Mike the White's Arc

Chapter 1 of 10

Mike the White walked into the beastfolk town at dusk, his wound on his side throbbing. He was weary from his travels for several weeks on the road. But first he needed a bed, and some food. It was lucky enough to stumble upon this large town in the middle of the woods. He stood a full bit taller than everyone in the muddy street. His white braids hung past his leather armor. The hand axe rode his hip, and the wooden shield hung on his back. Yet for all his size, his gut tightened. Stories were one thing. He did not know how the people would judge a stranger. His black raven flew out of town undetected, mapping out the perimeter with ease. Warm light poured from a good number of windows. One carved door stood open under a peaked roof. A painted sign named it, The Bannered Mare. Mike entered the large door and stepped inside. The noise dropped. A dozen faces turned toward him. He gripped the strap of his shield and sat at a dimly lit table in the back of the large tavern room. A wolf woman crossed the floor to meet him. Her silver hair fell past her shoulders, and grey fur ran along her arms. Her ears twitched forward as she studied him. She wore a revealing outfit, and she carried herself like she owned every plank of the floor. "You're tall, traveler," she said. She smirked. "Zara. I run this house. What do you want?" "A bed," Mike said. His voice came out rougher than he meant. "And food, and mead." The room went about again. Zara's ears flattened, then rose. She looked him over, slow, from braided beard to muddy boots. The raven ruffled on his shoulder. "Half the men who say that leave in a cart," she said. "You okay?" She stepped closer. He smelled woodsmoke and wet fur. "Been on the road long, I see." She reached up and tugged one of his braids, testing it like rope. Mike held still and let her. A cat woman by the fire laughed and said something he did not catch. Heat climbed his neck. "You'll have your bed," Zara said. "Top floor. Mind your business." Then her smile sharpened. "But the queen doesn't grant a stranger's face. She's holding court three nights from now, in the great hall. Only those with a gift worth her time get through the door." Mike set a small pouch on the counter. "I'm not here to meet any queen," he said, looking at her sternly. "But I am looking for food and drink, and a place to lay my head."