FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Martin! Maaartin!"

Martin poked his head out of the kitchen, pushed aside his long, brown hair and looked toward the tall innkeeper who was glowering in his direction. The thin older man's grey moustache was askew, one side almost sticking up into his nose.

“Y-Yes, sir?" Martin mumbled, attempting to keep a straight face.

“You'll need to wash those glasses faster, I'm running out!" the innkeeper barked.

“Right away, sir!" Martin said, and dutifully ducked back into the kitchen to finish scrubbing a few more tankards before piling them into the tub to be carried out.

After yelling at his kitchen boy, the innkeeper turned back to his bar, almost jumping as he realized someone new had taken a seat right in front of him. The new arrival was a halfling – a race that looked human except for being around half the size – with curly black hair and strange, piercing blue eyes that was dressed all in forest green. The innkeeper didn't like the look of him.

“Can I help you?" he growled.

“Bowl of stew and some ale, if you please. It's a cold night," the halfling said with a smile.

“Pay first. Twelve ore," the innkeeper replied, tapping his finger on the bar. The halfling's smile faded for a moment and he glared at the innkeeper, but regained an insincere half smile before digging out a money pouch and sliding the coins across to the man, who grabbed them. Martin trudged out behind him and set down the tub of clean tankards.

“Martin," the innkeeper said while examining the coins in his hand, “stew and ale for the halfling."

“Yes sir," Martin said as his master turned away to deposit the money in the strong box. He immediately took out one of the tankards and filled it with ale, sliding it across to the stranger. Martin paused for a moment, taking in the halfling's strange appearance, before returning to the kitchen to ladle out some of the stew. When he returned to give the bowl to his customer, the halfling gave a half nod of thanks before starting in on it rather ravenously.

Martin began to turn away to tend to other duties when the halfling looked up from his stew to address him. “Oh, uh, would you happen to have any rooms available for the night?"

Martin replied, “Well yes, I believe we do. I'll have to ask the innkeeper about it, though." Martin walked over to the end of the bar where his master was returning from clearing a table. “Sir, the halfling wanted to know if we have a room for the night?"

“Room?" the innkeeper growled, looking past Martin to where the halfling sat eating. “No. We're all filled tonight." Then he pushed his way past to head towards the kitchen.

Martin ran back and shrugged, “Uh, sorry about that. I guess we're all full."

“Full?" the halfling said, a little incredulously. “Well...maybe I could share a room if someone was willing?"

The innkeeper had come back out and overhearing this said, “No, I'm afraid we can't do that." He paused to pick up the halfling's empty bowl. “And if you're finished, we are closing up soon."

Martin watched the halfling clench his fists as his master walked away, then the short humanoid gave a bitter laugh as he jumped down from the bar stool.

“Well, I'm sure there will be more room tomorrow," the halfling muttered as he pulled his cloak tight and headed toward the door.

Martin watched the halfling go out the door, a billow of snow blowing in as he left. He stood there for a moment pondering, and then quickly ran back to the kitchen to excuse himself for the night. He managed to run out the back entrance after grabbing his own winter clothes and catch the halfling standing at the edge of the light spreading from the inn, seemingly peering into the snowy forest looking for where to go.

“Hey!" Martin called, running up as he fastened his cloak against the elements. “Did you still need a place for the night?"

The halfling turned and blinked in surprise. “Huh? Oh, well, yes. Why?"

Martin shrugged. “If you needed you can stay at my place for tonight. This weather isn't fit for anyone to get stranded outside."

“Well, I guess I have little choice but to take up your offer, uh...?" the halfling replied, holding out his hand.

“Oh, right, I'm Martin," he said, shaking the offered hand. “What was your name again?"

“Argo. And I can pay, of course."

“Oh, I wasn't really thinking about that! I mean you can if you want, but it's not necessary," Martin replied.

Argo shrugged. “Well, if you say so."

Martin produced a lantern and they set off on the snowy forest path. After a few moments of silence he said, “Don't worry, my home isn't too far from here. It's not very big, but it's all I can offer."

“I'm sure it'll be fine," Argo replied, trudging along beside him in the snow.

“Please don't be too hard on the innkeeper. He probably thought you were likely to steal something in the night. He gets funny ideas," Martin said.

“I was getting that impression. What about you, aren't you worried I'm going to make off with something?"

“Well, to be honest I don't have anything worth stealing, so no I'm not too worried about it."

“Fair enough. Just remember if you touch any of my things you won't live to regret it and we'll be just fine," Argo said with a soft chuckle. An awkward pause followed, filled only with the sound of the wind in the trees.

“Argo is kind of a strange name for a halfling, isn't it?" Martin ventured.

“Yes," Argo replied.

Martin made no further attempts at conversation during their ten minute walk. He couldn't quite figure the halfling out. He seemed polite enough on the surface, but something about him seemed cold and remote. Maybe the innkeeper had been right not to trust him, but he couldn't very well change his mind now.

