Over
the course of his stay in the Frozen Abyss the Poet had seen many dark and
cryptic things. Glowing crimson eyes were a new one though, even for him. Could
a man really get so enraged that even his pupils turned red? It seemed
unlikely, but the unlikely had a strange way of becoming less so in the Frozen
Abyss. Still, what had happened was a mystery, and a very disturbing one at
that.
Since
then very little had transpired other than the Man trying to break in a time or
two. He had gone feral. Some sort of mad rage seemed to control him now. The
Beacon had suggested they let him in so they could at least try to help him,
pleading he would freeze to death if left outside for too long. Thinking and
talking it over the group decided to board the windows and doors instead. They
wanted no part of his madness wandering freely about to do as he pleased.
Outraged by this decision the Beacon insinuated the cold outside must have made
them cold inside as well to think in such a way. Had they no heart left in
them? The others were not like her though. The majority left had grown up on
perseverance, learning to survive by whatever means possible. And letting a
wild lunatic into the tavern did not fit with that strategy in any way. Up
until this point the Beacon had always had a way of persuading people to her
beliefs, but these weren't your average lost souls seeking guidance. They were
looking for a way out. For once in her life she was unsure of what to say to
sway their minds. And so she decided to keep quiet for a bit and see how things
played out.
Meanwhile
the others spoke in length about their current situation, discussing what
should be done, what could be done, and why they should even care. The Man
would freeze to death soon enough anyways, and what happened to the Garrison
was not their fault. None of this had anything to do with them. They were
merely renting rooms at an inn where one of the guests decided to make an early
departure. There was nothing more to it than that. The only ones they felt bad
for were the families of the Garrison. They would be left to wonder what
happened to their husbands, brothers, sons, etc. without ever knowing for sure.
Well, actually this concern only crossed the mind of the Librarian. The Poet,
the Pestilence, and the Innkeeper didn't exactly have any families of their own
so it didn't resonate with them at all. Thus moving on to the what should and
could be done they determined that both questions would be answered the same
way. Nothing. Nothing had to be done. With night already upon them all there
was to do was get some sleep, wake up the next morning and carry on with
whatever business they had come here to do.
There was no need to complicate things. And so in agreement the
discussions ended and everyone went off to bed, hoping to put this matter
behind them.
But
they could not. Not the Beacon anyways. That night she lay awake wrestling with
the thoughts in her head when she heard a rustling outside. Quietly getting up
and leaving her room she made her way down to the back entrance of the inn.
There, through a slot in the door she could see the Man hunched over in the
snow. Making as little noise as possible she slowly removed the boards covering
the door and opened it up. Without hesitation the Man stumbled inside and stood
directly in front of her, so close that their bodies touched. Staring eye to
eye for what seemed to be the longest couple of seconds ever the Beacon could
only smile. She thought she had just saved his life. And she thought wrong...
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