Harlech
Posts 59
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A lone figure stood framed in the doorway of the Port `o Call Tavern. The wind gusting in from outside wrapped his cloak around him. Even without the concealing cover, anyone but a blind man could see he was clad in full plate armor. He squinted and surveyed the room for a moment.
Satisfied, he pushed the door closed behind himself and made his way to the fireplace and removed his cloak. He hung it by a peg next to the fire. He turned and cast his eyes about the room again. Spying an empty table by the bar, he moved to it. He placed a pack down on the table. He set his shield in an unused chair and unbuckled his baldric and removed his sword.
He sat down at the table and looked about. He caught the eye of a serving maid. She walked over and looked down. He was obviously travel worn, but his armor was spotless. It seemed impervious to the rain and the muck outside. His face was youthful, and not unpleasant. His lips were thin, and a quick smile hid just out of reach. His eyes though.. his eyes were a striking deep green and were hard as flint. And they held a vaguely haunted, lonely look about them.
“What will you have, sir?”
“I will have an order beef, if you have it, and a loaf of bread. No mutton dear gods for I have had enough of it. If you haven’t beef, then some fowl. And what is a good brew here?”
“That would be Firestein for sure, brewed right here in Trinity, in the cellars below this very tavern.”
The man nodded silently. The maid hurried off to the kitchen. The man busied himself about his pack. He removed a rag, several books, and corked blue bottle. He examined the books carefully and placed all but one back in the pack.
He removed the cork and poured a spare amount of oil on the rag. He unsheathed the sword and examined it carefully, either not noticing, or not caring about the looks he got from the tavern’s patrons. He wiped the blade down with the rag. He placed the bottle and the rag back inside the pack and was about to return the sword to its sheath when the barmaid returned. She eyed the blade warily.
“Ah, dinner is served!” he exclaimed as he slid the blade back into its home.
She placed the food down in front of the man. He felt around in a pouch and removed a handful of coins. He placed them in her hands. She almost dropped a few there were so many.
“I trust that will be enough for the meal, a few mugs of ale, and a room for the night?
“Oh yes sir, tis enough.”
The man opened the book and began to read as he ate. The maid watched him for a moment, and then walked to a man standing by the bar. The tavern-keep had been watching the exchange. She counted out about half the coins to the man, and placing the rest into a jar with her name on it behind the bar.
Some time had passed, and the crowd was a bit thinned when the door opened again. Two men in ragged leathers with short blades by their sides walked in. They didn’t bother to close the door. They too took a table nearby the bar. The barman scowled and walked over and closed the door. The man looked meaningfully at the guard captain by the door. The captain’s attention seemed equally glued to a noblewoman who sat dining with a foppishly dressed merchant, and mug of ale he slurped from from time to time.
The maid moved to take their orders. Both of them eyed the girl like wolves. She seemed uncomfortable, but nonetheless stood patiently.
“Wots on the menu tonight, lass?” The first man winked knowingly.
“Be nice Rolf, and maybe she will both let us have a go with her.”
“Maybe you’re right Sven, maybe Rolf be nice this time. Rolf goes first this time, though.” Rolf grabbed her wrist, and ran his hands across her behind. The girl squirmed to be free, but was held fast in the man’s iron grip.
“Rolf, Sven” the aging tavern-keep said, “there will be known of that here. I don’t want any trouble in here like last time. The man hurried over to the table.
Quick as lightening, Sven spun in his chair, placed his foot against the man’s chest and pushed hard. The man hurtled backwards and struck the bar with a thunderous crash.
“Sit down, old man, we ain’t done wit our fun yet. Anyways, we ain’t gonna do nuthin’ to her that ain’t been done by a dozen other men in the last two nights prolly.”
“Leave the girl and the barman alone.”
The pair looked around for the owner of the voice. The plate armored man drew himself to his feet. He repeated his demand.
“Leave the girl and the barman alone.”
Rolf and Sven rose to their feet. Rolf still held the struggling girl. He turned and looked at her, seeming to have forgotten that he still held his grip on her. He drew back his hand and cuffed her. She fell to floor sobbing.
“Don’ be cryin’ girl, Sir Do-gooder has come a gallopin’ up to save you!”
“She ain’t cryin’ fer herself Rolf, I tink she is cryin’ for him.”
Sven and Rolf laughed roughly at the joke. Sven circled around behind the man. It was plain to see they had played this game before.
Rolf grinned evilly at the man. “Wots yer name? We gonna bleed you, to be sure. Just taint never bled a man wit’out knowin’ his name.”
The man stood silently and waited. Rolf shrugged and drew his blades. No matter. He and Sven had done this many times before, and fattened their purses considerably in the process. With practiced ease, he shifted his blades in his hands, knowing that Sven was doing the same.
The stranger reached down and drew his sword. Rolf’s grin grew even wider. There was no way the man could swing that big hacker in here. The roof was too low, and all the tables and chairs…. well, this game was getting better all the time. Rolf knew his part well. He would feint suddenly at the man to put him on guard. Sven would step up behind him and drive both blades into the man’s neck.
The warrior cradled his blade in the crook of his right arm, his left hand resting lightly on the hilt. He watched Rolf closely, knowing Sven was close behind. His eyes never left Rolf’s.
Rolf glanced at his companion, and lunged unexpectedly forward a foot. The man pivoted curiously at the hips, snapped his head in Sven’s direction and rammed the blade backwards. Straight into Sven’s neck. The razor sharp blade passed easily enough through his throat and out the back, not even stopping for the spine. Sven died wordlessly, only a bloody gurgle issued from him.
Rolf bellowed as he saw his partner drop. He lunged again, this time for real. The man’s head swung towards him. Instead of trying to swing the sword about, the man thrust the pommel straight up and into Rolf’s forehead. Rolf staggered backwards, dazed. The man closed the distance to Rolf with a few steps, shifting the sword to his right hand.
He slid in close to Rolf, his left hand gripping Rolf’s hair. With a twist of the wrist, he brought the sword up to Rolf’s belly. He stared hard at Rolf, whose eyes were lolling about. As he came to, he locked eyes with the stranger.
“My name is Arkalensk. And you should have left the girl and the old man alone.”
Arkalensk thrust his sword upwards. Rolf’s screams tore through the tavern as he felt every inch of that three feet of steel pass through his guts and out his back. Finally, mercifully, darkness fell over his eyes.
edited by Harlech on 10/19/2009
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"Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil."
-The Iron Code of Druss the Legend
Kevin Otherwhen
Arkalensk Meatch
Calad Silverwind
Streea Verve Tagnik'zur
Elomyr McGuinness
Thanatos de Morte
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