9

June 5th, 2025

Floor 58, The Broken Gate Inn

The first rays of predawn sun had only just begun to seep through the shuttered window in the corner of the cozy tavern room when Israel's hunger woke him.

His left arm was sore, and his head still throbbed a little from the fight the day before, but it was undeniable that the full night's rest had helped a great deal. On top of that, his spirits had been revived; he felt refreshed and ready to take on the final stretch of the quest- albeit after a solid breakfast. He was famished.

Sara, who looked like a portrait come to life with her thick mane of gorgeous ashen hair spread out just so across the pillow all around her beautiful face, was still sleeping peacefully beneath the blankets beside him, so he was careful not to wake her as he got up.

The floorboards creaked slightly beneath Israel's feet, not loudly, but enough to make him put in the effort not to shift his weight while strapping on his brown leather boots. The rest of his travelling gear was still on, leather vest included, reminding him just how tired he had been the night before. He and Sara had been so exhausted that they had all but fallen into bed after a quick exchange with the terse and altogether unpleasant NPC innkeeper.

After taking a moment to stretch and sweep his unruly blonde hair back out of his face and into some semblance of order, he stepped out, paused just long enough for a final glance back at the sleeping beauty bundled up in the bed, and then closed the door behind him.

To his surprise, he was greeted almost at once by the sweet and smoky aroma of spit roasted pheasant marinated in something sugary, possibly a winterberry glaze. He had not expected food would be served this early in the morning, but he certainly wasn't about to complain. His mouth was already beginning to water, and with each step he took down the short hall towards the tavern proper, his hunger only grew.

By the time he rounded the corner and entered the dim light of the dining hall, Israel was so preoccupied with thoughts of roasted pheasant that he nearly didn't notice just how many NPC's were already gathered inside...and that every single one of them paused the moment he walked in.

Blinking in confusion, Israel glanced over at one of the open windows to confirm the time of day. This many tavern goers awake already? It seemed a little off somehow. Yet, he saw that it was still barely dawn.

"Master Israel!" the female innkeeper exclaimed in pleasant surprise from behind the bar counter. "You too, eh? Seems the whole town is up early this morning. What can I get you? Something to drink, maybe?"

Remembering how hungry he was, Israel turned his attention away from the tavern full of NPC's- all of whom seemed to have already forgotten about his existence- and shook his head as he started forward.

"No thank you, ma'am, no drinks. Do you serve breakfast at this hour?"

"Of course!" the thin woman declared. She threw a dirty rag over her shoulder, then pointed at the crackling fireplace at the back of the room in which a perfectly browned pheasant turned. "I always keep the spit going. Family policy. I'll cut you up a portion."

"Thank you, and one for my wife, please. She'll be waking up before long and I'd like to have some food ready for her."

The innkeeper smiled on her way over to the fireplace. "Not a problem, Master. Meet me at the bar, if you would."

Unable to go around due to the crowd, Israel was forced to squeeze passed two large, bull necked farmers between him and the counter. They didn't look at all happy about it, but didn't deem the intrusion important enough to halt their conversation on whose prize sow was bigger. Their eyes, however, stayed on him for a long moment afterward.

Upon reaching the counter, Israel sat himself down on one of the high backed stools and waited. The air was stuffy and hot- a combination of the fireplace and the large number of people gathered in one room- but also carried with it a slight tenseness that he couldn't ignore. He shrugged it off, but it continued to bother him, like an itch that he couldn't rid himself of.

Uneasy, he wrapped his knuckles atop the wooden surface of the counter and tried to mentally pinpoint what exactly was irking him. The fact that there were so many tavern goers at this hour had certainly surprised him, and thus could be a factor, but he reasoned that it made no sense to be concerned by such things. After all, who was he to know how busy early mornings were at taverns? Farmers and ferriers were known to get up at the crack of dawn, and it was perfectly reasonable that they would…

Israel paused mid thought.

Farmers and ferriers lived in towns and villages, or in the countryside, not out here on the road. The Broken Gate Inn was isolated, a lone refuge deliberately set up on the crossroads in order to draw in travelers and merchants wandering the land. In fact, the closest town was several miles away.

It occurred to him then that the inn was far too quiet.

It wasn't silent, of course, not by any means, but the conversations going on throughout the room were strangely reserved, subdued, and monotone. Considering just how packed the place was, it was oddly off putting to not hear raucous laughter, heated arguments, or vigorous debates. Come to think of it, Israel hadn't even needed to raise his voice during his talk with the innkeeper, and that had been from across the room.

Israel blinked. The innkeeper.

The thin, gaunt faced woman was acting like a totally different person this morning. The night before, when he and Sara had first arrived in serious need of rest, she had made no effort to hide her irritation, or her disdain. Like more and more NPC's over the past week, she had been cold, bitter, and prickly. Yet now, when Israel had come out for food at a positively ungodly hour, the woman was as kind and cheerful as a saint.

His suspicions rising, Israel straightened and turned in his stool. He leaned back, set his elbows atop the counter, and scanned the room.

The place was exactly what one would imagine when thinking of an inn; it was a warm, calm, sheltering environment, with modest walls, a thatched roof, and a wood and dirt floor in bad need of repair. Simple, crude tables filled the majority of the room, but were positioned in such a way that traffic could still flow freely from one end of the place to the other. Most of the tables were filled with men, and most of the men looked to be simple townsfolk. Strangely, not a soul among them was eating or drinking anything.

The fireplace crackled warmly in the center back wall, and above it, displayed proudly on a mantel, hung an old, rust spotted sword that was far more likely to have been looted from some long forgotten battlefield than it was to have been in the innkeeper's family for generations. In the corner was a small, out-of-the-way platform for the accommodation of local bards, minstrels, or other forms of entertainment. Sadly, no bard was present, and the platform was eerily silent.