They finally reached the little shack Martin called home and quickly got inside and shut the door against the elements. Argo looked around the simply furnished room while Martin quickly started a fire in his cast iron stove. There was only a single small bed, a wooden chair, a table with a lantern on it, and one shelf with odds and ends. Clothes were hung on a line near the stove. Argo's eyes drifted around the small shelf, picking out various animal bones and other such items. He stopped when he spotted three books tucked away beneath a sheet.

“I wouldn't have thought you were the bookish type," Argo said, moving closer to the stove to warm himself.

Martin rubbed his hands together near the stove and replied, “My brother taught me off and on when he visited from his calling at the Fang of Jarnak. He's the one that gave me the books when the brotherhood was making room in the library and was going to throw them out. He knew I was always going and listening to any storyteller that wandered through the village, so he thought I might enjoy it. Probably not the most useful skill for a farmer, which was most of my family's trade, but I was never a good one anyway. It helps pass the time these days when I'm alone so much, but I do start to wish I had more than three."

“Funny you should be working in a kitchen, then. It sounds like you look up to your brother. Why didn't you join him? Not a fan of the religious life?" Argo chuckled. “I wouldn't blame you for that."

Martin half smiled. “Well that was certainly part of it. I did think about it a lot, if only because it wasn't the damn farm. My choice kind of got made for me, though. That Fang doesn't exist anymore. It...burned down."

“Oh," mumbled the halfling, looking down into the fire. “What happened, exactly?"

Martin shrugged sadly. “Don't know. Never did find out how it happened. Someone went there one day and it was just ashes. And nobody survived to tell anyone about it."

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," Argo said.

“Don't worry about it. I'm sorry to have burdened you with unhappy stories. These things happen, I suppose," Martin said, getting up and walking over to the bed to retrieve a couple blankets which he handed to Argo. “Here you are. I think I'm going to turn in for the night. I get pretty tired after an evening at work. See you in the morning."

“Good night," the halfling said as he took the blankets and made a place to sleep by the stove. Martin blew out the lantern and slipped himself into bed. He lay there for a while lost in thought, staring at the ceiling dimly lit by the burning stove. He wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep.

It seemed like the very next moment he heard a metallic clanking. As he opened his eyes the room was still dark. He started to sit up, but suddenly a hand was thrust over his mouth and he felt strong arms holding him down. He struggled desperately, but it felt like there were multiple people on top of him and soon rope was restricting his arms behind his back. Cloth was tied around his eyes and mouth and he felt himself get lifted up and out of his bed and forced forward. He fell down with a groan and felt a kick hit his leg before getting pulled back up and pushed forward once again. He did his best to maintain his balance as he was forced out into the snow.

“Do we need this one?" said a man's voice.

“Take him anyway, I dunno," replied another. “Watch the halfling, he's slipperier than a goblin's turd."

“Right, none of that now," the first voice said.

Martin heard a muffled thud and groan.

“Just carry him, it'll be easier," the second voice spat.

The voices went quiet after that and all Martin heard were grunts and the sound of multiple pairs of boots crunch the snow as he was forced to march along with them. It seemed like an eternity, and eventually he could start to see light filtering through the cloth on his eyes. Not enough to make much of anything out, but he knew dawn had broken. Then he heard a few more voice talking, though he couldn't make out anything much. He felt something like canvas brush him as things went dark again and the wind was thankfully removed. He shivered a little as he was forced into a seated position next to a pole and tied to it. Then his blindfold was removed and he looked around to find himself in some kind of tent. A man with a thin black moustache and a patch over his right eye was staring down at him.

“I don't know what you were expecting me to do with this one, but I guess we'll sort that out later. I don't think he's on the list," the man with the eyepatch said. Then he walked around behind where Martin couldn't see. “Okay let's see the halfling. Yeah, sure does look like him doesn't it? Ungag him."

Immediately after Argo could be heard yelling, “You shit-eating worms are going to regret ever touching me-" Then came a loud slap followed by silence.

“Not on our best behavior, are we little stump?" said the eyepatched man. “Now I believe you're the one called Cottonmead that certain authorities in a village to the south named Granyan have business with, if any of that rings a bell. I hear tell the charge is malicious witchcraft or something like that? You don't look like much of a wizard, but a number of very wealthy people seem to think you had something to do with their property being destroyed. Either way I'm sure you'll work it out amongst yourselves once we take you back there. Until then, please behave yourself. We're not particularly required to return you with all your limbs intact." The eyepatched man chuckled and there was a rustling of cloth as silence fell over the drafty tent.

Martin swallowed and said hoarsely, “A-Argo? What's going on?"

There was a rustle and clank of metal before Argo replied, “You're here too, huh? We're prisoners, human, if you need it spelled out for you." There was more rustling and he felt something brush his wrists just before Argo's voice broke the silence one more. “Are you tied with just rope?"

“Uh. Yes?" Martin replied, wondering what difference it made.

“Damn them! They couldn't...not this lot. Of all the damn luck," Argo half-grumbled in response. “Hold still a moment."

Martin did so, curiously listening as more metallic clanking came as well as what sounded like the scraping of wood. Then something smashed one of his fingers.

“Ow!"

“Sorry, try to keep your hands out of the way, can you?" Argo grumbled as the scraping continued.

