The rain outside still had not stopped. Stan sat in the corner of the hall, eating spicy potato wedges.
They really were delicious.
First, the skin-on potatoes were washed clean, steamed until fully cooked, then cooled. Once the starch had set, they were cut into chunks and fried in olive oil until the outside was crisp and golden. While still hot, they were coated in a blend of spices, oregano, chili, and pepper, then served in a wooden bowl with a dusting of salt crystals and a sprig of rosemary tucked in before going out.
The fried potatoes had a meaty bite when chewed, and the aroma of the spices rushed straight up the nose. One mouthful sent heat down the throat, followed by a faint cool fragrance rising back up. The tongue tingled until it almost trembled, and the mouth and nose filled with that bold, fiery aroma. If a person took the chance to gulp down a big mouthful of foamy ale, the whole body would jolt, and a fine sweat would break out all over. By the end, the fingers were greasy, the mug was covered in fingerprints, and stopping was impossible until, all of a sudden, the drinker set the mug down, waited a moment, and let out one deep, satisfying burp.
"Buuurp."
Stan sucked his fingers and swept his gaze across the hall.
A squad of wizards and soldiers from Thay remained in one corner. They had all already been transformed into undead creatures and no longer needed food or drink.
A soaked cow elk paced back and forth in the middle of the hall, rainwater dripping all over the floorboards. Tawna, the halfling cook, clutched a rag and tried to wipe the elk down. A few starlings stood on its back, watching everyone with sharp, clever eyes.
Edgin Darvis, the bard, held a thin charcoal pencil and scribbled on a slip of paper. This man seemed like an ordinary poet, but in truth, he was a member of the Harpers.
The Harpers were an ancient and vast organization devoted to justice. Their members were scattered throughout Faerûn, and they had stopped evil from harming the land many times. Harpers were always secretive, well hidden, and cautious, so outsiders found it very difficult to discover their existence.
Stan knew all of this perfectly well, because Edgin had once tried to recruit him. Stan had refused. He was a free bard.
Guests came and went at the inn, and by now, not many lodgers remained. Stan knew every one of them. Some were mercenaries or adventurers, some were travelers, and some were merchants, all trapped here by the heavy rain.
At first, everyone had been perfectly friendly. Every day, they gathered in the hall to eat and dance together. No one had expected the rain to keep falling without end, and no one knew exactly when it had started, but at some point, people had stopped dancing in the hall.
A dwarf guard came out of the kitchen carrying a tray piled high with bread, stew, and wine. He shot Stan a wary look, then scurried back to the upstairs rooms on his short legs.
This dwarf was named Barenda Horn. He was the bodyguard and nephew of Join Horn, a wealthy dwarf merchant. The uncle and nephew had been staying at the Way Inn for nearly half a month. No one knew where they had come from, and no one knew where they were headed. Everyone only knew the pair was rich. They paid with rough gold nuggets, so their family probably owned a mine.
"How long is this rain going to last? Damn it." A young traveler stood behind the broken window, gazing at the endless rain and cursing under his breath. Stan knew the man's savings were almost gone.
Mr. Jamal, the innkeeper, gave them a less than encouraging update, the food in the cellar was about to run out. From now on, meal prices would be raised accordingly, and the staff meals would also be reduced.
Several adventurers began complaining, then turned their eyes toward the elk pacing through the hall.
That morning, the stupid elk had smashed through the window and forced its way inside. It was practically a feast delivered to their door.
The adventurers picked up their weapons and started surrounding it.
The elk retreated warily until it backed up beside the fireplace.
Edgin the bard said, "Friends, let's not be in such a rush. Wouldn't it be better to keep it as emergency rations?"
"If we butcher it now and make smoked meat, it'll still be emergency rations." A human adventurer took out a bow and aimed.
Edgin shook his head, with nothing more he could say to persuade them. Stan sighed softly. "It ran in here to escape the rain, only to end up somewhere even more dangerous. Poor elk. Poor elk."
An arrow flew from the adventurer's longbow. The elk suddenly reared upright, transformed into a beautiful female elf, and raised her hand to catch the arrow. Then she snapped it easily.
The inn hall fell silent.
Bang!
The front door was pushed open, and cold wind swept in, carrying raindrops as large as beans.
Everyone turned to look. A white-robed man holding a scepter slowly walked in. A fresh succubus head hung from his waist, its expression twisted in pain and ferocity. Behind him followed a robed figure radiating an ominous chill, completely bound and only able to shuffle after him step by step.
The roads were already impossible to travel. No one had expected guests to arrive at an inn at a time like this. Everyone was surprised.
Someone wanted to ask about the condition of the road ahead, but the warlock's terrifying outfit frightened him into silence.
Skyl stepped through the door and looked around. A bolt of lightning tore across the sky behind him, casting a long, narrow shadow over the floor.
"Close the door!" Tawna, the cook, hurried over on her short legs and shut the inn door tight. Even so, the people in the hall remained uneasy, as if something had slipped into the inn.
The thing that had come with the white-robed man was not only wind and rain.
"Skyl!" Stan burst out laughing and rushed over to hug him. "I was sick of waiting. What took you so long?"
"Thank the rain. Otherwise, I would've been even slower. Summer nights in the North are far too short." Skyl returned the hug, then explained to Stan, "Mia is dead. I need a large diamond to resurrect her."
"What a pain. Why not try using [Wish]? Ao would definitely be willing to help."
"Ha. That would be boring." The warlock shrugged with a smile and sat down by the counter. Tawna came over to recommend food and drink.
"Then I'll have spicy potato wedges, pepper stew, stewed mixed vegetables, and half a pound of white bread," Skyl said. "As for the drink, half a gallon of kumis. My friend is paying."
A fresh serving of spicy potato wedges was brought to the table, with two large cups of kumis set beside it. Before all the dishes had even arrived, Skyl was already ready to enjoy this signature delicacy.
The wizards from Thay quietly gathered around. Their clothing hid their features and concealed their origins to avoid drawing everyone's anger. After all, the Red Wizards' reputation was bad enough that almost everyone wanted to beat them on sight.
Edgin the bard quietly tightened his grip on the neck of his family lute, ready to swing it as a weapon at any moment, though his posture looked more like he was preparing to run. The elven druid watched the conflict closely. Everyone else wore the expression of people waiting for a good show.
Skyl picked up a fried potato wedge, sniffed it lightly, touched the surface with the tip of his tongue, and put on a Shaq-level look of surprise. "Very good spices."
He calmly ate his snack, seemingly unaware of the gleaming blades behind him and the spells held ready but not yet released. Stan, sitting beside him, also ignored all of it and kept chatting casually.
The Red Wizards' eyes locked onto the silver scepter. It was leaning right there against the table, as if it would fly over with a simple beckoning gesture.
"Have you seen a group of people?" a Red Wizard asked Skyl in a low voice. "They were wearing red robes."
"I have. They're dead. I killed them."
The people of Thay looked grim.
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