NaNoWriMo 2017- Writing with Reckless Abandon

Part 1: May

The rain drenched her cloak, soaking everything she wore, causing it all to cling to her skin. The water dripped into her eyes, so she was constantly blinking to keep her vision clear. It didn't help that it was already nightfall, make everything harder to see. The buildings around her were only dark silhouettes illuminated occasionally by flashes of lightening.
Another thunderclap and flash caused her horse to snort and toss its head. She tightened her grip on her horse's reigns, pulling its head down closer so she could stroke its nose to calm it.
"It's alright, the Inn should be right around here somewhere," she said, glancing around the cobblestone street. It was the middle of the night, so most the houses didn't even have lights in the windows. She couldn't find any sign of the Inn from there, but they were almost at a cross road in the town.
Coming up to it, she stopped and glanced down each of the ways. Dark shadows of the buildings loomed around her. Vision blurring, she tried rubbing water from her eyes with a knuckle and looking again.
There! To her left! She saw a faint light about a block away emanating from some windows. That must be it!
She tugged on her horse's reins, leading it towards the source of light, new energy flowing through her in the anticipation of getting out of the dank and dreary rain.
She had been traveling for a long time, and the city had just come into sight on the horizon when the storm hit. As soon as the lightening and thunder started, she immediately had to dismount. For one, the brown boy became skittish and hard to ride in storms, for two, she didn't want to be sitting up high with the flashes of lightening in the sky. She had seen it take a mighty knight from his steed once before, and didn't want to risk it happening to her.
Because of having to dismount, it was well after dark when she finally reached the city, whereas if she had managed to stay mounted, it would have been early evening.
The tavern was in sight, and soon she could make out the wooden sign hanging over the doorway. The Wretched Jester.
She thought how unappealing a name that was, but figured compared to other Inns, it would be just as unappealing inside. This wasn't exactly a high class city, so high class inns and taverns didn't keep in business. But it would do for her purpose, and more likely than not she would find what she was looking for here, where she was less likely to find it in some place more appealing.
Though the front door seemed welcoming enough, she walked passed it and found a covered nook beside the tavern and another building. There it led beside and behind the Inn to where there were stables. A rough roof had been constructed over this portion, still cobblestoned like the road. There was a hitching post and another entrance to the tavern.
She hooked the reins to the post, patted her horse's neck, and headed for the door.
As soon as she opened the door, she was blinking and dazed. The light, smell, and sound of the room almost knocked her off her feet.
It was a lively tavern, despite it being the middle of the night. It was crowded and well lit with several fire places and lanterns. By now the patrons were very drunk and very lively. One had even taken up a song, standing on a table in the middle of the room. Many people were smoking on pipes or cigars, filling the room with a musty, smoky smell, on top of the smell of alcohol and food.
After regaining her bearings, she glanced around the room quickly, looking for a mysterious corner to sit in. No luck, all of the corners were already taken by mysterious hooded figures that had gotten there before her. There wasn't even a single empty table, not that there were many tables to begin with.
With a resigned sigh she found a seat at the bar and took a better look around the room. There were several people there that could be what she was looking for. Though maybe she should first look at those next to her.
On one side sat a half-orc with a grouchy face, staring into his tankard of ale that he held with a hand that was missing several fingers. He looked strong and tough. Maybe he could do?
Then she noticed the dog hair all over him, a whistle, and a roll of newspaper sticking out of his back pocket. Oh. He was a wolf handler and trainer, not an adventurer. Plenty of people wanted wolves as companions, since they were mysterious and supposedly good in a fight. Such an occupation as training wolves often meant getting into fights with the beasts to subdue them, and even getting fingers bit off.
The half-orc would be a strong fighter, but was not an adventurer. With a sigh she glanced at her other side. A smirking fellow flirting with a barmaid. Fine cloths, a rich accent, and hair slicked back, he was definitely a diplomat, not an adventurer.
"What can I get ya, miss?" Came a deep voice. She turned her attention to the man behind the bar. A stout, balding fellow with a large girth- wait, no, he wasn't fat. She had to smirk at her realization. The man had a very large leather pouch in front of his whole chest, sitting behind his apron. A hose hooked to his belt with a nozzle told her that it was basically a giant wine skin sitting in front of him so that he could go around refilling drinks without bothering to take a trip back to the bar every time. Which meant he was probably very strong, being able to carry such a weight around as if it were just part of his own body.
"Something warm for my shivering bones," she said cheerily.
