I never knew my father. My mother never knew my father. He raped her. In fact, my father could have been any one of several.
My mother raised me alone and she did a damn good job of it. She taught me to judge people by who they are. To judge people by how they act. She told me it doesn't matter what a person looks like. The people that are the ugliest on the outside are often the most wonderful people to know. Their hearts are kind because they know hatred and prejudice and would never turn it toward others.
She also told me that people that are beautiful on the outside are not always the nicest toward others. They often feel they are better because they have good looks. They show scorn toward everyone and anyone they feel are beneath them. Anyone they feel is not as attractive as they are.
My mother would not be considered a good-looking person. And I am not considered a handsome man. But my mother was the most beautiful person I have ever known. She treated everyone as though they were royalty. A person's appearance did not matter to her. She treated everyone the same until they proved otherwise to her. That was the reason she is now dead.
We lived on a large farm well outside the city. It had belonged to her parents. Apparently, they had been alive when I was very young, but I don't remember them. My mother never sold the property because it was where she grew up and we needed someplace to live. We generally weren't welcome in the city. That was because of me. Because of the way I was conceived.
We grew a few small crops. Enough to feed ourselves. We had some chickens and livestock. We ate well. But most of the farmland was unused and was slowly being reclaimed by the wilderness. Mother couldn't keep up a large farm by herself and I was mostly too young to help by the time she was alone. When I was old enough to do the work mother had already decided to let the land be. She preferred to grow only what we needed.
One day when I was fourteen my mother was returning from the city. It was one of the few times I ever remember her going, but there were certain supplies we had needed. She had left me at the farm to do some chores. It was really because the people in the city didn't like me. They felt uncomfortable when I was near and often didn't deal with my mother. I was just a reminder that she had been raped. But my mother never said out loud that I was unwelcome in the city. She just gave me a list of chores to do around the farm in her absence.
I was working on repairing the chicken coop and hadn't seen her approaching. When she was close enough to throw a shadow over me I looked back at her and realized she was not alone. A man was with her. A very ugly man. His face was not symmetrically shaped and he had several scars on his cheeks and forehead. I tried not to judge the man as my mother had taught me, but I did not like him from the first look. It didn't help that he blatantly scowled at me and I could read the contempt on his face.
"Herok, this is Mr. Blevirts," my mother said "He will be staying with us tonight. I happened on him along the road back and he was nice enough to carry my things for me."
I stood up and wiped my hands off on my trousers. I offered my hand to the man. "Greetings, Mr. Blevirts. I hope you find our home comfortable."
The man continued to scowl at me. Then he looked at my mother and smiled. "My dear, where can I put these things down?"
"Oh, my, yes," my mother suddenly realized he was still carrying her bag in one arm. "Let's go inside. You can make yourself comfortable. I'll put these things away and start on dinner."
She looked at me as she stepped by. "Herok, clean up and come in for dinner when you're done with the chicken coop."
"Yes, mother," I said as the two of them walked inside. That was the first time I noticed that the man was dressed as a warrior. Various pieces of mismatched armor were on his body and a bastard sword was strapped at his hip.
The man threw another scowl in my direction just before disappearing through the door.
Throughout dinner the man made casual and friendly conversation with my mother but never said a word directly to me. My mother tried to involve me a few times, but the man would only frown and refused to make eye contact with me. I kept my comments short. I decided it was best if I went to my room immediately after dinner.
A few hours later something woke me up. I couldn't quite figure out what it was so I decided to just make a trip to the jake since I was awake.
As I opened the door to my room I heard a strange noise from my mother's. Not wanting to disturb Mr. Blevirts in our guest area (it only had a blanket as a wall for privacy) I quietly tiptoed to my mother's door. I gently pushed it open since it didn't latch and somehow managed not to cry out.
I stumbled backward when I saw the man naked on top of my mother. He was raping her. I knew it was rape because my mother had never kept secrets from me. If this man was to share her bedchamber tonight she would have told me. She would not have given me details, but she would have said he would be in her room.
My chest felt tight and I couldn't get my breath. I placed my arm behind me as I continued to back up so I wouldn't hit the wall. As I stretched back to feel its support, I started to fall through the blanket wall. I landed on the guest bed.
My eyes darted around as my breath started coming in short, sharp draws. As my breathing slowed and became longer and deeper my eyes locked on the bastard sword.
