Brindlemark Inn.
The name was simple, like the town itself—barely worth a thought. To Darien, even calling it ordinary felt generous.
Inside, it was exactly as he expected: damp, dimly lit, and cramped. No grand reception awaited—only a lone table where a thin man slouched, half-asleep.
The air was thick with a foul mix of must, sweat, spoiled food, livestock, and refuse.
Darien pinched his nose, nearly gagging, and rapped lightly upon the doorframe.
"Is anyone here?"
The man stirred, lifting his head with a sluggish glance.
"And who might you be?"
But the moment his eyes fell upon Darien—odd in appearance, yet bearing an unmistakable air of refinement—the man straightened at once. He sprang to his feet and hurried over, bowing deeply.
"Greetings, sir! I am the master of this inn. How may I serve you?"
Darien instinctively stepped back, eyes watering at the concentration of years' worth of filth clinging to the man.
"Do you still have a vacancy?"
"Indeed!" The innkeeper's eyes sparkled with sudden excitement. A noble at his inn? Unheard of! Perhaps a tidy tip awaited him.
"Then show me," Darien said curtly.
He expected little, but even a modest improvement in cleanliness would be a relief.
He was practical, not picky.
Reality, however, had other plans.
The room, though ample enough for one—thirty paces square—was ruined by a cow standing in the middle.
"Moo~"
He blinked, opening his mouth to speak, only to be greeted by several plaintive bleats from behind. Three sheep shuffled nervously, tails twitching.
"I-is this… normal?"
"Aye, milord… the room's free, and we keep the livestock warm. Winter's harsh, ye see. 'Tis a bit unusual for merchant folk, but… well, it keeps the beasts safe."
He spoke as though this arrangement were perfectly ordinary.
Darien exhaled, bowing slightly to the bewildered man before fleeing the room.
"Sir?"
"Waittttty"
"We have a larger chamber! Wilt thou reconsider?" the innkeeper called after him, his voice tinged with desperation.
…
Darien felt the urge to weep.
Why had fate cast him into a realm where filth and excrement ran unchecked through the streets?
He had wronged no soul, yet the gods seemed determined to chastise him.
The stench was but a trifle compared to the greater peril: disease. In this pre-modern land, vermin and foul contagions lurked unseen, and as an outsider, he bore no shield against them.
After a moment's thought, he resolved to seek out Aelfric.
Perhaps the simple fellow could be persuaded with a few coins to guide him to a more suitable lodging—one free of dung and squalor.
He had been in Aelfric's company for nigh a full day. The man appeared honest, a touch simple, and not given to malice—more yeoman than rogue.
If Darien had any hope of weathering Brindlemark's trials, it would likely rest with him.
For a fleeting instant, he considered presenting himself at Baron Charles' hall, petitioning for some minor office. Yet, upon noting the baron's men clad in armor and steel, swords glinting, he wisely dismissed the notion.
Even as a pretender to nobility, it was folly to court danger needlessly.
...
Meanwhile, not far from the castle, in Brindlemark's town hall…
Around a long, dimly lit table, dozens sat stiffly in silence.
"Uh… what ought we to do?" a timid voice broke the quiet.
A burly man, scarred and snow-dusted, scratched his blond hair. "By my troth, I know not…"
"Isolde? Why are you here?" Lady Marcy sneered, clutching her jeweled handkerchief. "This isn't a place for a steward. Your presence reeks worse than the stables."
Isolde met her gaze steadily. "Better the stables' smell than the stench of arrogance, my lady."
"Isolde, you—!" Marcy bristled, ready to explode.
"Enough! This is no time for petty squabbles!" The old knight at the head of the table slammed his hand down. "We face a true crisis. What are we to do?"
"What else? Give up," Marcy said, shrugging, her voice light yet bitter.
"Now is not the time for sarcasm, Marcy. Speak with gravity," Thorold's tone darkened.
"I am serious!" she snapped. "Baron Charles is dead. Without him, who shall keep Brindlemark running? The coffers are bare. Even if a few fields hold wheat, it will not feed a thousand mouths through winter. The commonfolk will perish before spring arrives."
She sneered. "Had Charles not promised such a rich payout, I would have left this dung heap long ago."
Thorold fell silent. She was not wrong. Brindlemark hung by a mere thread.
"We could petition the king," one offered at last, "in the name of the Brindlemark Council—"
"Please," Marcy rolled her eyes. "This place is worthless. No gold, no glory. Why would anyone come? They probably won't even grant an audience. The king's likely forgotten this backwater exists."
More silence.
"Here's the only option left," she continued, voice sharp. "Sell Baron Charles' title and lands to one of the great nobles. Perhaps under their protection, Brindlemark will endure the winter—and we shall line our pockets handsomely."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Eyes glimmered. Profit, as ever, outweighed duty.
But not all were convinced. Some knew the baroness would never consent—without her seal, the title could not be sold.
And which great lord would covet such a desolate place?
Thorold sighed. This council had held together only by Baron Charles' power and promises. Now that he was gone, all unraveled.
"Honestly, what was he thinking?" someone muttered. "Going off to hunt an Argoth bear, of all things."
"Trying to impress his new wife," another said. "Foolish man—died for nothing."
"It's all her fault! If he hadn't married that tramp, none of this would've happened."
The whispers carried through the hall, audible to all.
"Enough! That's enough for today," Thorold snapped. "Meeting adjourned."
As the council filed out, Thorold rubbed his temples. Full of fools and leeches, they were.
If Brindlemark were to survive, it would not be by their hands.
Perhaps he must speak with the baroness herself. And if that failed… he would prepare for the worst.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- In medieval Europe, inns and even homes often shared space with livestock during winter. Animals gave off warmth that helped people survive the cold months—but it also meant travelers had to endure the smell, noise, and filth.
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