The Tavern of Eastern Hold was unusually crowded that night. The fire crackled in its hearth, sending great flames up the chimney, licking up the side of the bricks that kept it in place, radiating a welcoming heat that drew the patrons around it to guzzle beer to their hearts content. The men and women of the tavern were particularly lively this night; flagons were being passed around to the sound of singing and laughter. All were merry and some a little drunk, swinging their flagons side to side to the sound of the bards who strummed a jolly chord on their instruments, filling the air with the most wonderful music this side of The Deep Woods, where Eastern Hold bordered. This was quite normal for the tavern however. It was a favourite place of the locals, and while it was not the most royal of places, the frequent bar fights being the common topic of conversations after a night there, it was homely and welcoming. What made the crowd unusual, is the stranger in the farthest corner of the room. He had mostly gone unnoticed by the taverns patrons, being quiet and keeping to himself, but he was certainly a uncommon sight in these parts. He was a short man, not at all muscular, being what most people would consider spindly. A long, hooded blue robe covered most of his body, the sleeves hanging from his wrists a little dirty and worn. Under the robe he wore a simple black, woollen shirt and brown trousers of the same material. On his feet were sturdy leather boots, the kind that you’d like to have on long journeys where there would be a lot of walking. His face was long, though mostly covered by the shadow of the hood and his short, brown hair was mostly covered by it. He had soft, blue eyes that looked out from a pair of simple round glasses that sat comfortably on a sharp nose. He sat alone at his table, a seat chosen simply because it was out of the way of the merry making that the rest of the tavern’s patrons revelled in. He had his nose buried in a heavy, leather bond book that looked exceptionally old and often read, the corners of which had worn away slightly. By his side, leaning against the back of a chair, was a very long walking stick. Most had written the stick off as a simple walking stick, but that was far from the case. For you see, what the patrons of the tavern that night had quite failed to register, was the stranger among them was a wizard. He was not one of any kind of fame or legend that are spoken of in tales of old, but that made him no less mystical. He kept to himself all the same, the revelry bot quite to his liking. In fact the only reason he’d even stopped here was that he’d been on the road for several days, and this was the first tavern he’d seen that showed prospects of a good bed and a hot meal. The meals he had been having in the last few days were much to be desired, and that wasn’t even taking into account the cold, hard ground on which he had slept. So here he was, doing his very best to ignore the people around him who were drinking a little too much for what he was used to. The happy tavern was a great contrast from the quiet halls of stalwart libraries he was used to. He had however, been told by his colleagues that he needed to get out of the comforting familiarity of bookshelves to see the world and all its grandeur. So far the grandeur had been lost on him and he’d have much rather been home amongst his books. As another whoop of joy rose up from the crowd, the wizard closed his book, giving up on being able to read in peace. He leaned down to store the book in a leather pouch at his feet, muttering in annoyance under his breath. In all honestly he had had just about enough of this traveling lark and was seriously considering turning around and heading for home. Granted, home was quite a few leagues away now, and it would take him a while to get back along the same tiring roads he’d just walked down, but he didn’t much care at this point. Looking up again, to his surprise he found one of the barmaids standing at his table, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow, her dark, auburn hair falling over emerald green eyes. Her face was round and kind, her smile caring, with just a hint of mischief tugging at its corners. She looked to be a lot more athletic then him, her body curved and voluptuous, beauty by any other name. He felt his cheeks warm and lowered his eyes to the table, pulling his hood down over his eyes to hide his awkwardness. This was one more of the reasons he’d been told to go out into the world, he wasn’t exactly the most social of people, preferring the characters in his books to those you could meet on the street. The barmaid didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable he was in her presence however, and that soon made him realise how much of a fool he was being. He raised his head up, looking her in the eye as he gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. This too, the barmaid took no notice of, focused on her task. As she spoke, her rich tone made him feel uncomfortable once more, though he hoped he hid it better than he felt he had. “Can I get you anything?” She asked in a voice that may have been put on for the customers. Upon closer inspection, she seemed impatient, as if waiting for something. He’d noticed other odd little things about her as well, that perhaps other may not have. The locals gave her a wide birth, as if they did not quite know what