Winny, is an average coachman. He wears a suit and hat with a black comb-over hair with grey strands sprinkled in his head of hair, and he carries a big belly. He has the country bumpkin accent that insinuated this was a cheap buy from the family to use as little money as possible transporting, and disowning their daughter.

 

He is regularly grumpy, rude, and very unfriendly, he also likes to curse and throw out insults to others he doesn't like. He isn't really all that of a person, to say the least. He doesn't take anything from anyone and if he wants to get something, leaving him to be alone and no one to cry for him. He'll say any and all things out loud and not care for anyone's feelings even if it was as offensive as laughing  a innocent person dying or a victim of abuse....that was before he met with, in person, the Smirdas.

 

One word of offense and his head would be lopped off and smashed so fast he wouldn't even notice, can't blame a man for loving his life can you? He only took up this job to get the pay he wants and get off his rugged feet, however...his first day has been more hell then he imagined, being thrown to the wolves like this was really unexpected and a bit more stressful than what he can handle. He hates this family already and he can't wait to get the money from them to get as far away from this hell.

 

"Tsk! Another couple of months of this torture?" Winny muttered to himself, his tone dripping with frustration as he tightened his grip on the worn-out reins. The endless hours of driving the carriage had blurred into what felt like an eternity to him. His patience wore thin, and a simmering anger bubbled beneath the surface. He entertained the thought of diving overboard and embracing a swift demise from that insufferable butler, rather than facing the mental and physical trials of dealing with some brat!

 

"It's like the damn kid's testin ma patience... I swear I oughta—!" He caught himself mid-sentence, forcing a series of rapid breaths to quell the rising tide of agitation. Just then, a towering structure caught his eye, its façade a patchwork of beige, red, and black bricks against the fading light of the day. "There it is! My sanctuary," he muttered, his stomach protesting with a low grumble. "A nice steak, a cup of Joe, and a soft bed—maybe even a lady or two, heh!"

 

With a sigh of relief, Winny guided the carriage towards the building and pulled up beside it, the sound of hooves and creaking wood announcing his arrival.

 

The building Winny laid eyes on stood tall against the horizon, its imposing structure casting a shadow over the weary man. Its facade boasted a blend of rich, earthy tones, with beige, red, and black bricks meticulously arranged to create a sense of warmth and elegance. As Winny approached, he could see the intricate patterns woven into the brickwork, each line and curve telling a silent story of craftsmanship and dedication.

 

 

The windows, adorned with ornate frames of polished wood, caught the sunlight and reflected it back in a dazzling array of colors, adding to the building's allure. Some of the windows were adorned with flower boxes, overflowing with vibrant blooms that danced in the gentle breeze, infusing the air with their sweet fragrance.

 

Above the sturdy oak door, a sign swung lazily in the wind, creaking softly as it announced the establishment's name: "The Golden Griffin Inn." The lettering, painted in gold and outlined in black, gleamed invitingly, promising warmth, comfort, and hospitality within.

 

As he dismounted, his boots hit the ground with a solid thud, and he wasted no time in securing the horses to the nearby stable. The familiar routine brought a sense of familiarity amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

 

With a begrudging resignation, Winny grabbed a sack of feed from the corner of the stable, the weight of it a physical reminder of his burdens. Yet, even in his weariness, there was a glimmer of anticipation as he envisioned the comforts awaiting him inside the inn. Perhaps, for a fleeting moment, he could forget the trials of the road and lose himself in the simple pleasures of good food, a warm bed, and the company of woman.

 

"Be back in a bit," Winny grumbled under his breath as he strode out of the stable, his steps heavy with the weight of his discontent. He approached the carriage, forcing a strained smile as he swung open the door. But as the door creaked on its hinges, Felona jerked her head to the side with such suddenness that both she and Winny recoiled in surprise. Winny's attempt at a smile faltered, replaced by a nervous cough as he cleared his throat with a hand over his mouth.