I grabbed the hilt and pulled it out of the sheath. I walked back over to my mother's bedroom door and quietly but quickly pushed it open. I walked up to the foot of the bed and held down the bile as I watched this naked man move up and down, back and forth on top of my mother.
I held the sword in both hands and raised it above my head. As tears started to cloud my eyes I brought it down with all my might.
The strike landed straight and true. The blade cut into the man's spine, neck and the back of his head. He had stopped moving and slumped on my mother.
I moved quickly to roll him off her. I wiped my eyes so I could see and asked if she was alright. There was no response.
I ran to the side of the bed and looked down at her naked form. Her head was tilted slightly to the side away from me and her eyes were staring blankly at the wall. Her mouth was slack-jawed. She wasn't moving.
I shook her several times in my shock, expecting her to snap out of the spell she was under. But she didn't.
I knelt beside the bed as the bile rose again in my throat. After emptying my stomach I cried until I could cry no longer.
----------
Not only had the bastard raped my mother but he had also killed her before he did it. Why he hadn't killed me first I'll never know.
I carried her body to the back yard that night. There is a large rock back there where we used to sit and talk. This was where we usually went when she gave me my lessons if the weather was nice.
I buried her next to that rock. I left the grave unmarked. The only mark it needed was the large rock that held so many memories.
Mr. Blevirts didn't get so kind a treatment from me. I dragged his body out the front door and dumped it in the ditch on the other side of the road. The bastard could rot there. Or wolves could carry him off for all I cared.
I went back to the house and put some wood on the fire. The embers hadn't gone out and I brought them back to life with little coaxing. As the fire grew I noticed the blood on my hands. It was Mr. Blevirts' blood because my mother had showed no signs of injury. She had probably been strangled or suffocated.
As I stared blankly at the blood on my hands I absently realized that it was splattered up my arms, too. I looked down and saw the pattern of the spray on my chest. I knew without looking that it was on my face as well.
I turned and walked toward my mother's bedroom. I'm not sure why. On some level I may have hoped I would find her there sleeping peacefully. Or I may have wanted to see the actual pattern of the blood spray from when I swung the sword and killed my first man. What I did find I wasn't ready for.
The man's sword was on the floor beside the bed. It had fallen when I rolled him off my mother's body. A sudden, inexplicable anger welled up in me. I picked up the sword and started to throw it out the bedroom door in anger.
But just as suddenly as the anger came it went away. I stopped and just looked at the sword. It was magnificently made, I thought. I had no experience with any blade better than a scythe or butcher's knife. But the blade seemed to look good in my hand. And it felt right somehow.
I went to the curtained off alcove where the rest of the man's things were. I put the belt and scabbard on and started to place the blade in its home. But I stopped, realizing it still had blood on it. I picked up Mr. Blevirts' shirt and wiped the blade clean.
I then placed it in the scabbard. And it still felt right sitting on my hip.
It was with that realization that I knew I couldn't stay in that house anymore. I didn't know where I was going to go. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. But I knew there was more to life than living on this farm and I was going to be part of it.
I gathered up the rest of Mr. Blevirts' things and dumped them in the ditch with him. But the sword I kept. It would stay with me as a constant reminder of that night.
When I went back to the house I reluctantly took it off because I needed to dress. I heated some water on the fire so I could clean the blood off my body. I didn't bother to clean the bedroom or the streaks on the floor where I had dragged the man's body out.
I then gathered up some things I figured I would need into a pack and a belt pouch. I got the gold my mother had hidden under the floorboards in her bedroom. There was more there than I thought I could ever spend, but I knew I would need it. It would be hard to grow my own food while I was constantly traveling.
The sun was just rising when I stepped out of the house for the last time. I walked back to the rock where I had buried my mother. I explained as best I could why I thought I needed to leave and I said my good byes to her.
I didn't take the road that ran in front of our house, but instead went across our fields to the forest that marked the edge of our property. I left the chickens in the coop and the livestock in our small barn. I didn't really care what would happen to them, but I was sure someone would claim the farm and land as their own before long. If not, the wolves would quickly realize the farm was uninhabited and force their way into the coop and barn.
I didn't look back as I trudged across the uneven fields. But I was happy an hour later when I was deep enough into the woods that I couldn't have seen the house if I had turned around. Getting to that point seemed to ease a burden on my heart.
