It was a cool night outside, and he had been traveling for about three days since he had left the small town of Black Moor. The tavern was a small road side tavern, a place for weary travelers and others to rest for the night.The oaken frame of the tavern was a dark outline to the cloaked figure approached. As he aproached the tavern he could see the sign: a shield with a pair of arrows sticking out of it, and a chipped sword besides the shield, and under it, painted in bold black words was "A place for heroes".
As he pushed open the door, the scent of cheap ale was upon him, the familar scent of sawdust was there too. Inside, he looked around, he saw small tables all around him, most had occupants already, most of the croud was human but there were a few dwarfs here and there. He could see to his left a staircase going to a second floor where presumably rooms avilable to sleep in. There was a layer of sawdust on the floor, a centimeter or so.The bar was lit by sputtering torchs giving the tavern a eerie light cast to it. There was also a fireplace where a kettle was hanging, a low fire burning under it, and ladle above the kettle. Behind the bar was a stout looking dwarf who obviously was a veteran of many battles, judging from the scar that ran from the point on his chin to his ear and the many small scars that ran over his hands. Behind him, was a door, it was wood and had a pad lock on it. To the left of the door there was a staircase leading upward. The stairs were made of wood and looked fairly old.
The patrons looked back for a moment to see the cloaked figure and merely went back to their ale. A few of them muttered something and took a pull from their tankard. The cloaked figure sat down at a table. As a wench in her 30s approached him, she could smell the scent of fresh blood on him. The cloak had a dark red stain on the side, in the center of the stain was a slash.
"What would you like sir?" Was all she could manage to say to the figure."Ale." the figure said laying a few silver coins on the table. She took the coins, went to the back, and came back with a frothy mug of ale.
The ale had the very distinct stench of old pig swill to it. "Then again, these are the more uncivilized parts of Canis. It probobly is." thought the cloaked figure. He raised the mug to drink, and then decided to not defile his body with the foul liquid. The figure set the ale down on the table and shook his head. The figure walked slowly to the barkeeper as if he was very tired. The barkeeper looked the figure over, and said "What do you want?" With a strong dislike for the dwarf in his voice, the figure spoke, "I merely wish to have a place to spend the night. How much do you charge?". The barkeeper shook his head and muttered something about adventures and their kin, and said, "4 copper a night, I charge extra if you louse in my bed." The figure took out a single silver coin and set it on the counter. The dwarf fumbled around under the counter and pulled out a brass key with the number "3" scratched on the handle and handed it to the figure.
He walked to the stairs slowly, and began to climb them. They creaked and groaned each time he shifted his weight. The figure slowly reached the top and looked around. He saw a small hallway with 4 thin wooden doors with latches and cheap locks on them. Each lock had a number crudely etched into it, from one to four. The sound of rats could be heard in one of the rooms. The figure ignored the rats and went to his room. In the room there was a pile of straw, and a chamber pot. There was also a window on the far side of the room. He sat down and pulled out a small glass vial that contained a green liquid in it. Uncorking it the figure drank the contents, sighed and laid down on the hay to get some much needed rest.
Sunlight filtered in through the window into his eyes. The scent of hay in his nose told him that he wasn't at home any more. Opening his eyes, the figure saw the filthy small room before him, not more than seven feet wide, and six feet long. The man slowly rose to his feet, putting the empty vial in a belt pouch at his side. He felt his head pounding, his legs ached and his arms were sore. The past travel indeed was taking its toll. Gathering his will he forced himself to get up. As he walked down the stairs the normal smell of cheap ale that inns and taverns had was not as noticable this morning. The over whelming scent of fresh baked bread filled the lower floor. Sitting down the figure began to think.
His thoughts were on home, the small house in the forest south of Bethel, a small trade city. The way his father had kicked him out becuse the farm wasn't as good as it had once been, and the times were getting hard. His family had been poor growing up, just barely able to feed themselfs. His first night out on his own wasn't a pleasent one, he had spent the night being chased by a dark creature,one that shouldn't have existed. His quickness had saved him from death that night. He had been walking to the stream, a fairly short walk, but, along the way he heard the sound of flesh being ripped from the bone. A creature emerged from the shrubs. The thing was human, or at least it had been in life. A long, deep cut went across its belly. It was in bloody tatters of what once was been dull brown peasents clothing. The eyes of the undead were fixed on him, and there was nothing more then blood lust and hatred in his eyes. As the undead came closer he could see the fresh blood on its finger long claws and mouth, the open sores with crusted blood.