 

"Ahem... ladies, allow me to assist you," he muttered, his voice tinged with discomfort. Felona glanced briefly at Rebbecca before reluctantly accepting Winny's outstretched hand, stepping out of the carriage. She scanned the surroundings with cautious eyes, a silent sentinel on alert for any potential threats.

 

 

Winny turned his attention to Rebbecca, offering his hand with a practiced courtesy. She startled at the sudden gesture, her eyes wide as she met his gaze, then softened into a grateful smile as she took his hand, allowing him to guide her down. But Winny's relief at her compliance was short-lived as he noticed the crimson stain marring her clothing, a stark contrast against the fabric.

 

"Ay! What's this? Are you hurt?" Winny's voice betrayed his alarm, his complexion paling at the sight. Felona's raised eyebrow betrayed her curiosity, but Rebbecca quickly reassured him with a dismissive wave and a forced smile.

 

"No, no, it's just a nosebleed from earlier. Nothing to worry about," Rebbecca chirped cheerfully, though Winny's incredulous expression betrayed his skepticism. The pool of blood on her dress painted a different picture, but Rebbecca's insistence on downplaying the situation left Winny unsettled, a nagging doubt lingering in the back of his mind.

 

Before Winny could voice his concern about Rebbecca's condition, a voice cut through the tense air, drawing their attention. "Well now, what do we have here?" The sudden interruption caused Winny and Felona to turn towards the source, where they were met with the sight of an elderly man. Wrinkles crisscrossed his weathered face, framing a bushy white mustache that seemed to have a life of its own. His attire spoke of a bygone era, with a red-brown hat adorned with a small feather, a cloak draped over his shoulders, and a sense of timeless wisdom in his gaze. His presence seemed to command respect, a testament to the trials he had weathered throughout his life, though those stories remained shrouded in mystery.

 

Winny, ever the pragmatist, wasted no time in approaching the old man, reaching for his money bag as he spoke. "We're here for the night. How much?"

 

The old man regarded them both with a discerning gaze, his hand absently stroking his beard as he contemplated their presence. "Hm, you're the girl from the Smirda family, aren't you? And you've come because of what's happening in Patmonia?" His words sent a shiver down Felona's spine, prompting her to summon a protective barrier of wind around herself and Rebbecca, her senses on high alert. Winny, too, reacted instinctively, his hand inching towards his knife as he eyed the old man with suspicion.

 

"Oh my, oh my, it seems I've struck a nerve, haven't I?" The old man chuckled softly, his demeanor disarmingly calm as he turned and strolled towards the entrance of the inn, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

Felona's heart raced with a mix of fear and uncertainty as she glanced between Rebbecca's serene demeanor and Winny's palpable tension. "What does he mean by trouble in Patmonia?" she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, her breaths coming in quick bursts.

 

Rebbecca's response was unsettling, her eyes dark and inscrutable as she offered a dismissive shrug. "He might know something we don't. Let's go in—"

 

"Go in? Miss, I'm just trying to keep my head on my shoulders, you know!" Winny interjected, his voice edged with frustration as he cast a wary glance over his shoulder.

 

"Miss, we need to leave now—" Felona began, her urgency evident in her tone, but Rebbecca's interruption cut through her words like a knife.

 

"Are the both of you ordering me around?" Rebbecca's retort was sharp, her gaze piercing as she fixed them with a challenging stare. Winny and Felona fell silent, their protests dying on their lips as they exchanged uncertain glances. With a resigned sigh, Felona followed Rebbecca's lead, her senses on high alert as they stepped into the inn.

 

Winny kept his knife at the ready, his muscles tense with anticipation as they crossed the threshold. But to his surprise, the old man simply held the door open, his demeanor calm and welcoming. The inn exuded a rustic charm, its wooden structure blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest. Inside, the ambiance was warm and inviting, with a lively atmosphere that belied the tension outside.