----------
I had stopped early that first night out of sheer exhaustion. But being alone in the woods at night is a little unsettling. Especially when you're only fourteen. But I managed to prop myself up on a tree branch and get some rest.
The next morning I set out and happened to come across a road going through the forest. I figured it was another route to the city and decided to follow it in the opposite direction.
After an hour I was still on the road in the middle of the forest when I heard a scream. I ran up the road to see what was going on. I quickly found a small merchant caravan being attacked by bandits.
There were two wagons stopped in the middle of the road. The front one had an older man sitting in the front holding the reins of the horses. He was balding and slightly over weight. Sitting next to him was a young girl who looked to be about my age. The back wagon had a young man sitting in the front holding the reins to two oxen. All three were cringing and trying to make themselves as small as possible to escape the attention of the bandits.
There were two guards in front of the wagon trying to hold off three bandits armed with short swords. Two other bandits were to the side of the road armed with short bows. They were between me and the other bandits.
I drew my sword, but hesitated before charging the archers. I suddenly realized what I was about to do. I was ready to take yet another life and I felt no remorse about it. As a matter of fact, I had almost been anticipating the moment for the last day and a half.
I charged the archers waving the sword like I knew what I was doing. The first man fell with a large cut in his neck squirting blood. The second archer barely had time to realize what had happened and turn toward me as my back swing took is leg out. As he hit the ground I stabbed my sword into his chest.
I turned toward the wagons. One of the guards had killed one of the bandits and wounded another's sword arm. But an arrow had mortally wounded the guard and the bandit seemed just as proficient in using his off arm. As I ran toward the fray the bandit finished off the guard. I cut off his head from behind before the guard's body had hit the ground.
The last bandit had already dispatched the other guard and was approaching the heavy man and girl in the front wagon. But they didn't look at him. They looked at me and screamed.
"An orc," shrieked the girl.
"If there's one there's going to be more. Run now, Heselda. Run, Darmo," yelled the merchant as he pushed the girl off the seat of the wagon. He slid over after her and jumped down. They started running back up the road from where they had come. The man on the back wagon - Darmo, I guessed - hadn't needed any coxing and was already well up the road ahead of them.
The bandit turned around to face me with his sword shaking in his hand. He quickly assessed the fate of his companions and decided he didn't want any part of it.
"O-o-or-o-orc," he stammered as he suddenly turned and ran into forest.
I felt very dejected at that moment. I had done nothing but help this merchant. Couldn't they even tell I wasn't a full-blooded orc? My nose is more human than the pug-type orcs have. And my skin isn't that green.
In brooding anger and frustration I kicked the disembodied head of a bandit into the bushes at the side of the road. Then I sat down to cry as the lessons my mother had taught me came rushing back.
But before I could shed a tear I heard one of the horses snort. I looked up and met his gaze. He just looked at me. He didn't panic. He didn't try to run away. He just stood there and looked at me like I was a sorry excuse for a savior. And suddenly I felt like it.
I stood up and slowly walked over to the animal. He and has his teammate just stood there. The one that had snorted at me jerked his head back so I petted him. Then I went back to the wagon and found a couple apples. I fed one to each horse. Then I went back and fed one to each of the oxen.
I felt much better as I cleaned my sword off on the decapitated bandit's clothes. I started thinking about how people could learn a lot from animals as I was dragging the bandits' bodies to the side of the road.
I took the short bow off one of the archers. I had used one at the farm to hunt small game occasionally and was pretty good with it. But I hadn't thought to bring it with me. I could only scrounge eleven arrows between the two men, but I know how to make my own so it didn't matter.
I staked the horses' and oxen's reins into the ground so they wouldn't run off before the merchant and his friends came back. I also managed to scrounge some gold off the bandits and guards and left it on the seat of the lead wagon. I then set out again, returning back to the forest rather than following the road.
----------
And that, barkeep, is how I started out on my own six years ago.
I have been lucky enough over the years to find many tolerant souls in the world. Not everyone makes snap a judgment like that merchant and his kin. Many, many people do, don't get me wrong. But those few kind people I come across more than balance the prejudiced ones.
And I greatly appreciate your kindness in listening to me, barkeep. Let me buy a round for everyone.
A drink for...why's the taproom empty, barkeep?
Barkeep?
