Intro Donj type

Elliot woke lie every morning to ells and name calling. He stirred fighting the creeping grogginess that came from lack of sleep then bolted from his cot on the floor, a mix of discarded pieces of clothing that he used to keep the cold from freezing him in his sleep, knowing that if he wasn’t fast enough he would surely get a good beating.

Fighting to keep his eyes from closing he wove his way in the pre dawn light toward the water bucket that lay near the door of the attic, the room he used to sleep and that the owner used to store things of little value or discarded furniture. He put his hands in the ice cold water but decided to smell the water first before splashing his head with it. Olaf had a habit of pissing in it , dark harmless humor he called it, but Elliot wasn’t amused. Finding the water clean, or at least not smelling, Elliot quickly washed then left his room to begin his long day of chores.

He grabbed a hasty meal of left over bread and jam, and made his way to the stables. He hurried through the inn not wanting to find himself with Olaf the heavy set, mean and ham fisted owner and got to work.

Two years ago passing travelers had found him, a runaway kid with big dreams of becoming a mighty wizard but no clue of how to survive in the wild half dead in a nearby forest. They had saved him but couldn’t take care of him so they had left him at the first occasion that had presented itself. That was the Red Mug Stop and Olaf who had quickly made use of the grateful youth. The Wiz the owner and the regular guests called him, even after two years, making fun of his dreams. Now he did menial and arduous chores all day for a meager meal and a cot, a slave in all but name.
Still it was better than being dead and the stories the travelers brought from time to time were a much welcome boon to the star eyed boy.

Today despite the fact that it was getting warmer with the offset of winter the travelers were still few, many not wanting to get caught in the late winter heavy rains or even occasional snow fall. Around mid day though, a lone peddler had arrived, a sad looking donkey trailing after him, and had asked for wine a hot meal and a place to sleep near the fire for the night. Elliot had only seen him for a few minutes before having to take care of the animal, but something had attracted his attention about the stranger. He was old and wore a big over coat that protected him from the cutting wing and the rain and he held to his chest a bag also treated to withstand the harsh winter of the region. Whatever was in the bag was probably precious, at least to the old man. Olaf would certainly be interested.

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, Elliot making sure to appear busy at all time lest the innkeeper found something else to add to his already strenuous list of chores passed by the small windows from time to time to look at the stranger. He was seated near the fire and was nursing a flagon of watered wine and reading a big looking book. Elliot couldn’t see the book clearly and though he didn’t know how to read, for some reason he really wanted to glimpse at the pages, sure that they would reveal important secrets. He knew there and then that he would try to get his hands on it. He also knew that Olaf would too. As the day went by a scheme began to form in his head.

As the night began to fall Elliot took a few moments before the evening chores began to go up to his room and gather his few belongings in a sturdy bag he had scavenged from passing costumers. He left the bag in the stable near his most precious possession, hidden in the floor under manure and several loose boards, a winter coat that a drunkard had forgotten a year ago.

He then went to the kitchen and started to reheat the evening soup, prepare slices of goat cheese and take the bread from the oven. He left the oven’ door unlocked and enough wood to create the diversion he would later need. Claire, the owner’s daughter and resident cook would be down in a few minutes Elliot knew so he worked fast. Making sure he wasn’t seen Elliot went into the cupboard and chose some precious herbs, knowing that if it was discovered he was as good has dead, and a handful of flour then began to mix them. He then put the concoction in a small bag and hid it in the stack of logs near the oven.

As he left the kitchen to clean tables and serve the few costumers he wondered how he had known how to mix the flour and herbs, but that thought quickly fled has work began.

Ok, vu.

Ras pour le moment, j'attends la suite!

got it !the beginning of a long road...

Tu aurait du rajouter un petit détail sur lafille de l'aubergiste pour titiller le lecteur, genre "fat hag", ou "well bosomed and cheerfull"

La suite !