The humanoid began to shamble at him, its tongue licking at the fresh blood around its lips. The undead monstrosity swung a clawed hand at his and slashed across his left shoulder, leaving a bloody trail across his shoulder. Fire ran across his arm and he screamed. Knowing himself to be no match for the creature. The youth ran, he ran for what seemed an eternity, he saw a familar stone wall in the distance. The entrance to Bethel, saftey, from whatever that thing is, he ran even faster. His legs were ablaze with pain when he made it to the stone wall. He stopped running and sat down clutching his bleeding shoulder. Breathing heavy, he began limping towards the gate to town where he could get refuge for the night. The gatekeeper recongnized him and said "Cyrus, what happened to you? Are you alright?" Cyrus kept limping into town. He spent his first night in a small ally behind a seedy tavern,The Dead Goblin.
It was a touch to his shoulders from cold hands that woke up from his uneasy sleep. Cyrus came to with a jerk to see a man in white linen robes, with pale skin, and cold deep blue eyes looking down at him. "What do you want?" Cyrus managed to say, the cut on his shoulder had turned red and was starting to swell. "You should take care of that before the infection gets much worse. My temple is not to far away, tell them I sent you, they should take care of you." The man in the robes said, then turned and left.
The walk wasn't very long to the temple. The temple itself was a large building, atop a small hill, with marble stairs leading up to a roofed entrance. A stylized sun made from jade was atop the entranance. The scent of incentents wafted out from the building. Chanting could be heard from the inside, a slow deep rythm. As he walked in, he saw that there were many stained glass windows. Some had the same stylized sun that he had seen outside the temple, others showed heros, standing over slain deamons, a fierce look upon there face, blades coated with a think black ichor. A woman in a white robe came up to Cyrus. "What do you need in the temple of our lord, Raymond?" "A man, in white robes who had a deep blue eyes told me to come here for this" responded, pointing to his shoulder. She took him into the back, and told him to hold still. The preistess closed her eyes and began chanting in a language he didn't understand. She opened her eyes once more and touched the cut on his shoulder. The wound felt as if cold water was being ran over it. It was a pleasent feeling. Looking at his shoulder, Cyrus saw the cut becoming smaller and skin replacing where the wound had been, at the point where the cut was no more the size of a fingertip, the scab fell off. The preistess shook her head and excused herself, to lay down.
Amazed by what he had just seen, Cyrus walked out of the temple. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked around him. The sounds of a market hocker could be heard somewhere to his left, and a small man was playing a flute in front of the fountin. A pair of men were fighting infront of the fountin, both with sticks, parry and attacking as if they were swords. Curosity overwhelmed Cyrus, he sat down and began to watch the two warriors training. After a short while ones skills truely began to shine, Cyrus was facinated by the dance of death that the man was doing, it would have been enough to kill the other man ten times over. The other fighter on the other hand was constantly scrableing to block the thick wooden rod that seemed to always be strikeing at his most vunerable points.
Soon the warriors took a break from there training, and walked over to Cyrus. "Are you interested in joining us, or are you just another kid who wants to run around with a sword?" The more skilled of the warriors said to him. Suprised by the offer, Cyrus contomplated for a moment, and decided that a guild house with hot food was better then being hungry in an ally. "Of course I want to join!" The expernced warrior grinned, "Then fight Rolf here, if you can beat him, I'll put in a good word for you." The skilled fighter handed Cryic the thick wooden rod he had been using. The stick was well weighted, with a heavy handle so the wooden shaft wouldn't vibrate or be shattered. The place where the warrior had been gripping it had a sheen of sweat over it.
Holding it like Rolf was, Cryus aproched on Rolf carefully. Rolf closed the distance approching slowly, grinning like a wolf would look at a wounded sheep away from the flock. Rolf made the first move when they were about 4 feet apart. He swung his stick like it were a longsword at Cyrus's head. Falling to one knee Cyrus dodged the blow that would have left a fracture in his skull. Cyrus's shaft did not miss Rolf's sword arm though. A sickening snap could be heard as Rolf's eyes widened as he relized that he had made a terrible mistake. Rolf fell to the ground clutching his elbow, a massive bruise forming already.
The other warrior walked over to Cyrus looking down at Rolf, and said "Come on lad, lets go see about your membership...oh and don't worry about Rolf, looks like you only broke his arm, I'll send someone out here to fetch him."

A tap on the shoulder brough him back to reality, and he saw one of the bar maids, her face showed consern, "Are you alright sir?" "I'm fine...I should be on my way anyways..." he grumbled in response. Cyrus made his way to the door, and a few patrons looked up at him, but they had seen his kind come and go before, nothing new, a fool with a sword rushing off to save the world.

Your story is a good one and promises a lot. And your storytelling is some of the best here. It'll quite definatly be a pleasure to see this character in action.

Excal, wondering if the post he replied to wasn't meant to start a seperate quest...

I suggest you post in my thread, 'New Person Here'. Just an idea, it might be funny.

A thread needs at least two active people to be interesting for very long, and in a couple of weeks I'm going to be gone for a while. A third person really needs to come in before then, and your writing style is excellent. As a member of the thread, I'd certainly welcome you.