The man’s face was rugged, like one that was worn by years of battle and weather. A tangled mess of dark hair fell past his shoulders, partially covering a jagged scar that ran across his brow. His eyes were narrow and sunken, glinting with primal-like intensity.
A thick, unkempt beard clung to his jaw, tangled with dust and hints of dried blood. Dirt smeared his skin, and tribal markings, crudely inked, coiled around his neck and temples, hinting at savage origins. Everything about him breathed raw violence.
Devon, who normally was unperturbed by things (by character), was surprised with what he was seeing.
The man looked like a medieval barbarian, like someone who had lived in the woods for a greater part of his life.
The man pointed his sword at them, breathing heavily. The sword looked sharp and capable, with just a single swerve, chop one’s head off.
Drahon was very cautious now. What if this was an enemy? With their current languorous state, they weren’t sure they would be a match for someone as fierce as this.
They could run though, summoning their dragons to fly them away, but then, everywhere was dark. They didn’t know who they would encounter.
"Who are you children!" the man said, his voice like someone that liked a lot of beer—in his case, rum perhaps?
Drahon thought he had this accent of people who drank rum (not that he had any idea), or a pirate maybe.
"We—we mean no harm. As you can see, we have no weapons on us. We’re just passing through this path on our way," Drahon explained. "Let us continue, and we promise not to disturb but to go our way."
The barbarian-looking man hesitated, brows furrowed as he stared at Drahon and the players.
Devon, who earlier looked startled, now carried an indifferent face, with just a sprinkle of terror on it.
"Hands in the air, I’ll check myself," the barbarian said.
The players were alarmed at that, including Devon, who was about to summon his scimitar-like sword and take on the barbarian.
Drahon stopped them all by raising his hands up as an example.
"It’s nothing," Drahon whispered. "I’m certain he means no harm."
The barbarian paid no attention to what Drahon was muttering as his hands went through their bodies, checking if they had any weapons on them.
When he approached the female players, he didn’t touch them so much as to be labeled ’molestation’. He just checked the ’insensitive’ places, and pulling back, he said, squinting his eyes as he looked at them like someone who was peering.
"I find nothing, but that doesn’t mean y’all are free," he said.
Drahon was bemused with the words.
"What are you guys, travelers?"
Drahon nodded in the negative. He wasn’t so sure if this was an NPC or some player, and so he decided to lie.
"We’re just trying to go on to the Frost area," Drahon said.
"The Frost area?" he asked, not seeking a reply, more of a confirmation. "That’s still miles ahead, and it’s getting late."
"Miles ahead?" a female player asked.
"Yes," the barbarian said. "Let’s say this large rock is just half of what you have to cover."
Drahon sighed. He looked at the others, they all looked tired and exhausted, and from the looks of things, wouldn’t be able to keep walking in order to find shelter.
They didn’t know what was behind the boulder though, as it was nighttime now—fully!
The sky was plain black. A bit of stars hung on it, casting a soft light against the ground.
"You guys can continue your journey. My apologies for disturbing. But it’s mandatory, as I am the protector of this place, myself, that is, haha. You never know when those brutes strike!"
Drahon stared at the face of the barbarian in disquiet.
"Who do you call brutes, if I may ask?" he said to the barbarian.
"Haven’t you met the skeleton monsters on your way here? They’re more stronger in the night. Times 10 stronger," the barbarian said.
The players exchanged glances.
If the skeleton monsters were ten times stronger, then what about them?
They would be weaker.
Firstly, they were all tired from the long walk they took because of the windy atmosphere in the clouds. This meant they wouldn’t be able to engage in physical fights, as that would be impossible.
Secondly, even though they were to use their dragons and not actually fight with their hands, the atmosphere wasn’t on their side, as they couldn’t fight in darkness. Devon might use his flame skill stuff, but it wouldn’t be enough to light up the whole place, and that would leave them cooked!
Calculating the possibilities, Drahon decided to do one last thing,.their last hope!, which was:
"Can you let us spend the night at your house? We’ve been fighting dozens of the skeleton monsters all day, and now we’re exhausted," Drahon explained. "It’s also dark. We can walk no more."
The barbarian looked at Drahon and then at the rest of the players. He looked like he wasn’t satisfied with Drahon’s explanation.
"How am I sure you guys are not trying to kill me? Looks like it. And I’m a very cautious type."
Drahon face-palmed and sighed.
"We mean no harm," Devon took over. "We barely know ourselves too. We’re just trying to survive."
The barbarian hesitated, weighing his options while the players stared at him, hoping he said something to their benefit.
"Alright, follow me," the barbarian finally said.
The players all gave a sigh of relief, a feeling that felt like one who wanted to pee so badly and was finally peeing, that satisfaction.
"Thank you," they all said in unison, even Devon (he pronounced his like he was mumbling the words).
The barbarian’s house stood half-carved into the side of a rocky hill, with thick wooden beams jutting out from stacked stone walls. It looked like a cottage, with animal skulls hung from pikes around the perimeter, their hollow eyes watching like that of ghosts you’d see in horror documentaries.
Smoke curled from a crude chimney, carrying the scent of burnt meat and iron. The ground leading to the house was uneven, littered with bones, spent arrows, and claw marks from past battles (perhaps with the skeleton monsters).
Wind howled between jagged rocks nearby, and firelight flickered faintly through a torn hide draped over the entrance.
"Welcome to my home," the barbarian said in his rum-made (Drahon’s thought), hoarse voice.