Chapter 1

It was a calm, hot evening as The Man walked towards The One Way Inn. The sun lay low and swollen in the sky, bathing the area in a deep red hue, making The Man sweat despite the late hour.
“Damn this blasted weather.” The Man whispered to himself.
 He much preferred the colder climate of Midtrabar, a chilly nation far to the south of Celeth, the country he was currently travelling. Instead he was here hunting for the sword of Ganek, an ancient weapon that could lay waste to entire cities. This would be his lucky break, he just knew it, not that he believed in luck. He spotted the tavern in the distance, a modest building, two story’s high made entirely of wood that gleamed in the dying sunlight. The name always amused him, The One Way Inn would imply that it was hidden away in the surrounding forest, a place where rouges and thieves could find refuge for a day, where  young lovers could run away to forget about the world for a night, whispering secrets with each other as they lay intertwined together. While in fact it was in an open spread of ground, the forest surrounding having been cut down long ago to make way for three dark blue cobble roads that spread in different directions from the Inn. The first know as the Bright road headed west, connecting to the great road that stretched from Niarul, the capital city of Celeth, to Midtrabar. The cold country far to the south held many treasures, but lacked fertile ground for farming. The second dubbed the Shadow path headed east, aiming for the deserted castle of Versai. However, it ended several leagues shy of the ancient fortress, many believing that when the gods crafted the road they didn’t want any solid connection to the Forsaken land. Finally the third every being cursed as the Demon road,  the oddest of them all, headed directly north extending into an unpleasant forest, superstitiously called the Necromancers lair, for several miles before veering directly to the right. Not many trod this path, believing it to be hexed. All three paths had the same destination, the tall wide door of The One Way Inn. Rubbed smooth by centuries of hands heading for a warm fire and comfortable bed. As The Man strolled along the Demon road he grinned, spotting six horses silently sleeping in their stables. He could hear raucous laughter coming from within the tavern, as well as shouts for more drink.
 No doubt their masters are well and truly drunk by now he thought to himself.
He grinned even wider and opened the door,  sliding across the heavy latch down as he entered.

The Man was thankful to find the tavern warm but comfortable, he removed his hood to reveal a mop of blond hair hanging  just past his ears, swept off his face to show high cheekbones, a chiselled jaw line and bright green eyes. He was garbed in plain brown boots dusty from his journey, loose fitting dark trousers with a tight long sleeved shirt tucked into them. Around his shoulders a hung a light cloak that was the colour of fresh milk, making his already tanned skin seem to glow in the well lit tavern. By his right hip hung a plain sheath for a short sword, the hilt of which was black as sin, a screaming skull acted as a pommel, while the cross guard ended in sharp spikes. By his left hip hung a notched dirty dagger dangling unsheathed, announcing to the world this was a ceremonial weapon. As he entered he remembered The One Way Inn was split into three parts, on the right hand side four tables where arranged spaciously in a square, with lavish chairs and sweet smelling candles arranged in pleasing patterns, it was a space used only by the wealthiest travellers. A wall separated the two rooms, keeping out any prying eyes. A grand set of frosty glass doors where imbedded into the wall. It was currently empty, the man noticed. On the left hand side three long tables where laid out parallel to one another, with simple benches instead of comfortable chairs, it made for a much more public affair. Then the back room where the kitchen and pantry, as well as a set of stairs that led upstairs, where in constant use all hours. The far end of the three big tables is where the man found four men, all dressed in rich clothing laughing with one another. Chunky rings that sparkled with each movement adorned their fingers. Golden chains thicker than a child’s wrist hung from their chests. Flagons of beer where being passed around, but no food was in sight, aside from a hard looking piece of bread discarded to the end of the table.  
The Man sauntered over to the bar that dominated the centre of the room. The bar itself was polished wood, forming a ring in the centre of the Inn. He gave a short tap on the bar and almost instantly a short ugly woman appeared with a sour look upon her face. Behind her carrying two jugs of beer hurried a tall pretty girl, who’s face soured quicker than the ugly woman’s did.
“You should leave,” The ugly woman croaked, while picking dirt from underneath a finger nail. “We ent open tonight, invite only I’m fraid.”
The Man took a step back, looking wounded slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that, for I have journeyed many miles and would like nothing more than to rest my head on a something softer than the ground, with a full belly and warm fire.” He pleaded with them, falling to his knees clasping his together showing the many rings that enveloped his fingers, the large pouch at his side and the ebony pendant that hung from a thin silver chain from his neck.
The younger girl raced to his side, a caring smile spread across her face. “Oh of course you can stay here,” She look at the woman “ Meg, go fetch this handsome young man a glass, no a bottle, of our finest wine. I’ll introduce him to the others.”
As Meg, who was also wearing a smile as sweet as the morning sunrise, wandered off to find a bottle of wine, the pretty girl leaned over to help The Man up, displaying a scandalous amount of cleavage.
“Now do you have a name, or should I book you in as the handsome man?” She giggled sweetly and blushed.
She is a pretty one, the man thought to himself, a shame really.
“Oh yes, it’s Ganek.“ The Man replied.
The girl giggled and playfully squeezed The Mans firm left bicep.
“You share the same name as the god of death, did you know that?” The pretty girl asked.
“Yes, yes I did.” The Man replied, pulling out his dagger and plunging it into her right eye. A fine spray of crimson mist sprayed forth, spattering his face in gentle coat of red. She was dead before she hit the ground, her lifeless fingers slowly releasing the grip on his arm. The Man looked down at her corpse, blood pooling around her skull like a nightmarish halo and frowned. The dagger had snapped inside her. The Man knelt down, gently removed the broken shard from her face, wiped the gore on her dress and sighed. The blade had been a gift from his mentor when he first joined the dark hands. Nearly a centuries worth of history, just to be broken because of a pretty face.  A loud bang bought him out of his nostalgia, he looked towards the four oblivious drunk men, one appeared to have fallen asleep, and grinned.

Reviews

[Jason]

This was a wonderful read. Unfortunately I can't give you many points to work on or criticisms. The only thing I picked up on were a few time "The Man" was not capitalized, although I do feel this is better unless there is a reason that it should be. I guess I can only read further to find out. Good job!