Fragments Gallery
Brooding
The man sat in a dark corner of the tavern. He was brooding, plain and simple. In a way he was mourning what he had felt that he had lost, but in truth he had lost nothing that he had ever possessed.
All around him men in rough cut tunics roared, bellowed and laughed as they reveled in the night. They caroused all around the man, yet not one of them moved to disturb him. Some men might have thought to take a place at his table but upon seeing him they changed their minds. This man was dangerous. He was much more dangerous than the common toughs who graced the tavern. There was something in the way that he held himself, the glint in his eye, that kept folks away. The armour he wore also seemed to help. Not many men wore armour to a common room.
A tavern maid swayed through, her step drawing every other man's eye, but not this one. He didn't notice when she tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he needed another drink. He was oblivious to anything other than his mug. She shrugged and continued on her way, smiling as she worked her way across the room. She knew how to work the crowd to her favor while promising nothing. She also knew a lost cause when she saw one.
While the rest of the common room was dressed simply, he was not. A stark black cloak flowed down his back, the edge of which looped over his arm, almost obscuring the long hilted broad sword that hung from his belt. His armour glinted from beneath the cloak but other than its colour, which was black, not much more detail could be gleaned from it in the dim tavern light.
The night wore on as the man thought. His mug emptied, refilled, and then was emptied and refilled once more by the tavern maid. He never asked that it be refilled but she could tell from the look in his eyes that he needed more. Around him the crowd began to thin as tradesmen and labourers remembered that they had work to do in the morning. Soon only the mercenaries remained and eventually even they began to trickle away. The fire in the great hearth began to die down and after a quick head count of the common room the maid let it.
It was late when the great oaken doors opened at the front of the tavern. The tired old innkeeper looked up from the mug that he was polishing in surprise at the intrusion. The man who had entered wore a finely cut fur cloak, underneath he wore a finely embroidered cloth vest. The newcomer nodded to the innkeeper and pulled out a fat coin. Gold glinted in the dim light. The innkeeper nodded and rushed up the tavern stairs to prepare a room. The newcomer looked towards the man in his corner. His eyes narrowed in recognition. Not recognition of this man in particular, but rather an acknowledgement of what he was. A warrior.
"Are you waiting for someone?" asked the newcomer.
The man finally awoke from his trance. Something in this newcomer’s voice seemed familiar.
"No… not anymore."
"I have a proposition for you in that case. Do you wish to hear it?"
"Do you know what I am?" spoke the man, his voice seeming deeper, more menacing.
"A knight," said the newcomer simply.
The knight nodded slowly. Seemingly of its own accord one finger tapped against the table.
"What would you like?"
"I need you to find someone for me. I need you to stop them."
"What are they doing?"
"He's hunting a friend of mine. I want him stopped."
"Why should I help you?"
"I'll see you are paid. Paid well. Ten thousand."
The knight opened his mouth to refuse and then froze. Slowly his lips closed and he frowned as thoughts whirled around in his skull.
The other man stood and watched. He hoped the knight would accept, but if he didn't then he would find another.
After a minute of thought the knight sighed.
"I accept. Who am I hunting?"
"A mercenary named Tordek, I'm sure a man of your… skills will be easily able to take care of him. What is your name?"
"I am Gabriel, you make sure to remember that. If you break our deal and I'll be coming for you next."