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The inn keeper was still inspecting his paltry wood reserves when the calm of the morning was suddenly broken by two thunderous knocks at the front door. The inn keeper jumped and looked back towards the entrance in time to see the dust above the door frame mixing with the air. The inn keep was frozen, staring at the door, unsure whether something outside was trying to break it down. With little confidence and a bit of fear in is voice, the inn keeper muttered at the door from across the room, “It’s open.”
The latch popped and the door flung wide into the room with the same force of the knocks and a loud thud as it slammed into the wall. The inn keep’s incompetent tidying became ever more apparent as dust from the rafters now jumped up into the air and began to settle everywhere, including in Sarderson’s drink. Across the threshold entered a massive foot, followed by a leg and then a hand grasping the top of the door frame. Then, the head of a great dire wolf ducked under the frame. Finally, inside, Sarderson and the inn keeper could now see the instrument of the commotion. A giant of a man, easily seven feet tall and nearly half as wide wearing a wolf’s head as a cowl which covered the top half of his face and left only his massive chin and mouth exposed. The man appeared to be wearing the traditional garb of a Northumbrian barbarian, but some parts of the outfit were missing.
The mountain of a man stood still in the doorway for a second. His intent was unclear as the wolf cowl hid his eyes, but his jaw was slackened and mouth was just slightly open as if he was in deep thought. Then he barked. “Inn Keep!” The inn keeper jumped back a bit – it was clear he was terrified of the new arrival. “How can I help you sir?”
The giant barked again, “Food, fire and mead.” He made his way towards the bar, the floor shuddering and creaking underneath his feet. With each step he left behind a small puddle which mixed with the dust on the floor. As he came into the dim light, it was apparent that he was in fact soaking wet.
The man tilted his head down to inspect a bar stool and paused again as if in deep thought. Then he placed his hand on the stool and pressed down, the stool creaked and strained until it collapsed under his weight. He released a slow and exhausted sigh of disappointment and then another long and quite pause, with the same expression of deep thought and a slight frown on his face.
The inn keeper had rushed behind the bar to begin preparing a meal, but froze again upon the collapse of the stool, unsure of how to respond to the destruction of his property. He simply looked at the man in the cowl and the man in the cowl continue to look at the collapsed stool and Sarderson looked at them both, slightly bothered, perhaps slightly intrigued.
Then the man in the cowl muttered to himself below his breath as he reached to his waist and pulled at a solid gold bar that was sewn to the inside of his belt. As he pulled at the bar, the threads popped and he placed the it on the bar, “For your trouble Inn Keep. Now hurry with that food and put that stool to flame. There’s been water in my boots all night and I’d like to get warm and dry.”
The Inn keeper snapped to life with the site of the gold. It was likely more gold than the entire Inn was worth and it was certainly enough to replace the paralyzing fear that was gripping him previously with an invigorating capital motivation. “Traveled through some rough weather on your way here sir?” The inn keeper’s demeanor had changed completely and the air in the room began to creep towards some level of levity, “We had a clear sky here through the night.”
The face of the man in the wolf cowl grew into a weary smile as he contemplated how to tell his story. Sensing the quality of the furniture would not afford him a place to sit, he leaned against the bar and turned his head towards Sarderson. It was unclear if the man in the cowl was looking at Sarderson or just staring off into the distance, but glass eyes of the wolf cowl were glaring directly at him. Then with a deep breath, the man in the cowl began to explain, “Two days ago I set sail from Artean for the Port of Laureane with a crew of 40 men and a sizable haul of weapons, equipment, and treasure. I planned to unload the haul at Laureane and leave it in the care of one of the executors of my estate while I was to travel to Tierne on behalf of my master.” The man in the cowl paused again to take another deep breath. The glass eyes of the wolf still staring directly at Sarderson, he continued “However, the ship ran through a storm yesterday evening and was lost to the sea along with the crew and the haul.”
The Inn Keeper snapped his attention to man in the cowl and exclaimed to the back of his head, “My God Sir! What a tragic loss! How on earth did you survive?”
“I fought to keep my head above the waves, treading water for some number of hours. Then, after the storm subsided, I swam through the night, keeping my eye on the stars to guide me North towards the coast until I hit the shoreline. I’m been trekking through the wilderness all morning trying to find a road and now I’m here”.
“I’ve never heard of such a feat. You’re lucky to be alive!” The Inn keeper moved swiftly from behind the bar and gathered up the broken pieces of the stool and placed them in the fire place along with the rest of the wood. “I apologize for not setting the fire first sir, you must be on Death’s door!” The Inn Keeper took a coal from the stove and began frantically fanning the wood pile.
The man in the cowl didn’t move. He continued to lean against the bar, looking straight at Sarderson. “Luck has little to do with it.” A smile began to creep up the man’s face. “The blessings of my lord afford me a unique constitution.”
The Inn Keeper continued to stoke the flames. “blessings of my lord?” he thought to himself. “Forgive me sir, I didn’t take you for a Holy man.” Talking to the flames, the Inn Keeper asks, “Are you a Holy Paladin set to some righteous task in Tierne by our Lord?”
“You’re close Inn Keeper. I’m known as Siegfried and I have walked the path of a Paladin for quite some time and I have been set to a somewhat righteous task in Tierne. However, I am no Holy man and I do not serve your god.”