 

"Oi! If we're gonna fight, we best do it outside, old man!" Winny's voice cut through the air, his grip tightening on the hilt of his knife as he scanned the room. Felona stood beside Rebbecca, her protective gale still swirling around them, while Rebbecca's amused smirk never wavered.

 

"Come, I mean no harm to you three," the old man spoke with a reassuring smile, his voice calm amidst the brewing storm of emotions. As they entered, the patrons glanced up briefly before returning to their drinks, unperturbed by the newcomers.

 

Felona cautiously lowered her gale, her eyes still fixed on the old man as she surveyed their surroundings. But before she could voice her suspicions, a girl emerged from the shadows, her vibrant attire and cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

 

"Ah, welcome, guests!" the girl greeted them with a graceful bow and a bright smile, her presence injecting a sense of warmth into the room.

 

The old man acknowledged the girl's presence with a nod before making his way behind the counter, his gaze lingering on Felona, Winny, and Rebbecca with a warm smile. "A mandrake... wow," Felona whispered with a gasp, her awe tinged with reverence. Mandrakes were rare beings, their magical essence woven into the fabric of their existence.

 

"Now that I've greeted you... mind if we start with your names?" the old man chuckled, breaking the tension with his easy demeanor. Yet, Felona and Winny couldn't shake the unease that lingered in the air. If the old man knew who Rebbecca was, surely he would recognize them as well, except for the coachman. The heightened sense of discomfort made it difficult for them to approach him.

 

Despite the apprehension, Felona took a tentative step forward, her resolve steeling her nerves. "My name is Felona, and this is my mistress, Rebbecca Smirda," she introduced Rebbecca with a measured tone, purposely omitting Winny's name as she never learned it.

 

Winny, sensing the omission, cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking up. "Um... name's Winny," he mumbled, his grip on the knife tightening involuntarily.

 

The old man arched an eyebrow at their hesitance before letting out a sigh of resignation. "Well now, this isn't going to get us anywhere if y'all don't relax, now, don't you think? I mean, look around you. See how everybody's calm here? I ain't the boogeyman," he reassured them, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation as he scribbled on a piece of paper, circling a number with a flourish.

 

"Five silver for a three-room stay, one night, I'm guessing?" the old man confirmed, gesturing towards the paper displaying the price. Winny's heart sank as he realized he had dropped his money bag on the ground. "Sigh... you all stay here, I'm gonna go grab my money bag," Winny muttered, his eyes darting between them before he hurried back outside to retrieve it.

 

"Names Charlie, by the way," the old man introduced himself, extending his hand for a handshake. Felona eyed him cautiously, the constant wind swirling around her and Rebbecca as she accepted his handshake with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you, sir..." she trailed off, her thoughts drifting to the mention of Rebbecca and Patmonia. Was there something happening that she didn't know about?

 

"Say, sir... um, you mentioned something about Rebbecca and Patmonia. Could you please explain?" Felona inquired, her smile faltering slightly. The purple-haired girl beside her appeared visibly concerned, though Rebbecca continued to snicker, her gaze fixed on the purple hair girl with an unsettling intensity.

 

Charlie's expression grew more serious as he glanced around the bustling inn, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. "Far too many ears around here to ask something like that, don't you think?" he replied cryptically.

 

"How about the garden outside? I can prepare some drinks if you'd like," the purple-haired girl interjected, her gaze flicking briefly to Rebbecca, who stiffened when she did.  "I'll be more than happy to provide them," she added with an enthusiastic smile.

 

Felona hummed thoughtfully, turning to Rebbecca, whose intense gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Despite the unease, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye.

 

"Mistress, would you—?" Felona began to ask, but before she could finish her question, Winny appeared behind them, his money bag in hand. "Here, 5 silver, ya said? Take the money, ya senile bastard! I'll be taking my leave to eat me a big meal, ya hear me?" he grumbled, tossing five silver pieces onto the table before striding away into the crowd, his stomach audibly protesting.