Aw, crap. I better get out of here before the torches and pitchforks show up.
My mother raised me alone and she did a damn good job of it. She taught me to judge people by who they are. To judge people by how they act. She told me it doesn't matter what a person looks like. The people that are the ugliest on the outside are often the most wonderful people to know. Their hearts are kind because they know hatred and prejudice and would never turn it toward others.
She also told me that people that are beautiful on the outside are not always the nicest toward others. They often feel they are better because they have good looks. They show scorn toward everyone and anyone they feel are beneath them. Anyone they feel is not as attractive as they are.
My mother would not be considered a good-looking person. And I am not considered a handsome man. But my mother was the most beautiful person I have ever known. She treated everyone as though they were royalty. A person's appearance did not matter to her. She treated everyone the same until they proved otherwise to her. That was the reason she is now dead.
We lived on a large farm well outside the city. It had belonged to her parents. Apparently, they had been alive when I was very young, but I don't remember them. My mother never sold the property because it was where she grew up and we needed someplace to live. We generally weren't welcome in the city. That was because of me. Because of the way I was conceived.
We grew a few small crops. Enough to feed ourselves. We had some chickens and livestock. We ate well. But most of the farmland was unused and was slowly being reclaimed by the wilderness. Mother couldn't keep up a large farm by herself and I was mostly too young to help by the time she was alone. When I was old enough to do the work mother had already decided to let the land be. She preferred to grow only what we needed.
One day when I was fourteen my mother was returning from the city. It was one of the few times I ever remember her going, but there were certain supplies we had needed. She had left me at the farm to do some chores. It was really because the people in the city didn't like me. They felt uncomfortable when I was near and often didn't deal with my mother. I was just a reminder that she had been raped. But my mother never said out loud that I was unwelcome in the city. She just gave me a list of chores to do around the farm in her absence.
I was working on repairing the chicken coop and hadn't seen her approaching. When she was close enough to throw a shadow over me I looked back at her and realized she was not alone. A man was with her. A very ugly man. His face was not symmetrically shaped and he had several scars on his cheeks and forehead. I tried not to judge the man as my mother had taught me, but I did not like him from the first look. It didn't help that he blatantly scowled at me and I could read the contempt on his face.
"Herok, this is Mr. Blevirts," my mother said "He will be staying with us tonight. I happened on him along the road back and he was nice enough to carry my things for me."
I stood up and wiped my hands off on my trousers. I offered my hand to the man. "Greetings, Mr. Blevirts. I hope you find our home comfortable."
The man continued to scowl at me. Then he looked at my mother and smiled. "My dear, where can I put these things down?"
"Oh, my, yes," my mother suddenly realized he was still carrying her bag in one arm. "Let's go inside. You can make yourself comfortable. I'll put these things away and start on dinner."
She looked at me as she stepped by. "Herok, clean up and come in for dinner when you're done with the chicken coop."
"Yes, mother," I said as the two of them walked inside. That was the first time I noticed that the man was dressed as a warrior. Various pieces of mismatched armor were on his body and a bastard sword was strapped at his hip.
The man threw another scowl in my direction just before disappearing through the door.
Throughout dinner the man made casual and friendly conversation with my mother but never said a word directly to me. My mother tried to involve me a few times, but the man would only frown and refused to make eye contact with me. I kept my comments short. I decided it was best if I went to my room immediately after dinner.
A few hours later something woke me up. I couldn't quite figure out what it was so I decided to just make a trip to the jake since I was awake.
As I opened the door to my room I heard a strange noise from my mother's. Not wanting to disturb Mr. Blevirts in our guest area (it only had a blanket as a wall for privacy) I quietly tiptoed to my mother's door. I gently pushed it open since it didn't latch and somehow managed not to cry out.
I stumbled backward when I saw the man naked on top of my mother. He was raping her. I knew it was rape because my mother had never kept secrets from me. If this man was to share her bedchamber tonight she would have told me. She would not have given me details, but she would have said he would be in her room.
My chest felt tight and I couldn't get my breath. I placed my arm behind me as I continued to back up so I wouldn't hit the wall. As I stretched back to feel its support, I started to fall through the blanket wall. I landed on the guest bed.
My eyes darted around as my breath started coming in short, sharp draws. As my breathing slowed and became longer and deeper my eyes locked on the bastard sword.