The Inn Keeper turned slowly towards the man in the cowl who was still looking straight at Sarderson. The dim light of the morning had grown now and light was beginning to flood the room, but a shadow was cast over Sarderson’s face, masking his expression. Tension began to fill the air of the room now as well. The Inn Keeper had heard enough of Sarderson’s stories to understand what this likely meant. – a blood pact. A contract with an otherworldly being – forbidden on pain of death in every province in the land. The Inn Keeper had to be sure. Slowly, cautiously, the Inn keeper asked, “And, what Lord did you say you served, sir?”
The smile on the man’s face grew again. The smile grew so large that his teeth were revealed. The light in the room continued to grow as the morning sun cut through the early fog and the Inn Keeper could clearly see the man’s teeth were stained with blood.
Still glaring at Sarderson, the man in the cowl said, “I serve the God of Death.”
The Inn keeper was frozen in terror. Certain his time had finally come, all he could do was hope that the old mage in the corner would be able to save them from this servant of Hell.
Then, the full toothed smile of the man in the cowl died down to a large grin. He reached for his belt again and pulled off another gold piece. “In Tierne there is a necromancer known as Entipto leading a blood cult, loyal to a lesser demon.” It was apparent now that he was no longer talking to the bar keeper at all, but directly to Sarderson. “They’re raising an undead army. I don’t know what they’re planning, but my master is upset about it and has ordered me to take back what’s rightfully his and to send those souls back to Hell. The next full moon comes three days from now and is a blood moon.” Siegfried throws the gold bar towards Sarderson. It lands on the floor and slides all the way to Sarderson’s foot. Siegfried’s grin disappears as he begins his next words, “You know what that means, wizard.” He goes on, “All of my weapons, gear, and men are at the bottom of the sea. It’d take me two days just to get to Laureane from here on foot to resupply, plus another two to get to Tierne, so that’s not an option. If came ashore where I think I did, Tierne should only be a day and a half from here.” Siegfried begins to lumber from his post on the bar and moves towards the fire. The Inn Keeper shuffles back into the corner in fear. The giant sits on the floor next to the flame and begins to take off his boots. “I may serve the god of death, but his blessings have limits. I know a spellcaster when I see one and I’d feel much more comfortable heading straight to Tierne from here with a mage at my side. I have three more gold bars sewn into my belt. Consider the one at your feet as a gift of good faith and compensation for keeping my presence here a secret.” Siegfried turns to the Inn Keeper and taps on the gold bar on the table, making it apparent that it’s meant to buy his silence and not just compensation for a stool. Siegfried turns back to Sarderson, “Come with me to Tierne and help me destroy the blood cult and you’ll have earned another bar and if you play your cards right, there may be reward in it from the Lord of Tierne.” Siegfried sits, staring into the flames for a long moment, waiting for a response. “Take your time to decide, Wizard. I will not hold it against you if you decide to stay. There are few men in this land with the stomach to follow a Blood Paladin into battle. I leave here when my boots have dried. I’ll ask you once more then.”

As if waiting for this exact sequence of events to happen, the door suddenly burst open with a powerful, totally-not-scripted gust of wind. This random, but totally important moment forced everyone's attention to the opening of the inn, even if it didn't necessarily move their gazes. Years passed, or perhaps about a minute, until a long-bearded, pointy-hat-wearing, probably-wand-wielding, possibly-in-his-spare-time-broom-riding man walked out from where the latrine was located, a half-torn scroll dragging from the sole of his sandal.
"Oh, my dear, oh me," he said out loud to himself, not even realizing what was going on. "Those cave mushrooms do not agree with me; made my insides all rumbly, like a pit full of ornery boars." He walked to the inn's door and closed it before sitting down at an empty table, his legs spread uncomfortably wide for a man of his age (or any age).
"What's the score, Sam?" he asked to the inn-keep, as if he had known him for years.
"Once again, Master Farinon, my name is not 'Sam'," the inn-keep reminded him. "The least you could do is remember that, sir."
"Well, it would be a lot easier, Tim, if you would have just told me your name to begin with," he told him, placing his pointy, yet floppy and well-worn hat down on the table. "Now I have to keep guessing at it until I either get it right or run out names; but with the way that the local royalty are naming their offspring things like 'Apple' and 'Dalton', I may never reach the end of that rainbow."
The inn-keep-of-no-name sighed to himself. "While you were most likely destroying the facilities for the past six hours, two others have since come into my establishment," he told him, motioning to the two men with his eyes.
Farinon looked at the other wizard mage from behind. "Ah, another magic user!" he squealed. "However, you seem to know a decent barber; the only person I can get to trim my beard is my own mother, but she hasn't been very good at it since I accidentally sneezed her into a newt. On a side note, word to the wise: despite what people might say or believe, when a person is turned into a newt, they do not get better."
He turned his attention-deficient attention to mass of something by the fire. "Now, I've seen a lot of sights in my..." he says as a cat yowls loudly from behind the bar, conveniently obscuring what he was going to say. "...years on this plane of existence, but I've never seen a dire wolf made up of biceps." He squinted his eyes to inspect him closer, as if that gave him sharper vision or something.
The inn-keep, who was wondering where he got a cat from, groaned softly to himself. "That's not a dire wolf, Master Farinon," he muttered.
"Oh," Farinon said, fairly disappointed. "I guess I don't get to mark the 'abomination against god and nature' square off of my 'Life Bingo™' card." He crossed his legs at the knees, placed his bearded chin on the tops of his two fists, like a teenage girl who was already three hours into a phone call conversation.
"So," he said to the two of them. "What'cha dooooing?"