77: Ranville

Barely holding yourself together to not collapse from sleep depravation you dismount your spider a safe distance from the walls of the town and proceed closer on foot.

It appears that you might have unmounted too soon and in your delirium severely underestimated how far the town still was and how fast you’re able to move forward. Approaching the town closer you realize that the stone block wall encircling the town is over thirty feet tall at least, with drum towers built at regular intervals. Maybe it’s different on the other side of the town, but, despite the overbuilt protection of the town, the road itself leading to the gates of the town is non-existent. Golden-brown dirt road. No pavement, not even so much as a gravel coating.

Two wooden carts pulled by a single horse each, roll past you, creaking and squeaking. Regular humans with straw hats and in unimpressive farmer clothing drive them. The carts are loaded with potatoes.

“Good morning!” One of the drivers, an older man, tips his straw hat to you.

“Morning,” you mumble back, but the driver is already too far for him to hear your answer. You’d be hard-pressed to even call his gesture polite. He didn’t even wait for your answer, and probably could not give less of a damn if you had a "good morning" or not. You see both drivers stop their cards at a checkpoint near the open town gates. An armored guard approaches and talks with each of the drivers and, mere moments later, both carts roll forward.

Soon you reach the checkpoint yourself, which is hardly anything more than a table with a couple of chairs, a weapon rack, and a few crates of supplies for the convenience of the guards at the gates. Three in total there are and none of them appear to be armed as well as they could be. The weapon rack has both heavy weapons and plate armor, that the guards probably do not fancy wearing while standing guard on post for the whole day. The most protection they have left is chainmail and leather armor. There must not be much action going on here if they can be this lax.

All three guards are men. One of them, barely twenty years old, with thin, shoulder-length black hair, somehow, manages to be even skinnier than you are. He takes a bite out of an apple, with a juicy crunch, looking at you, while leaning on the wooden table. The other guard is grossly overweight and doesn’t bother to get up from his chair even once. The third guard, with a short-sword at his back, rugged, and with shoulders as wide as the second one’s stomach, approaches you and says, “Halt, stranger! Is this your first time in Ranville? What business you have here?”

“Business?” you utter. It takes a couple of seconds to process what he wants from you, but you manage a response. “I’m a humble traveling wolf-tamer. I’ve come to visit a relative of mine.”

“A relative?” The main raises his eyebrow, further wrinkling his aging forehead. “Mind giving us the name of that relative of yours?”

“... Eisheth,” you say. Just after saying it you realize how astonishing it is that you managed to remember it. You’ve never been that good with names in the first place, and this one is so weird, and you’ve only heard it once in passing. It’s almost a miracle.

The thin guard whistles, the other one chuckles with a nasty smirk.

“A relative? Really?” the oldest of the three smiles at you but steps to the side. “Proceed. And tell your relative tha Ignar sends his regards.”

You’re about to pass them and go to the gates, when you stop and ask the guards a question, “By any chance, has a small party passed through here recently? An orc with a couple of ladies? Or a bunnykin?”

“I haven’t seen bunnykin even once in over a year,” the guard answers. “But there was a shift change only a couple of hours ago. You could try your luck with the town guard inside.”

“Thank you,” you say and walk forward through the ten-feet high, open wooden gates of the town. That’s when you step on solid, flat stonework. It takes you about fifteen steps to reach the inner gate of the gatehouse. On the other side, the main road from the gatehouse continues as stone pavement. The sun has not yet risen above the town’s walls, but the sky is bright. You see countless nice two-story, wattle and daub buildings with white-ish walls, square glass windows, and red slate rooftops.

You can’t really appreciate the scenery though. You need to sleep. You want it like a man wants water in the desert. You don’t see many people outside, on the streets yet, which is probably for the best, since you’re not the most presentable in your current state.

Got to the inn? Find that brothel Ariadne was talking about?

You walk further down the street, but, at the first opportunity, turn away from the main street to avoid unnecessary attention for the moment, and cross a stone bridge that arches over a stream of crystal-clear water.

The road here is slightly narrower, but it is prettier—fewer houses and more green, lush trees. You see a pretty woman in her early twenties with long, red hair, done in a braid, put over her shoulder to the front. It even managed, for a moment at least, to distract your eyes from the fact that she has massive breasts hidden under her full sleeve green dress.

You suddenly have an idea. It might not be a great idea, but you run with it. You see that there is no one else on the street, so you hurry to the woman and say, “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” she answers kindly in response. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Of course, you do!” you say confidently and cast [Submission] on the woman. “Tell me—do you live alone?”

“No, I live with my twin sister,” she answers.

Bingo!

“Take me to your place and introduce me to your sister as your dear friend,” you say.

“Gladly,” she smiles and claps her hands. “Follow me!”

It turns out her house was just a little ahead. It's a two-story house, similar to countless others you've seen in this city. A flower bed along the walls. And apple tree growing next to it. Simple, but nice.

The woman opens the door and you both come inside. You’re standing in a large room, that seemingly takes up most of the first floor of the house and acts as both the kitchen and a dining room. You see an open doorway, through which you see a storage with several sacks and wooden barrels. On the other side, you see wooden stairs, braced against the wall, leading to the second floor.

“Beth?” the woman calls for her sister. “I’ve brought my dear friend.”

“Who?” you hear a voice coming from upstairs. Then you see the same woman you’ve come with to the house coming down the stairs, but in a greater state of undress—a single piece of cloth covering her body like a nightgown.

“Alicia, who the fuck is this?” Beth asks her sister.

You cast [Submission] on Beth and say, “I’m a very dear friend that both of you will be taking care of while I’m staying in this town. Where’s the bed?”

“Upstairs,” Beth says, pointing up, where the stairs lead.

Finally, you think and rush to the second floor, dreaming of clean sheets and a soft pillow. The stairs lead to a corridor, that has windows letting in morning light on one side and two doors on the other side. You open the door closest to you and your eyes fixate on the white sheets of the wooden bed inside the room.

You turn to the two women who followed you here and ask, "You both leave her alone, right?"

"Yes," they both answer in unison.

"And you nobody is coming here today, right?"

"Yes."

"Good," you say and cast [Submission] for the third time, just in case, before ordering, “Do whatever errands you need, but tell no one about me and don’t let anyone inside this building. Understood?”

“Yes,” Beth and Alicia answer in unison. You walk to the bed, each of your steps growing weaker than the previous one, your body already shutting down, seeing that you’ve reached your goal. You fall asleep as you fall on the bed with a blissful smile.