to make of her. The other barmaids that scurried hither and thither, filling mugs and flagons as well as serving food, received quite a bit of attention, all be it mostly the unwanted kind. This barmaid on the other had not gotten quite as much attention. She was dressed ordinarily enough; a white blouse and a dark dress that flowed out around her feet, with a red tied around that. Around her neck she wore a green, silk scarf, although it was not cold. It seemed to be hiding something, as she kept tugging at it absentmindedly, making sure to was high enough around her neck. Peering closely at her neck, the wizard caught a glimpse of a small tattoo, just above her shoulder. It wasn’t a very garish tattoo, but it held meaning for those who knew its significance. It was of a simple, emerald dove, its wings spread and its feet tightly furled beneath it. To most it would seem benign, but the Wizard knew its meaning. It was the crest of the Emerald Dove assassins, a notorious group of killers who were valued for their professional manner and effective reputation. They were only hired by the most well know nobles and wealthy men on the continent for only the most high profile of jobs, like the assassination of the most well know nobles and wealthy men. Politics was a cutthroat game, sometimes literally. The wizard cleared his throat, realising that the barmaid had been waiting for his answer for quite some time now. “A flagon of ale, if you could,” he replied in his most pleasant of tones, not wishing to offend her, but not really wanting anything either, to which the barmaid showed no more reaction to anything else he had done. Without another word, the barmaid turned on her heel, disappearing behind the mahogany bar where the bartender was cleaning a glass tumbler with an old cloth, only to re-emerge with his requested flagon, which, after walking back over to the table, she handed to him. He gave her a grateful nod, although she didn’t see it, as she’s already turned on her heel once more, right after setting the flagon down. It was then that the first of the night’s unlucky events took place, one of many. It was at that moment that a particularly drunk man reached out to the barmaid, grabbing hold of her back side and dragging her over to his side where he ogled her quite luridly. His foul breath, reeking of drink, touched her ivory skin as he giggled. “’Ey love,” he slurred, swaying back and forth on his chair. “’ows ‘bout you an’ me get a room ‘eh? I reckon I could give you a right good ploughing.” He hiccupped, a stupid grin, which was missing a few teeth, on his face as he stared intently at the Barmaid’s bosom. The wizard saw how tense the Barmaid’s body became, how her fist clenched and her knuckles became white. He saw how she gritted her teeth, her jaw hardening, her eyes narrowing to slits of rage, and he gulped. The drunk of course saw none of this, as he too full focused on her breasts. The wizard, despite his best interests, spoke up at this point. “I suggest you remove your hand sir, unless you want to lose it,” He warned. This was of course, not a threat, or at least not one from himself. While he would never dream of cutting the drunken fool’s hand off, he was not sure if the barmaid would have the same resolve as himself. In fact he was very afraid she was about to go for a knife, and had no doubt in his mind that she could easily sever the drunk’s hand from his wrist. The drunk did remove his hand, but got up out of his seat, an inebriated rage in his eyes. He staggered over to the wizard, almost tripping over his own feet, and leaned in so that their faces were only inches apart. The wizard might have though the drunk was trying to be intimidating if not for the way his eyes struggled to focus. “You startin’ somethin’ buddy?” He hiccupped, trying to keep his balance as he blew his ghastly breath into the wizard’s face. The wizard threw up his hands, edging away from the drink in a desperate attempt to get away from the smell. Pinching his nose, he gave the drunk his most amicable of smiles. “Not at all sir, I was just making a friendly recommendation,” he responded nervously, his voice wavering slightly. The drunk glared at him for a moment before his face split into a wide and stupid grin once more. With a hiccupped chortle, the man slapped the wizard heartily on the back, almost making the wizard slam his head into the table. “Dhatsh okay buddy! I forgives you! Yous be a good sort you bees,” he said raising a hand to the barmaid. “Oh wench!” he bellowed, waving the barmaid over. “Another flagon fer me an’ my friend ‘ere. He’s a good sort he is.” Using the wizard as support, the drunk pushed himself to his feet and wandered back to his table where he started to sing loudly to his friends around him. With an annoyed swoosh of her dress and a look of venom shot at the drunk, the barmaid disappeared once more behind the counter, returning with another flagon for the man. She then went back again, this time disappearing into the back room. The wizard almost thought she had forgotten about him until she came back to his table with a steaming bowl of hot soup in her hands and a slight blush on her cheeks. “You looked hungry,” she murmured before going back to work, not sparing the wizard a second glance. The wizard blinked in surprise, then shook his head with a smile, picking up the wooden spoon he had been provided and tucking into the