I grabbed the hilt and pulled it out of the sheath. I walked back over to my mother's bedroom door and quietly but quickly pushed it open. I walked up to the foot of the bed and held down the bile as I watched this naked man move up and down, back and forth on top of my mother.
I held the sword in both hands and raised it above my head. As tears started to cloud my eyes I brought it down with all my might.
The strike landed straight and true. The blade cut into the man's spine, neck and the back of his head. He had stopped moving and slumped on my mother.
I moved quickly to roll him off her. I wiped my eyes so I could see and asked if she was alright. There was no response.
I ran to the side of the bed and looked down at her naked form. Her head was tilted slightly to the side away from me and her eyes were staring blankly at the wall. Her mouth was slack-jawed. She wasn't moving.
I shook her several times in my shock, expecting her to snap out of the spell she was under. But she didn't.
I knelt beside the bed as the bile rose again in my throat. After emptying my stomach I cried until I could cry no longer.
----------
Not only had the bastard raped my mother but he had also killed her before he did it. Why he hadn't killed me first I'll never know.
I carried her body to the back yard that night. There is a large rock back there where we used to sit and talk. This was where we usually went when she gave me my lessons if the weather was nice.
I buried her next to that rock. I left the grave unmarked. The only mark it needed was the large rock that held so many memories.
Mr. Blevirts didn't get so kind a treatment from me. I dragged his body out the front door and dumped it in the ditch on the other side of the road. The bastard could rot there. Or wolves could carry him off for all I cared.
I went back to the house and put some wood on the fire. The embers hadn't gone out and I brought them back to life with little coaxing. As the fire grew I noticed the blood on my hands. It was Mr. Blevirts' blood because my mother had showed no signs of injury. She had probably been strangled or suffocated.
As I stared blankly at the blood on my hands I absently realized that it was splattered up my arms, too. I looked down and saw the pattern of the spray on my chest. I knew without looking that it was on my face as well.
I turned and walked toward my mother's bedroom. I'm not sure why. On some level I may have hoped I would find her there sleeping peacefully. Or I may have wanted to see the actual pattern of the blood spray from when I swung the sword and killed my first man. What I did find I wasn't ready for.
The man's sword was on the floor beside the bed. It had fallen when I rolled him off my mother's body. A sudden, inexplicable anger welled up in me. I picked up the sword and started to throw it out the bedroom door in anger.
But just as suddenly as the anger came it went away. I stopped and just looked at the sword. It was magnificently made, I thought. I had no experience with any blade better than a scythe or butcher's knife. But the blade seemed to look good in my hand. And it felt right somehow.
I went to the curtained off alcove where the rest of the man's things were. I put the belt and scabbard on and started to place the blade in its home. But I stopped, realizing it still had blood on it. I picked up Mr. Blevirts' shirt and wiped the blade clean.
I then placed it in the scabbard. And it still felt right sitting on my hip.
It was with that realization that I knew I couldn't stay in that house anymore. I didn't know where I was going to go. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. But I knew there was more to life than living on this farm and I was going to be part of it.
I gathered up the rest of Mr. Blevirts' things and dumped them in the ditch with him. But the sword I kept. It would stay with me as a constant reminder of that night.
When I went back to the house I reluctantly took it off because I needed to dress. I heated some water on the fire so I could clean the blood off my body. I didn't bother to clean the bedroom or the streaks on the floor where I had dragged the man's body out.
I then gathered up some things I figured I would need into a pack and a belt pouch. I got the gold my mother had hidden under the floorboards in her bedroom. There was more there than I thought I could ever spend, but I knew I would need it. It would be hard to grow my own food while I was constantly traveling.
The sun was just rising when I stepped out of the house for the last time. I walked back to the rock where I had buried my mother. I explained as best I could why I thought I needed to leave and I said my good byes to her.
I didn't take the road that ran in front of our house, but instead went across our fields to the forest that marked the edge of our property. I left the chickens in the coop and the livestock in our small barn. I didn't really care what would happen to them, but I was sure someone would claim the farm and land as their own before long. If not, the wolves would quickly realize the farm was uninhabited and force their way into the coop and barn.
I didn't look back as I trudged across the uneven fields. But I was happy an hour later when I was deep enough into the woods that I couldn't have seen the house if I had turned around. Getting to that point seemed to ease a burden on my heart.
