taverns have alcohol, and alcohol equals loose lips.

She walked up to the barman, carefully avoiding the intoxicated men staggering from the lavatory as she did so. The man looked up, a warm smile on his face.

"A newcomer hey? We don't get many visitors around here," he said, wiping out a beer mug with a cloth.

The woman took off her hood, inviting the warmth of the tavern in, as well as more of the smells.

"And a woman to boot! What can I get for ya?" He enquired.

After removing her hood, the stranger noticed a few side glances from the men sitting at the bar. They were eyeing her up from head to toe, often looking away when they got to the scar stretching up along the right side of her face over her eye. She stood a little taller, which is hard to do at a measly five foot three.

"I'll take a glass of red please," she said, as she sat down on the vacant stool.

Her long warm coat engulfed her body, and it was starting to get warm. Alas, she sure as hell wasn't taking it off anytime soon. The bartender rummaged through the top right cabinet and plucked a bottle from the very back. He blew the dust off, and the stranger watched it swirl in the air, landing gracefully on the stained bar mat below. He pulled the cork, and poured a generous serving for her. As he was about the turn around, the woman interjected.

"I'm looking for work also," she enquired.

The man paused, glancing over his shoulder towards a group of men nearby withing earshot. He then looked her in the eye and replied.

"Sorry miss, no jobs here-"

"Not that kind of work," she said, looking back into his milky eyes.

The barman rose his eyebrows, then his eyes widened as he realized who, or rather what, she was.

"Missy you shouldn't go asking around here.... It's not safe-" the barman was cut off by a rather large, burly man with a great big gut sitting two stools to the woman's right.