"An' will ye be needin a room?" He asked. "If so, I be needin a name, an' number of yer party."
"Ah, yes, I will need a room. Lizbeth is the name, and it's only me. Oh! I also have my trusty horse outside on the hitch, so a stabling for him would be appreciated as well."
    The barkeep nodded, yelling at a tavern worker, who scurried to a ledger behind the bar. He produced a key with a piece of parchment attached with a number. The key was handed over to Lizbeth, then the worker ducked outside through the side door she had entered from.
    "He'll be takin' care o' y'er steed. He's good with animals. Any gear on 'im will be put in a safe box in front o' its stall. Y'er room key should work on it as well," the barkeep told her, suddenly placing a mug of hot liquid in front of her. Some of it sloshed on the table. The barkeep pulled out a rag that had been hooked to his belt and started wiping away the mess.
    "Thank you, good sir," Lizbeth said, reaching for the drink. He smacked her hand with the rag and cleared his throat.
    "Drink, room, an stable be five gold. Two silver an' you'll have yerself a hot meal, two more silver an breakfast will be brought to yer room."
    Lizbeth considered for a moment, before placing enough coin on the counter for all the offered amenities. It was a bit of a sore blow to her travel budget, but not enough to make her wince. The barkeep took the coins and nudged the drink closer to her before walking off to a hollering patron.
    Lizbeth sipped on the drink, which was just shy of scalding, and turned to take a closer look at the patrons in the room.
    Only half of them were even human. The rest was a strange mix of races. Dwarves, elves, halflings, teiflings. The differences in race did nothing to change how they treated each other, as if it were only the difference between hair color. In fact, the current brawl in the center was simply due to an arm wrestling match where the looser claimed the winner cheated somehow.
    Lizbeth took her eyes away from the brawl, considering each of the mysterious figures in all the corners and dark places. Some of them felt very sinister, some relaxed, others just weary. In fact, squinting to look at one figure through the fog, his feet propped on the table, Lizbeth realized he was fast asleep. She wasn't the only one to notice, though, as a little halfling slunk over under his table and expertly relieved his belt of his coin purse before making a quick exit.
    Of course she said nothing about that, just checked her own coin purse habitually. It was there, and about the right size.
    The brawl had died down when Lizbeth's gaze stopped at a man at a very small table by himself by a fire. He was looking through papers in an almost frustrated manner. Well, he wasn't a man, but a tiefling. Blue skin, broken horns, and large armor. Lizbeth could tell that the papers he was looking through were wanted posters.
    A mercenary? Perfect.
    She finished her apple cider and set the cup down before going over to him.
    "Hello, sir," she said, pulling a chair from another table. The man who had been sitting on it didn't need it, being passed out on the floor.
    "Go away," the tiefling's voice was gruff and direct. He hadn't even bothered looking up at her.
    "Aw, but I'm looking to hire," Lizbeth pouted.
    "I ain't the one you're looking for," he huffed, furrowing his brow at the paper currently in his hand.
    "A tough fighter, armored to the teeth, looking at wanted posters as if looking for a job, sitting in this spit of a tavern... I do believe you're what I'm looking for," Lizbeth sat down on the chair backward, her legs straddling the back as she rested her arms on the backrest. She glanced at the wanted posters now that she was closer. All high bounties counted dangerous.
    "I'm too expensive for you, kid. I don't get cats out of trees, you know," he snapped.
    "I figured as much. Which is why you might be my man. My name is Lizbeth. Lizbeth Hawking. You might know that name. I'm not the one hiring, the Hawking family is," she said. "So I'm sure I can afford it. This is also under the assumption that you don't work alone."
    The tiefling stopped looking at the paper and finally regarded the woman for a moment. Lizbeth knew she must be quite the sight: her green cloths and blonde hair were completely drenched and sticking to her, her eyes were sunken in from the weariness from travel, and she probably had mud all over her face.
    "Hawking, eh? Alright, you have my attention," he said. "What is this job?"
    Lizbeth smiled and reached into a pocket on the inside of her jacket. She pulled out a piece of parchment. She winced as she did so. It was soaked. Unfolding it only revealed smudged ink running down the page.
    "Just great," she grumbled. "Well, good thing I still had an idea of what the job was, so I could just tell you."
    "An idea of it? Great, so I'm going off the vague remembrances of a youngling," the man rubbed his temples. "Well, you better hurry and tell me before I loose all interest."
    "Ah, well, you see-"