Graham Mathews
Mrs. Rohleder
Advanced English 1
November 18 2014
Lord Mortan's Descent
Mercor arrived at the port of Exordior just as a boom of thunder rolled over the sky. Rain began to pour down on the ship. "Get the ship docked fast men," shouted the captain. "The cargo needs to stay dry!" Mercor watched from the safety of the ship's lower deck as the crew unloaded his cargo. As a merchant, he knew that his cargo was mostly safe. He had water-proofed the crate's contents for this reason.

A worker mumbled about the terrible timing of the storm as Mercor stepped off the trade ship. Thunder boomed. He quickly thanked captain Regulus for allowing his stay on the ship, paid him in gold pieces, and darted to the shelter of a nearby inn out of the rain.

Exordior was quiet, apart from the banging rain and loud booms of thunder. Citizens were huddled under awnings or inside their houses. For nearly a century now a minor illness had been infecting people of all ages spanning the human population. But only recently news had begun to spread that it was no longer only a minor illness, but a devastating plague. The disease that was once harmless, had become a death sentence. Mercor was going to make some money out of the situation.

Upon entering the quiet and dimly lit inn, Mercor was greeted by the innkeeper. "Ghastly weather isn't it?" the innkeeper asked rhetorically. "You'll want a room then?"

"How much for a small one?" Mercor asked.

"A drink?"

"What?! No, a room!"

"Oh, ten gold pieces" stated the innkeeper.

Mercor handed the man his money and went to his room. It was cozy, a small bed by a small window. A small nightstand crammed between the small bed and the wall. The bed had green stains on it that Mercor didn't want to know what were.

"That there looks like vomit," the innkeeper helpfully pointed out. He had followed Mercor to his room. "You go enjoy yourself at the pub. I'll get that cleaned while you're gone."