It had been raining for hours--a beating, unforgiving rain that drove effortlessly through your cloak and travel clothes, leaving the skin beneath both wet and bitterly cold. It seemed pointless to pull the sodden cloak tighter about your frame, but you did so anyway, hoping that the movement, if nothing else, would spread some warmth through your joints, aching from the storm and your recent fall.
You weren't sure where your horse had run off to, and you weren't sure what had gotten into him. He'd never been spooked by storms before, but you had to admit that there was something different about this one. The lightning hung in the air just a bit longer than usual, and the thunderous claps that followed rattled the ground with a nigh unnatural force. But perhaps the most disturbing feature of the storm was the fact that it showed no signs of slacking.
The weathered signpost you'd passed three weary miles ago pointed you towards a city named Stormpoint. The name was vaguely familiar, and you spoke it aloud as you trudged on, shivering deeper as you heard it echoing in your mind. The echo soon died, replaced by another searing flash of lighting and crack of thunder, but a ghost of memory whispered quietly in your ear. It urged you turn back. It told you that the city ahead was one to avoid. Another memory soon joined it, and another, and another, and another. Each carried the same message. ~Turn back.~
Rumors, stories, and myths added their voices to the growing din--stories of fae and kindred, of gypsies and thieves, of merchants and missionaries. They couldn't be true, you thought, as they swirled louder and louder in your mind until they eclipsed even the pummeling sound of the rain as it pounded heavier against you. No, they couldn't be true, could they? Doubt and concern now joined the rain's assault, slowing your step but speeding your heart. Another jagged streak of lightning and peal of thunder drove them out, however. Surely the storm was worse than anything the city had to offer, and you thought you could just see the gates lying ahead.
Longing for the comfort of a warm hearth within a sheltering inn, you swallowed the last of your fear and quickened your step, passing warily beneath the heavy iron gates of the city. It might have been your imagination, but they seemed to stare down at you as you passed, and you shivered again with a new and deeper chill. No, it had to be your imagination, you thought, but you were glad when the gate was left far behind and you found yourself--cold, tired, and hungry--at the door of an open tavern.
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