soup, it’s luscious aroma prickling at his nostrils, beaconing him forth. It tasted marvellous, the rich texture of the chicken tickling his taste buds. He wasn’t sure if it was the excellent cook or the fact that he hadn’t had a good meal in week, but he could have sworn that this was the best soup he’d ever tasted. It was then that the second of the night’s unlucky events unfolded. While the wizard was busy enjoying his meal, the door to the tavern was flung open, letting in a great gust of bitter night air that batted at the fire in the grate and made it billow around in its hearth. The tavern fell deathly silent and in stepped three men in dark black armour, each one with the crest of the baron of Talvenyor and the lands around on their chests. All three had a sword at their hip, bound in a leather sheath that was attached to a belt around their waists. It goes without saying, that all three were also very intimidating, as were most of the baron’s guardsmen. In silence they crossed the room, metal boots clanging on the hard wood floor, making their way to the Wizard’s table. The men removed their helms, setting them on the table in front of the wizard. One pulled out a chair and sat down upon it, staring arrogantly at the wizard. In a cool, calm voice that somehow made his speech all the more threatening, the man pointed at the wizard. “You’re at our table,” he said simply. The wizard gulped again, running a hand along his collar as he replied in a small voice. “And I suppose you’d like me to move, wouldn’t you?” An ugly grin tugged at the corners of the man’s lips as he nodded slowly, gesturing for the wizard to step aside. With a flurry of robes the wizard scurried to his feet, doing his best not to spill his soup as he picked up the bowl, the liquid swirling around inside. He gathered his pouch and stick, taking a sip of the soup, before looking around hesitantly for somewhere out of the way for him to settle down again. Alas, this really wasn’t his night. The barmaid stepped out in front of him, holding out a hand to stop him. The wizard reacted like a deer in headlights, staring at her with wide eyes as she turned to the guardsmen, saying in a sweet and polite tone. “Excuse me sirs, but this gentleman was here before you. If you would be so kind as to sit somewhere else, that would be much appreciated.” She gave them a well-mannered smile, but the wizard saw how she was once again tense, like a lioness stalking her prey. The guardsman sneered at the barmaid, curling his lip in disgust as he gave her the once over. “This is our table wench; we’ve sat here every day for a good three weeks now. So when I tell some vagabond, who came out of who knows what rat hole, to move he better darn well move.” He then reached out, patting the woman on the shoulder. “Now be a good little girl and go fetch us our supper would you?” With that, he reached around behind she to slap her on the behind, winking. “Oh bother,” the wizard whimpered, for he saw how the barmaid changed in that instance. This was clearly the straw that broke the camel’s back. In a split second her entire demeanour changed. One second she was the kindly barmaid, the next a deadly assassin, she face hardened but what she had seen and done. In one swift motion, she unleashed a savage kick to the guardsman’s groin, his eyes bulging in surprise. The blow would have undoubtedly been quite painful if not for the armour that he was covered in; she did not stop there however. The man was caught off guard enough for the barmaid to grab hold on the man’s arm, using his own weight against him and swinging the astounded man over her head where he slammed into the floor behind her. The stunned silence of the guardsman’s companions did not last long. As soon as they registered what was going on, they made a grab for their swords, the menacing shing of steel against sheath echoing around the quiet tavern as they unleashed their blades. While the barmaid was obviously skilled, an unarmed woman is no match against two men in full plate and gleaming swords to back them up. Her face fell as she saw the error of her ways, a glitter of fear in her eyes as the men advanced, swinging their swords in unison, both aimed directly at her. The wizard did not like violence, he was viciously against it and did his best to stay away from all forms of confrontation, but he couldn’t just stand still as the poor woman was killed right in front of his eyes. It was a split second decision, done more on instinct than anything else, as most decisions are in life and death situations. Dropping the soup bowl to the floor, the liquid spilling all over the place, a fact that he regretted long after the incident, he reached for his stick, swirling it around as he muttered a few words under his breath. His robes billowed out around him as a great gust of wind swept through the tavern, guided by his magic. The gust bowled the guards off of their feet, sending them clattering to the floor where they landed in a heap on top of one another. Realising it wouldn’t take long for the men to make sense of what had happened, and when they did they would undoubtedly be furious, the wizard made a grab for the barmaid’s hand, pulling her along as he made a mad dash for the door, running as fast as his legs would carry him.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Mar 2014 11:19:34 +0000
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