Israel's gaze lingered on the NPC men gathered all around. Not a single one had the garb of travelers or wandering merchants. Not a single one looked weary from a night's travel, or sleepy from just having woken up. All of them were clearly villagers, townsfolk who were accustomed to physical labor. Most of them were thus big, strong, and burly.

And, nearly all of them were armed, albeit crudely.

He saw handmade knives, wooden clubs and cudgels, workman's hammers, and a few logger's hatchets between them. Simple weapons, but no less effective when used by determined- or enraged- hands.

Time seemed to slow as Israel watched them give themselves away.

Beads of sweat trickled down several of the men's faces as they talked, unusual considering it wasn't hot enough for such a thing to occur naturally. Most didn't seem to notice. Others among them shot quick glances at him from time to time as they talked amongst one another, only to immediately avert their eyes when he met the looks with his own. A few shifted their weight nervously, while others fidgeted in obvious impatience.

With each passing second, Israel was growing painfully aware of just how many of them there were, and that they were all around him. Slowly, casually, he lowered an arm down to rest his hand on the pommel of his sword...only to then find that his sword wasn't there. He blinked in confusion for but a second, then recalled the events of the day before: the mini-Boss he and Sara had taken down, and his new, temporary sword breaking in the process.

Damnit.

"There we are, Master."

Israel turned back to the counter just in time to see the skinny innkeeper set a plate of pheasant and a heel of bread down in front of him. Beside it, she set down a second plate, more elegantly prepared, and with a fork and knife attached.

"For the lovely lady," the innkeep explained. She grabbed the dirty rag from off her shoulder and rubbed her hands with it. "And that'll be twenty Col. Can I get you anything else, Master? I know you said no drinks, but I really must recommend our homebrewed beer, it goes perfectly with roasted pheasant-"

Israel shook his head as he spotted the long knife strapped to the woman's belt. The long knife that hadn't been there the night before. He quickly swept his gaze up in order to maintain the illusion of ignorance, and smiled.

"No, thank you. I prefer not to drink before the start of a new day."

"Ahhh, wise as well as handsome. Your wife is a lucky woman."

She offered a smile of her own before turning to occupy herself with drying some dishes beneath the counter.

The tension in the air grew thicker.

Israel glanced down at his plate, all hunger forgotten. In its place, only one thought filled his being: Sara, still asleep in the room down the hall, was in danger.

He didn't know how it was possible, or why they were doing it, but it was now perfectly clear that the NPC's had come here together from the nearest village over with the intent to murder him and Sara in their beds. The innkeeper had, no doubt, waited awhile to be sure they were asleep before riding to the village and telling the men they were at the inn. It had taken several hours for the bulk of the group to arrive, and it was clear by their nervousness that they must have stalled for a time, probably in order to wait for more men to show up. Numbers were, after all, a coward's only source of bravery.

They must have been nearly ready to move down the hall when Israel woke up and came out. That had caught them by surprise, thus explaining the brief moment of quiet shock from everyone gathered when he rounded the corner in search of food, as well as the pathetic attempt at looking natural even as they sat at an inn with no food or drinks to speak of.

The innkeeper had seen it too, and had provided distraction for them by quickly catering to Israel. Her changed persona had not been done deliberately. It was merely a result of her quick thinking, frayed thoughts, and attempting to be as calm and natural as possible while serving him.

Ignoring the countless new questions now springing into his thoughts as a result of discovering the truth, Israel instead focused his mind on what was about to happen, and what he was going to do. If they made it into the hall where the rooms were, Sara's life would be at risk.

As far as he was concerned, there was only one way forward.

Leaning forward, he picked up the crust of bread, used it to scoop up several chunks of meat, and took a big bite. The pheasant was underwhelming, and a bit dry, but he was no longer hungry enough to mind. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and took another bite. With his free hand, he nonchalantly opened his menu and scrolled through a few screens as casually as possible. When he found the Fist of Fariel, he equipped it at once, then closed the menu.

It was all he had, but it would have to do.

The polished steel gauntlet appeared immediately on his left arm, it's familiar weight giving him a moment of satisfaction as it covered his hand, wrist, and forearm up to the elbow, fitting like a second skin. Ignoring at least a dozen pairs of eyes on his back, he flexed his metal coated fingers, closed his fist, and began wrapping the tabletop with his knuckles once again.

With his other hand, he set down the heel of bread and leaned back.

"Before we begin," he said loudly from his seat, "Would anyone like to leave? Now's your chance. You won't get another."

Several dozen chairs dragged suddenly across the crude floor as the men all rose to their feet.

Israel stayed seated.

"Our chance?" one of the burly farmers asked spitefully beside him. "How kind. Arrogant little prick."

"Fucking Players," another spat. "You lot are all the same: always think you're better than everyone else."

"You really think you can take us all?" A third man with a gravelly voice asked angrily. "You're hurt, don't even have a weapon on you. Seems to me your reputation has gone to your head.

Israel looked up at the innkeeper across the counter. All pretense had now left her gaunt face. Rage flashed in her eyes. She drew her knife and clutched it tightly in response to his glare.

"You tell them that too?" he asked her. "That I came in here last night injured and without a sword?"

"Get up," she hissed. "Die on your feet like a man."

"As you wish." He stood, and then met her eyes with a look of ice. "Don't think I'll spare you because you're a woman. It might take a little while, but I'll get to you." He paused. "Also, since we're all being honest with each other now, I have to say, that pheasant was nowhere near worth twenty Col. I'd like my money back."

"Kill this fucking Player!" the woman spat. "And then his bitch after him!"

In a blink, every man in the tavern was moving.

Israel turned, closed his steel fist, and unleashed himself into the crowd.

And then the whole world went red.