[Episode One: A Dark and Stormy Night]

[timebethine]

There isn't much of a road anymore between Riphollow and Spindlecairn, but Laertes has been on it all day, and the day has been streaked with lightning. By the time he fetches up like flotsam at the mouldering inn that overlooks Spindlecairn's main street, he's soaked to the skin and shivering. He has a hollow-eyed look about him--a lean, starveling-dog look that makes it hard to know if he'll cower or bare his fangs.

Then again, most strangers do. Those who don't know when to cringe or to bite don't usually make it all the way to Spindlecairn.

He settles on a barstool with an audible squelch, and rainwater sluices off of him in streams. "I hope you have something warm," he tells the barkeep, "because a cold beer might put me in my grave."