Rivers and Roads of Blood and Gold

Malkon remembered a time when they hadn't been so distant, a time before his search began, and before he had lost his brother. Deep brown hair curled from his head and slunk down just above his hazel eyes, hiding his brow. The points of his ears shown just through that same messy hair shielding him from the world. This was a new place for him, he did not know how the locals would take to his kind, he was a man of two worlds, this was at least how many had referred to his kind in the past.

He stood on the edge of the small town, of which he knew only the name. He knew his brother had been brought here with his company some years ago towards the end of the last war. In the last letter from Philon, he had spoke of the blood he had seen during the campaign, and the chosen family he had lost to the deep sadness. It had to be more than eight years ago now, but the letter never left the confines of his rough grey leather pack, only on the occasion that it needed to be read one last time. It was always one last time, only the gods could tell when that would be true. The silence had taken him over for a time, frozen in his own thought. This is the last place he knew his brother had been, and this was his best lead to find him, or what may be left of him. The war changed many of the brave boys who went off to fight, and not all of those that returned did so as themselves, but shells of who they had once been.
"You there! You've business in Riverfort?" a voice shouted from the gated area. "If not, I suggest you move along, we want no troublemakers here" the voice howled again, this time more menacingly.
Malkon snapped back, and was present again, now realizing just how cold it was. His breath visible, as if he had just taken a long puff from his pipe. The flame from his torch doing little in the way of warmth or comfort against the prevailing winds and snowfall melting against his skin.
"Sorry friend, I thought myself lost for a moment, Riverfort you say?" Malkon asked, doing his best to sound unsure. "Does your town have an inn, or rooms for rent, I need only wait out the weather and I can be on my way."
Against the darkness a figure waved their lantern, " Come then, they say it will get worse before the sun shows itself once more," the voice said once more, and friendlier than it sounded not so long ago.
As if following an order, Malkon made his way towards the opening to the gates, his eyes scanning everything around him, taking in the greatness that was this nearly untouched village. It seemed a place like this had either been forgotten by the war, or was hidden well enough to never be found by it. Peace, for what seemed like a moment he forgot why he had truly come. Now close enough to see the guard who had beckoned him inside the walls, he could see the wrinkled face of a man, more than twice his age. The rusted pommel of the man's shortsword looked older than he, the blade could not very well be a threat so much as a deterrent for those unfamiliar with a true weapon.
"Don't think of drawing that sword of yours son, not within my walls, on my watch." The grizzled man warned in a stern voice. HIs chest puffed out, bolstering his own confidence.
"I wouldn't dare, sir, it is not something I do lightly." Malkon replied, in a kind voice, trying to comfort the watchman. "Can you point me to the inn?" he inquired.
"Just down the road young man, you'll see the old wooden sign for the Heart of the River Tavern on the left. the inn is around back." Just like that the mans gaze left Malkon and he proudly returned to his post, watching over the small quiet town of Riverfort. Ever watchful, despite the harsh weather and the near blinding darkness that swallowed the surrounding area.