Escape from Valn

Part 5

Ire of the Traveling Mage

          Mathon Hywel swept the dust from his robes as he sat with his arms leaning upon the well oiled surface of the bar while absently sipping at his ornately carved goblet of elderberry wine. A look of utter disgust distorted his features as he followed the brutish Northman, who made his way through the growing crowd to settle in an empty seat at a table near the other end of the bar, with a scornful glare. The mage was completely unable to fathom the incivility of some people- of how they could just barge in, with no regards as to who is there or what they might be doing, only to order a flagon of ale instead of finding a seat and hailing a barmaid like more civilized folk. He reviewed the whole event with a bitter huff that reflected the ire that burned in his eyes, and then placing the oaken goblet back on the bar, Mathon took a long, agitated draw on his long-pipe to relax his nerves and collect his thoughts. The Aenochian pipe-weed, which had been mingled with leaves of cured mint, cloves and a few other, more exotic, herbs, worked quickly to soothe his mind as the warm moist heat filled his lungs and spread throughout his body.

          Mathon had spent the last few days researching the mystic arcana surrounding a spell that he had yet to unravel. He had just come to the brink of a climactic discovery about its inner workings when that oafish beast of a man lumbered into him- invading his personal space and disrupting his train of thought. Still flustered by the brash invasion of his person, Mathon took a deep breath, sharply cursing his damnable sense of luck as he raised the goblet to his lips and imbibed a small mouthful of the semi-sweet wine. As he rolled the liquid around in his mouth, basking in the fine quality of its vintage, it came to his attention that his hat was not on the bar where he had left it. An angry flush rose to his cheeks- which made the frail wizard look as though he had spent too much time by the hearthside- as his eyes roved over his immediate surroundings in search of his missing accessory. He snapped a vengeful gaze back to the now seated barbarian, wondering if the uncultured brute had made off with his favorite traveling hat, only for the notion to be cut short as he caught a glimpse of the wide-brimmed hat leaning against the foot of the bar. With an annoyed sigh of relief, he motioned to the old accoutrement, summoning it to his hand; then dusting it from brim to crown, Mathon placed the old hat upon his head. He gave the burly Northman a sidelong glance for good measure; as if the berating look alone scolded the brute for the momentary damage he had caused by his brash intrusion. Then, with a steady draw from his pipe and a satisfying sip of his wine, Mathon settled back into the thrall of his previous endeavor.

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