Cry For War

Chapter Twenty

The travel to the inn was rather brief, even with all of the hustle and bustle imparted by the traveling merchants and street performers. Hector was the first to open the door, using his superior height to hold it for the two women, as well as Ephraim. To the astonishment of the four heroes, before them was a sizable hall, to the left, a tavern and to the right, what was likely the housing. The music from the tavern emanated, as well as the pleasant aroma of food wafting into the corridor.

"Come on now, let's get a bite to eat, yeah?" proposed the Ostian, much to the delight of Ephraim, who followed his lead without a moment's thought. Before Celica could interject, she found herself guiding Veronica as well. She knew that it wouldn't be easy for her to get much reading done in such a noisy environment, but she supposed doing so in a seated area would be far superior to standing or walking about the town, further risking being recognized.

"Make certain that they don't get into trouble, I'm going to speak with the innkeeper about getting a room tonight," Celica reassured at the doorway, stopping in her tracks to gesture inside. Veronica stared back at her with concern painted across her face, encouraging the priestess to place a hand on her cheek, giving a nod of approval. Thereafter, Veronica stepped inside, raising her hand up, as to avoid being blinded by the unique lighting. She couldn't help but notice the way they cast onto a velvet curtain that glittered red. She couldn't place her finger on any particular reason why it would make her feel so nervous, but a worry built in the pit of her stomach.

The current performer hardly caught her eye, nor did it seem to interest the pair of burlier men who quickly began to discuss what foods interested them the most. Veronica did her best to tune out such words, not wishing to distract herself from the lore she wished to take in. She squinted as she used the dim light to the best of her ability...

Ragnarok.

The word was like poison in her veins. It was an unpreventable end to the world as they knew it, documented only in the texts linked to convents and words supposedly spoken by the gods themselves. Legends, predictions, prophecies. How such documentation had ended up in Embla's library was beyond her understanding, but alas, she would proceed. Written was a rite, a ritual to be performed by four elemental overlords, perfect creations of the Goddess Loki. Veronica grit her teeth. If her assumption in the cabin held true, Loki certainly wanted something with her. If the monstrous generals she'd encountered in her home world were truly the same as the monster they'd encountered in the woods, and were the beasts fated to bring the end of all life as they knew it... They had more on their plate than they'd initially accounted for.

Before she could warn the pair, it seemed the performance was coming to start, leaving the curtains to rise and part. Veronica swallowed hard as a hooded figure appeared upon the stage, accompanied by the music played by the bards and musicians seated just offstage. Veronica found herself staring at the figure, the gait they walked in. It definitely left very little to the imagination, the sway of wide hips, the steps that pulled out farther than a flat foot would allow. As the music picked up, the woman pulled down her hood, revealing the long, three toned hair underneath. Black, blonde, and at the end, pink. She slowly allowed the rest of the hooded cape to drop to the floor, revealing the shawl and flowery adornments, which was only accompanied by her pale skin and golden eyes.

Veronica couldn't help but feel intimidated by her presence, by the way the young king leaned slightly forward in his seat. He'd never seemed interested in anything but fighting in such a way, why was he looking at this mysterious woman now?

That's when she noticed... he wasn't the only one. Many of the men in the show room looked as though the woman on stage was the only person in the world. All but herself, who seemed to be the only other woman in the room. At least until she looked over to Hector, who had his nose buried in the small menu pamphlet. He hadn't been looking, hadn't been subjected to whatever was happening in this room. She did her best to tune out the voice of the woman, the sound of the bells on her hips chiming to the tune with each steady swing. Veronica soared the dancer a glance, nearly having the breath knocked out of her by her movements alone. Her hips rolled toward the floor, hands pressed firmly as she pushed herself up with only her fingers and the platforms of her shoes.