This went on for several minutes until finally a tired sounding Argo said, “Okay, see if you can pull yourself free."

“What?" Martin asked, incredulously.

“Just do it!"

Martin pulled his hands and then suddenly there was a snap and the ropes fell from his wrists. He blinked as he pulled his hands from behind his back and stared at the reddened indents where the ropes had been, rubbing his fingers over them. He unsteadily got to his feet and turned to look at Argo – or perhaps Cottonmead, he could no longer be sure. The halfling was chained to the same tent pole he had been and was a sorry sight, with a couple bruises on his face.

“Well at least you're free," Argo said, looking up at him. “Now get the key and let me out of this."

“Wait, what? This has nothing to do with me! I don't even know what's going on!" Martin said, eyes continually glancing toward the tent flap.

“I'm sorry Martin, you're right. It doesn't. But those men obviously don't care about that, so here we are. Now I got you out. You can't just leave me here!" Argo said, clenching his teeth.

“Well..." Martin said, looking at the ground.

“Just trust me on this. Get the key, come back, and get these chains off me. Nothing else matters. If you can do that I'll take care of the rest," Argo said, tugging on the chains for emphasis.

“So you really are a wizard?" Martin asked, eyes widening.

Argo sighed. “Just get the chains off, please!"

Martin took a long breath. This was all crazy. Who was this damn halfling that had so completely upset his life? He should have just left well enough alone to start with. But here he was, and he might as well deal with it now. Martin moved to look out the tent flap. He only saw two men sitting around a fire, drinking from mugs. The key was sitting with their weapons, next to them. Martin took one last look back at Argo and then carefully inched his way out of the tent. He moved carefully until one of the men told a joke and they both were laughing loudly, then he made a run for it. As soon as he had his hand on the key and was running back to the tent he heard multiple yells go up behind him.

“Hey!"

“What the hell does he think he's doing?"

“Come on now, we know you're not going anywhere! Head him off!"

Martin scrambled back into the tent as quick footsteps followed him. He fell down next to Argo, fumbled with the key and lock, heard it click, pulled on the chain, and then everything exploded.

The next thing he knew, Martin was struggling to pull himself out from under the tent canvas, which had apparently collapsed on him. From somewhere outside he heard the yells of the men turn to screams.

“A-Argo? Where are you? What the hell-" Martin stammered, trying to crawl toward a speck of light. He felt something shake the ground violently and knew whatever was happening he didn't want to be anywhere near it. He finally managed to pull himself out from under the heavy canvas and blinked as he saw one of the men running past towards the trees followed by a sight that turned his blood cold. The man was screaming until suddenly a massive thing fell from the sky on top of him, the screaming replaced by a sound like crackling twigs as blood ran out and stained the white snow. Martin started screaming too, staring at the thing which he started to realize was the foot of a huge creature, dark green-scaled and towering above. He craned his neck back as he scrambled in the snow to get to his feet and one word came breathlessly to his lips.

“D-Dragon!"

The dragon turned toward him, the hundred foot humanoid monstrosity looking down for a moment. Martin froze as the beast's slitted blue eyes locked onto him, unable to even vocalize as he looked up at the powerfully muscled tower of terrifying teeth and claws. Somewhat to his surprise, it was wearing a simple leather belt and loincloth with a pouch at its side. Then to his horror it started reaching down toward him. He started to scream again, but mercifully the dragon's head suddenly turned sharply and in one huge step it crashed away through the trees. Martin watched as the creature bent down for a moment, rising back up with the eyepatched man he'd seen earlier grasped in a giant clawed hand. The man was writhing and screaming as the dragon locked its intensely furious gaze on him, the scaled hand squeezing until the man's legs snapped.

Then the dragon spoke, its voice deep and gravelly. “You miserable piece of filth," it boomed down at the eyepatched man, “I'm going to enjoy feeling every last second of your pathetic dying struggles inside me."

The man continued to scream as the dragon opened its toothy maw and shoved him inside. He was easily swallowed whole with an audible gulping sound and a low pleased-sounding growl from the giant beast.

Martin watched this display rather dumbstruck, but as the dragon turned back toward him he quickly tried to run in the opposite direction. He felt the ground shake and heard the dull thuds of the dragon behind him, but kept trying to run right up until green scales filled his vision and he felt something squeeze around him like a vice. Martin kicked and screamed as he found himself held in the giant creature's hand and rising off the ground. When the dragon's head came into view he went into a terrified, stunned silence, staring into piercing blue eyes that looked somewhat familiar. As they stared at him he noticed they didn't seem as full of rage as before, but they were still somehow intimidating.

Martin ventured timidly, “P-Please don't kill me."

The dragon grunted and almost seemed to sigh. Martin closed his eyes, but instead of being devoured, he felt himself being lowered again. He ventured to open his eyes just as he found himself being dropped into the giant leather pouch. He landed inside it with a grunt, and looked up quickly to see the top closing tightly, sealing him in the darkness. Then he felt things around him begin to move and sway, and he tried to hold on as he heard the dull booms of giant footsteps below.

“Please don't be saving me for later," Martin prayed softly as he was carried off.