----------
I had stopped early that first night out of sheer exhaustion. But being alone in the woods at night is a little unsettling. Especially when you're only fourteen. But I managed to prop myself up on a tree branch and get some rest.
The next morning I set out and happened to come across a road going through the forest. I figured it was another route to the city and decided to follow it in the opposite direction.
After an hour I was still on the road in the middle of the forest when I heard a scream. I ran up the road to see what was going on. I quickly found a small merchant caravan being attacked by bandits.
There were two wagons stopped in the middle of the road. The front one had an older man sitting in the front holding the reins of the horses. He was balding and slightly over weight. Sitting next to him was a young girl who looked to be about my age. The back wagon had a young man sitting in the front holding the reins to two oxen. All three were cringing and trying to make themselves as small as possible to escape the attention of the bandits.
There were two guards in front of the wagon trying to hold off three bandits armed with short swords. Two other bandits were to the side of the road armed with short bows. They were between me and the other bandits.
I drew my sword, but hesitated before charging the archers. I suddenly realized what I was about to do. I was ready to take yet another life and I felt no remorse about it. As a matter of fact, I had almost been anticipating the moment for the last day and a half.
I charged the archers waving the sword like I knew what I was doing. The first man fell with a large cut in his neck squirting blood. The second archer barely had time to realize what had happened and turn toward me as my back swing took is leg out. As he hit the ground I stabbed my sword into his chest.
I turned toward the wagons. One of the guards had killed one of the bandits and wounded another's sword arm. But an arrow had mortally wounded the guard and the bandit seemed just as proficient in using his off arm. As I ran toward the fray the bandit finished off the guard. I cut off his head from behind before the guard's body had hit the ground.
The last bandit had already dispatched the other guard and was approaching the heavy man and girl in the front wagon. But they didn't look at him. They looked at me and screamed.
"An orc," shrieked the girl.
"If there's one there's going to be more. Run now, Heselda. Run, Darmo," yelled the merchant as he pushed the girl off the seat of the wagon. He slid over after her and jumped down. They started running back up the road from where they had come. The man on the back wagon - Darmo, I guessed - hadn't needed any coxing and was already well up the road ahead of them.
The bandit turned around to face me with his sword shaking in his hand. He quickly assessed the fate of his companions and decided he didn't want any part of it.
"O-o-or-o-orc," he stammered as he suddenly turned and ran into forest.
I felt very dejected at that moment. I had done nothing but help this merchant. Couldn't they even tell I wasn't a full-blooded orc? My nose is more human than the pug-type orcs have. And my skin isn't that green.
In brooding anger and frustration I kicked the disembodied head of a bandit into the bushes at the side of the road. Then I sat down to cry as the lessons my mother had taught me came rushing back.
But before I could shed a tear I heard one of the horses snort. I looked up and met his gaze. He just looked at me. He didn't panic. He didn't try to run away. He just stood there and looked at me like I was a sorry excuse for a savior. And suddenly I felt like it.
I stood up and slowly walked over to the animal. He and has his teammate just stood there. The one that had snorted at me jerked his head back so I petted him. Then I went back to the wagon and found a couple apples. I fed one to each horse. Then I went back and fed one to each of the oxen.
I felt much better as I cleaned my sword off on the decapitated bandit's clothes. I started thinking about how people could learn a lot from animals as I was dragging the bandits' bodies to the side of the road.
I took the short bow off one of the archers. I had used one at the farm to hunt small game occasionally and was pretty good with it. But I hadn't thought to bring it with me. I could only scrounge eleven arrows between the two men, but I know how to make my own so it didn't matter.
I staked the horses' and oxen's reins into the ground so they wouldn't run off before the merchant and his friends came back. I also managed to scrounge some gold off the bandits and guards and left it on the seat of the lead wagon. I then set out again, returning back to the forest rather than following the road.
----------
And that, barkeep, is how I started out on my own six years ago.
I have been lucky enough over the years to find many tolerant souls in the world. Not everyone makes snap a judgment like that merchant and his kin. Many, many people do, don't get me wrong. But those few kind people I come across more than balance the prejudiced ones.
And I greatly appreciate your kindness in listening to me, barkeep. Let me buy a round for everyone.
A drink for...why's the taproom empty, barkeep?
Barkeep?
Aw, crap. I better get out of here before the torches and pitchforks show up.