The (Solo) Adventures of Solomon Kane

Kane and L’Armon follow their silent host downs long, dark hall. The stocky, broad body of their guide seems to grow and expand in the light of the small candle he carries, flickering as it casts a shadow behind him.

At a door he halts, indicating that this chamber is where the men are to sleep. Kane and L’Armon enter and the host follows, lighting a candle from the one he carries then lurches back the way he came.

The two men glance at one another. The furnishings were modest; a couple of bunks, a chair or two and a heavy table.

“Let us see if there is a way to make fast the door”, says Kane, “I like not the look of mine host.”

“There are racks on the door and jamb for a bar”, says Gaston, “but no bar.”

“We might break up the table and use the pieces as a jamb”, muses Kane.

“Something is wrong with this place, or mayhap the company I am presently ensconced with. I need to investigate the meaning of this unease I feel”, mused Kane looking sideways at his new companion. “I have seen you somewhere before”, he says, looking closely at L’Armon, “though I can not as yet recall where or when.  Prey note that I am a light sleeper and rest with a loaded pistol at hand”.

The Frenchman laughed, “I was wondering how m’sieur could bring himself to sleep in a room with a stranger”.

As they talk and begin to search for something to use as a bar, Kane feels the darkness closing in around him, and his unease at the meanderings of his erstwhile companion increases.

Kane shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I must keep a clear head about me”, he thought, “this mystery will need careful calculation and a sound rational.”

Solomon Kane’s long strides devours the miles as shadows lengthen over the Black Forest.  He walked a lonely trail until he came across a dandy following the same path through the darkening wood.

“What Ho, stranger!”, the man called out as Kane came into his view. “Tis a bleak night to be abroad without company. May we travel together to seek refugee in some comfortable Inn?”

“Mayhap we can. What is thy name?” Kane replied.

“L’Armon. Gaston L’Armon at your pleasure” the dandy replied.  Kane was not one to seek comfort in finery and friffery and this L’Armon was a man who seemed to delight in the finer comforts of clothing.  Still, the sword at his side looked to be one used to the travails of night travel, and a second blade in unfamiliar territory was not one to be rejected out of hand.

“Then let us travel together. I am called Solomn Kane. Let us hope a friendly Inn lies on our path as the night draws its shadowy veil around us”.

The pair of unlikely companions marched on together until through a gap in the trees they espied the flickering lights of a low rambling building of heavy logs; a wayside Inn.

Kane observed the sign creaking in the light breeze and remarked on the unsettling image of a skull cleft in twain.

“This place hath a foreboding aspect, methinketh” Kane muttered darkly.

L’Armon called out in a stong voice, ignoring Kane’s dark observation, “What Ho landlord! You have guests to serve on this dark and chilly evening. What Ho!”

The Inn door swung open and a bearded face peered out at the two companions now huddled in their cloaks as the chill of the evening leeched the warmth from their bodies.

The barman stood aside to allow them to enter, albeit with a grudging aspect it seemed. In the flickering shadows of a single candle he led them to a table where the two men ordered their repast and warmed themselves by the small fire as they were served with ale, bread, cheese and cold meat.  A meal fit for a king thought Kane as they last morsels were consumed.

“Come” said the landlord as he led them into the rear of the inn where their chamber lay.

Kane regards the Inn with suspicion. “There is something amiss in this place”, he thinks, “I feel an unease simply walking with these men to my chamber. That evil can have imbued this place with such a malevolent spirit?”

Drawing in his breath and flexing his muscles, he steels himself for what he feels will be some form of conflict. Slowly and determinedly he follows the host into the rear of the Inn where lies the sleeping quarters with one ear to their conversation and an eye to the bleak surroundings. “In whatever form this battle comes, I will be ready”, he muses as they draw close to a chamber door.