The Nature of Memories

[Dragonslayer]

It was raining. Again.

He used to hate the damn rain. Now, it was like an old friend, a confidant. Someone who has seen him ride long miles, and seen him walk weary miles longer. One thing you can say about a man, is that he has a type of weather. Some men have sunny dispositions, who seem to revel in the light of day. Some were cold, at home best in snowstorms that make your pisser freeze and your nose numb, and never had a good thing to say about anyone if they could help it. Some men were gales of expression and activity, breezing past life like a leaf on the wind.

Him? He was the rain. Not a storm, nor a drizzle; nothing so extreme. He was the calm, steady, unrelenting rain. The rain that you woke up to in the morning and went to bed at night. Relentless dripping that created a cacophony of sound melting into a mindless beat, pattering against your window or your head.

That beat pounded around his ears now as he rode in towards the inn, his nag as drenched as he was and decidedly better smelling. The oilskin covering his meager belongings ostensibly kept everything dry, but the gods knew if there wasn't a few patched pieces that leaked. As he approached the inn, he smelled the cooking fires, heard the laughter of men and women, and the faintest of smiles touched his lips. It was always good to get out of the rain every so often.

As he approached the inn the guard, one miserable looking bastard if the traveler said so himself, dragged himself up from his seat under the awning of the inn's entrance and raised his hand. "Hold." He was dressed in an armored jerkin, and had a blade strapped to his side. The traveler could also see the half-full stein of ale sitting next to his seat, no doubt not the first of the evening.

The man on the horse drew his mount to a stop, and took the opportunity to dismount. He pulled his hood back, revealing a rather plain looking figure in his mid fifties. His grey eyes were dark, and flecked with green, and his hair showed similar streaks of grey in it. His short beard was well trimmed, but otherwise he could have been any man on the street. "Not looking for trouble, sir. Just looking to get out of the rain."

The guard's beady gaze examined the man closely, taking in his battered gear and horse that likely should be out to pasture at this point. "No weapons inside, and you'll need to stable your...horse. For two gold." He jerked his head towards said stable around the back that looked as though it had more holes in its roof than in the traveler's bag.

The traveler's smile widened. "Of course, of course." He raised his arms as the guard patted him down quickly. The guard's eyes drifted to the man's purse, and his hand lingered a tad longer than it should have to test its weight. "That is, that was the price yesterday. Today it's five gold, old man."

The traveler's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I thought that might be the case. Five gold it is, good man." He reached into his purse and came out with five gold coins, handing them to the guard whose fingers twitched in greed as they snatched them up. The guard smiled, showing an unfortunate gap in his teeth. "I'll have the boy stable your horse. Will you be staying the evening?" The guard asked, his tongue flicking the gap in his teeth like a snake tasting the air.

"Just for tonight, yes." Hefting his pack from his long suffering mount, the old traveler moved to step past the guard. "I'll be gone in the morning." The guard's hand jerked out and rested on his shoulder. The height difference between the two was more apparent standing next to one anther, the heavy muscle of the guard contrasting to the older man's slight frame. The guard leaned towards him, his breath stinking of the ale he'd been drinking. "You have a good evening then, old man."

At this, the older man paused, his hand on the door to the inn. His friendly visage remained on his face, but as if it was practiced. Like a mask. "You have my thanks, kind sir." He said, his tone matching his expression. Friendly, yet flat. He paused. "I'm reminded of an old story I heard when I was a boy, called 'The Frog and the Scorpion.' Ever hear of it?"

The guard frowned. "Been a long time since I heard children's stories, old man. Ain't have the time for them." The traveler shook his head. "It is a child's tale, but like all stories we tell our children, it has a kernel of worldly truth in it." The guard sneered. Bloody soft in the head, this one, he thought to himself. "Yeah? What truth?" The older man's grey gaze examined him like a man looking at an ant. "I'll tell you sometime, perhaps."

The guard's grip tightened for a moment on his shoulder, then was released with a laugh. "You're crazier than a bag of cats, old timer. But if your coin's good, you can sprout nonsense all you want." The traveler's smile returned, and with that, the older man stepped into the bright interior of the inn, with the guard's gaze following him and his purse thoughtfully.

---------------------

Much later that evening, the inn had gone quiet. The fires in the cooking pits were low, and the many patrons had gone to sleep or to their own homes, a little light in coin but heavier in drink. The rain continued beating its steady rhythm on the wooden rooftop.

The guard, along with two other like-minded men quietly crept up the stairs to the older man's rented room. Not a bad deal, working here. The owner didn't pay too well, but looked the other way every so often if a lone traveler went missing every few months, along with his coin.

The three men quietly entered the old traveler's room, blades in hand. A single candle lit the room, with the rain clouds outside blocking the natural light of Selune and her court of stars. The traveler lay in his bed, his blanket curled up around him as he faced the wall. His breathing slow and steady, that of a man in a deep slumber.

The three men slowly approached the traveler in his bed, daggers in hand and not a nerve among them. This wasn't their first time after all. The gap-toothed guard reached out and snuffed the candle with his fingers as the other two raised their daggers to strike as the room turned pitch black.

The guard first heard a short wheeze from the man on his right. Then his left.

Thump. Thump.

As he heard the two bodies hit the ground, he felt a spray of something warm and wet hit his face, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he felt the blade touch his neck gentler than a lover's first kiss.

"I tried to warn you, young man. But perhaps you should have heard the story, and learned its truth." The old man's voice whispered softly in his ear as terror filled his gut and emptied his bladder in his breeches. "Wh-wh-what truth?"

The old man's breath paused and then he told him quietly in his ear. The guard stifled a sob. The rain pattered against the window. The guard managed to force out another question."Who are you?"

The old man's eyes were as blank as his expression as he sliced the man's throat with one clean and practiced movement, letting the man down gently to the floor. As the light in the man's eyes flickered out, the old man offered him a sad smile.

"I'm nobody."

The rain continued to beat its pattern against the windows, relentless and unchanging.