Beyond the gate, the town opened up onto a series of wide, wooden walkways that crisscrossed the swamp. The buildings, constructed from dark, water-stained wood, were built on tall stilts, their windows glowing with a warm, yellow light. The air was still thick with the smell of the swamp, but it was layered with something else now—the scent of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and a strange, spicy aroma I couldn't place.
It was, despite the mud and the smell and the general air of decay, surprisingly... alive. People moved along the walkways, their voices a low murmur of conversation. Children ran past, their laughter echoing in the foggy air. I saw a woman tending to a window box full of vibrant, purple flowers that seemed to thrive in the damp air. A man with a long, grey beard sat on a porch, carving a small, wooden bird with a knife.
The demon king stopped in the middle of the main walkway, his head tilted. He was taking in the scene with an expression of mild disbelief, as if he couldn't quite comprehend the sheer, unapologetic mediocrity of it all.
"Incredible," he said, his voice a low murmur. "They build their town on a festering cesspool, and they fill it with witless mortals who smile and trade trinkets. This world is a cosmic joke."
"They seem happy," I said, my own surprise evident in my voice. This wasn't what I'd expected from a town called Brackenwallow. "Or at least, not actively miserable."
"They should be." The man said, squinting at a child that nearly tumbled over as it ran past him. "That they exist at all without the beasts overwhelming them out of boredom is a small miracle." His gaze found the nearest building, a two-story structure with a weathered sign hanging over the door. The sign was carved in the shape of a sleeping lizard, curled around a mug. "The Rusty Lizard."
[NEW QUEST! 🐍] Angus's text box popped up. [Objective: Find a room at the inn! Reward: A bed! (I hope!) 💤]
"It's an inn," I said, pointing. "A place with beds. And hopefully, some dry clothes."
He didn't move. He just stood there, a statue of defiance in the middle of the walkway. "You will not find clothes for me here," he said, a statement of fact. "These people wouldn't know quality fabric if it smothered them in their sleep."
"I wasn't thinking about your wardrobe crisis," I retorted, starting toward the inn. "I was thinking about mine. I'm starting to squelch. It's not a good look."
He let out a long, weary sigh, a sound of profound suffering that made me want to push him into the swamp. Then, he followed me, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden planks.
The inside of The Rusty Lizard was surprisingly warm and inviting. A large, stone fireplace took up most of one wall, a cheerful, crackling fire burning within. The air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and spilled ale. The room was filled with a motley assortment of people—rough-looking men in leather armor, a few women with brightly colored scarves wrapped around their heads, a couple of what looked like traveling merchants with their wares spread out on a nearby table.
The interior seemed intent on pretending it was completely disconnected from the world that was attached to the doorway, and for a town called Brackenwallow, I'd have thought the mood would be as damp and dreary as its name.
But it wasn't.
There were people at the long bar laughing, a man was in the corner telling a story about gators with animated arm motions, and a few children were chasing a dog with a piece of dried meat, their small feet thumping on the wooden floor. The demon king stopped just inside the doorway, his expression one of utter contempt. He looked around the room as if he'd just walked into a barn filled with particularly stupid livestock.
The conversation didn't die. In fact, the opposite happened. A few heads turned in our direction, their gazes sweeping over me, then over the towering, half-naked man beside me, then over the floating pink angel behind me - a man taller than me who still insisted on floating instead of walking. A few people raised their eyebrows, a few others snorted into their drinks, but for the most part, they just went back to their own business. There was a brief, collective stare, and then a collective shrug.
A woman with a long, grey braid and a kind, wrinkled face emerged from behind the bar, wiping her hands on a clean, white cloth. She looked us over, her gaze lingering on the demon king's golden necklace for a moment. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice a calm, steady alto. She didn't seem surprised or alarmed. She just seemed... busy.
"We need a room," I said, stepping forward. "And some food. And maybe some clothes that aren't soaking wet and covered in swamp mud."
The woman nodded. "We have rooms. Two silvers a night. Comes with dinner and breakfast. Clothes are extra. We have some spare things in the back. They'll be a bit big, but they're dry."
"Two silvers?" I repeated, my mind scrambling. I didn't have any local currency. I didn't have any currency at all, unless the afterlife had magically endowed my jeans with some kind of pocket dimension filled with gold coins.
Before I could figure out how to broach the subject, the demon king reached into a small, leather pouch that was tied to the belt of his loincloth—a pouch I hadn't even noticed was there. He pulled out a handful of coins and tossed them on the bar. They were not silvers. They were gold, large and heavy, and they clattered on the wood with a sound that cut through the din of the tavern.
The woman's eyes widened. She stared at the coins, then at the demon king. "That's... more than enough," she said, her voice a little breathless.
"Keep the change," the demon king said, his tone dismissive. "We require two rooms. And food. And the clothes." He looked at me, then at Angus. "Separate rooms. And discretion." He put a strange, dangerous emphasis on that last word, making it a threat against any and all questions.
The woman nodded, her expression one of professional deference. "Of course, sir. Right this way." She pocketed the gold coins with a speed that was almost comical and led us toward a staircase at the back of the tavern.
The demon king followed her, not even bothering to look back to see if I was coming. Angus and I trailed behind him, a strange, silent parade. The other patrons in the tavern watched us go, their whispers following us up the stairs. I caught snippets of their conversations—"...all that gold...", "...must be a mercenary...", "...that collar, though..."
The rooms were small and simple, but clean. Each had a bed, a small wooden table, and a window that looked out over the swamp. The air smelled of lavender and drying herbs. The woman led us to one door, then another, directly across the hall. "Here you are," she said, handing me a stack of folded clothes. "The clothes. And the baths are just down the hall. Hot water's on the boil. One room for you, miss, and one for the two men." She gave Angus a curious look, but he simply smiled, a picture of angelic innocence.
"The two men," the demon king repeated, his voice a low growl. He looked from Angus to the woman, then to me. His expression was a perfect mask of murderous intent. "No."
The woman flinched, her eyes widening. "I... I'm sorry, sir. It's just..."
"Find another arrangement," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I will find one for you."
"Leave her alone." I say, before the old woman can cower more. "What is your problem?" I ask him, rounding on the demon king. I am not particularly brave, but I am not a bully. And he's bullying an old woman.
He turned that murderous gaze on me. "My problem is that I am expected to share sleeping quarters with a pest." He flicked a contemptuous glance at Angus. "And you. I will not share a room with either of you."
"Then Angus can share with me, Mr Delicate Sleeper. I'll take this one. You can have the one across the hall." I gestured to the room the woman had just indicated was mine. "Happy?"
He stared at me, a muscle working in his jaw. He didn't look happy. Probably because I defied him at all, rather than caring where Angus slept. "I couldn't care less, so long as neither of you violate my chamber." He snatched the key from the innkeeper's trembling hand and shoved open the door to the room across the hall. He went inside, slamming the door so hard the wood of the frame groaned.
The innkeeper let out a breath she must have been holding for the last minute. "He's... a bit intense, isn't he?" she whispered, her eyes wide.
"You have no idea," I said, taking the key to my own room. "He's like this all the time. Don't take it personally. It's not you, it's... everyone."
"He's a handsome one, though..."
I felt seen. And judged. "I'll...just go take a bath." I said, before she could continue that thought.