Hi! This is my first submission, so please be kind! Criticise on whatever you want; did you find it boring, over descriptive, etc. Ignore things such as spelling, though. I'm from Britain, so I've spelt a lot of things differently from the spell check, but that I know are right. Happy reading!
The long road had turned to mud. Tall ash trees grew along the edges in scattered abundance, bending under the wind. They leaned over the travellers' path, intimidating and skeletal against the black sky. Rain lashed down, and the road appeared to boil as the drops hit the floor.
She strode along the road, ignoring the bitter cold, and the pain caused by the bullet-like drops of water. She was hooded, in a defiant attempt at shutting out the rain. She walked incredibly smoothly, as if she was floating on air, somehow managing not to trip or stumble in the puddles and potholes. Watery mud splashed around her long-booted feet, and seeped into her cloak.
At last, a small inn came into sight, tucked away at the side of the road, its candlelit windows flickering. She stopped, and tilted her head back, letting the violent rain sting her face. She sighed, and moved on again. The inn came ever closer, until at last she was standing right outside its door. She stood for a moment, looking the shabby building up and down, taking in the crooked windows, the leaking roof, and the soot stained chimney, which was currently belching forth thick smog-like smoke. A dirty sign hung above the door, swaying with the wind. On it could be seen, barely legible, the words 'Singing Kettle Inn.' A somewhat unsuitable name. Yet, it was just another sign of the way the world had changed. During the past three centuries the decay of humanity had lain over the land, slowly but surely seeping into all aspects of life. Recently, however, things had taken a turn for the worse.
She lowered her eyes and slowly pushed the cracked door open, knowing that any sudden movement would cause the wood to split. As she stepped over the threshold, the room suddenly went quiet. She stood just inside the doorway, and surveyed the low-ceilinged area, taking in the rotten tables, the broken chairs, and the heavy scent of tobacco, beer and ale. Eventually, the babble of talk broke out again, and people returned to their own business.
She turned to close the door, then lowered her hood, revealing long, dark brown hair that was flecked with red. She made her way over to the innkeeper, who was behind the counter.
"One water," she said. The innkeeper stopped and stared at her, seemingly transfixed. This seemed to cause her some annoyance, and quietly, but firmly she uttered a "please." He came back to his senses and bent down, emerging again with a brown glass. Slowly he poured some water from a jug, and handed it to her. She took it without a word, and made her way over to an empty corner of the room. She sat down on a wooden chair, and put her legs up on the table, which was burned and scuffed. She sipped her drink, quietly watching the activities around her.
Two old men at a table in the middle of the room seemed to be the centre of attention. One was waving a long, thin stick in the air, and the other was gesticulating wildly, obviously strongly opposed to whatever was going on. Suddenly, without warning, there was a loud bang, and the room filled with smoke. After a few minutes it cleared to reveal the two men, one now very startled, the other extremely angry. They both had blackened faces, and the spectators roared with laughter. They left hurriedly, and the audience quietened down.
She snorted. It was obvious that the fools had tried to perform so-called 'magic.' Magic didn't exist. Anybody with the slightest amount of wisdom, study and experience knew that. But those sorts of people were becoming increasingly harder to find these days, especially in the Outlands. And these cheap tricks circulated heavily on the Black Market. The state of things being as they were, people would do all manner of things to believe they had something, anything, that would help them. They bought these 'wands,' and numerous other fake items labelled 'Magic,' gaining false hope, while the tradesmen behind the scams were laughing as they retrieved their riches. Hope was the one thing that kept many going - hope for a better life. Sad were the lives of the sceptics, the non-believers. They had no hope, and so were doomed with the knowledge that circumstances were only likely to get worse.
"Excuse me." She had been sitting quietly, drink on the table, drowning in these thoughts when suddenly she was brought back to reality. She cursed herself for allowing herself to slip away like that. No good came of letting your guard down in these situations.
"Excuse me." She looked up to see a short, balding man. He looked intensely nervous, and sweat was running down his forehead.
"Yes?" she replied.
"Well, I was just wandering... Are you..? Do you know..?"
"Could you please get to the point?" She was tired, and was not in the mood to listen to babblings from sweaty little people. Furthermore, she was curious to know what this person could possibly want with her.
"Is your... um... is your name Mositas? It's just I was given a letter that I was ordered to deliver to someone of your description, should they ever pass through the area." She frowned, not angrily, but in confusion. Who could she think of that knew her name, who was at all interested in writing to her? More importantly, who knew that she was in this area in the first place? She certainly hadn't told anyone where she was going, chiefly because of the fact that she hadn't known herself.
"May I see the letter?" she asked.
"Of course." The man dug his grimy little hand into his pocket, and brought back a tightly furled scroll, sealed with red wax. No wonder he was so nervous. This type of grandeur was so rare nowadays; even the upper classes used it only on special occasions. Her face relaxed in relief, though, and her heart lifted as she recognised the seal.
"Thank you," she said, taking the scroll from his trembling hand. Without a word he turned and scuttled off. She spent a good five minutes twirling the scroll in her fingers, and then tucked it inside her cloak without opening it. Deciding on something, she got up and made her way to the innkeeper.
"Have you got any empty rooms?" she asked. Gesturing to a rickety staircase in the middle of the room, he answered.
"Second door on the right."
"Thank you." She turned and made her way carefully up the stairs, anticipating some sleep. She would be up early in the morning.
)
- but got the point across easily and skillfully). There's a good backdrop for despair here, in the place where the people are so down-and-out that they're willing to believe in magic if it will give them something to hope for.