 

Charles deftly caught the coins with a resigned sigh. "Well, here you go. Rooms 157, 158, and 159. They're a few doors down that hallway, take a left, then a right, and three doors down on the left. If you need anything, just ask for me, and I'll assist you. Or you can ask Mira for assistance," he added, nodding towards the purple-haired girl. "Got that?" he asked with a chuckle, waving a piece of paper in Felona's direction.

 

Felona hummed in confirmation, her gaze drifting towards Rebbecca. "Mistress... um, would you like to come with me to the garden?" she asked tentatively, her head tilted slightly. Rebbecca, nibbling nervously on her nails, met Felona's gaze, her grin widening. "Why, I'm so lucky to have you with me. I'll take room 158," she declared before disappearing into the crowd and ascending a staircase. With a confused look, Felona saw Rebbecca's continence, seemed similar to back when she slept suddenly for hours-rushed...

 

Felona felt a mix of fear and nervousness, her mind racing with apprehension. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease, knowing she couldn't let Rebbecca out of her sight. After all, she knew firsthand just how unpredictable and dangerous Rebbecca could be.

 

She felt both afraid and nervous for two main reasons. One, well she literally can't have her out of her sight, shes fucking psychotic!

 

Felona's mind raced with frustration as she realized the implications of Winny's actions. Allowing him to purchase two rooms meant potentially indebting herself to him, giving him leverage over them—a fact that only fueled her heightened aggression. She remained hyper-focused on the movements of the old man and her protective magic surrounding herself and Rebbecca, her senses on high alert.

 

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts, Felona looked up and forced a smile. "I guess I'll go with you, Charles," she conceded, her tone strained with forced cheerfulness.

 

"That's the spirit! Now let's get some drinks to ease this conversation, hmm?" Charles chuckled, leading the way as the purple-haired girl began preparing drinks.

 

The garden, enclosed by high walls and a roof pierced with holes for lighting, was a serene oasis amidst the chaos. Charles guided Felona to a round glass table adorned with flowers and mystical fauna, a small table with four chairs nearby. Yet, he opted to remain standing, his presence looming over the scene.

 

As the purple-haired girl set drinks on the table, Felona thanked her before turning her attention to Charles with a questioning gaze.

 

"So... a maid of the Smirda's isn't knowing much about the politics of Patmonia, huh?" Charles remarked with a slight smile, his bushy mustache shifting with each word. Felona's expression remained guarded as she spoke.

 

"The Smirda family has always been one of the pinnacle's of Patmonia's power. And I'm simply a personal maid of Mistress Rebbecca, sir, nothing more, nothing less," she replied evenly, taking a seat at the table and sipping her drink.

 

Charles chuckled proudly before continuing, "So what? You think you ain't part of the pinnacle of the noble world just because you ain't royal family, lassy? Nah, ain't none of that here. You are part of that pinnacle just because your name's connected with the Smirdas now, whether you like it or not. The world can change, lassy."

 

Felona couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over her as Charles's words sank in. His tone was sobering, his statement carrying a weight that made her gulp in realization. "He's right, though," she thought to herself, her mind swirling with the implications of his words. With a small sigh, she shifted her gaze from his, focusing instead on the glass table before her.

 

"So, I can only assume Mistress Rebbecca's name in the family is on the head papers around our nation? If what you say is true, that is, sir..." Felona ventured, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she looked back up at him.

 

Charles hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting upwards to the sky. "Hm, not really... but the world's a funny place. You would go on and think, an old man like me having this knowledge before word got out would be an odd thing, huh? Ha! Shows what you might know can be both decievin and short sighted, hmm?" he chuckled heartily, leaning forward to take a sip of his drink.

 

"And the fact that you let out such a thing 'round me shows you suspect I know more than what I lead on, ain't it? I wouldn't have done anything otherwise, hmm?" he added with a broad smile, his eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. Felona felt a chill run down her spine at his words, her suspicions confirmed by his confident demeanor.