Lawless Justice

First story, here goes nothing. I hope you can enjoy and review it honestly.

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In the west, the sun had begun to set. Many people returned to their homes in a village not too far from a fortress. Doors had shut as the people of the village had started their preparations for the coming Feast of the Otherworld. But not all residents of the little village had turned in for an early rest, not all of them were lighting incense candles or preparing offerings for the coming days.

Some had stayed up, ensuring the protection of the village like every other night. Some had stayed up, for fear of the veil between reality and The Otherworld breaking apart. Most had stayed up, to drink, to laugh and share stories with one another. Arms coated in soot; coarse, calloused hands raising tankards of ale, rum and wine. Cheers reverberating throughout the establishment in joy after a weeks' worth of pay finally rolling in.

It had been a busy day in the inn, men with calloused hands, worn out from hard and honest but now laughing heartily as they shared tall tales amongst one another. Some men left early, tipping the innkeeper far too much and keeping a finger where his mouth would be. As if he wouldn't be heard over the silence, the innkeeper to his credit nodded simply as he took and pocketed the heavy coins into a small bag. Continuing his service with both an easy smile and a greedy leer in his eyes.

(-)

A waitress nearby named Orianna hadn't been lived in this village, nor worked in this tavern for long, but she knew bad apples when she saw them. Now confident that blood would no longer be spilt her thin lips widened in a bright smile, "Order's in, cook!" Her own blue dress was sticking to her skin, a measure of how hot the day had been.

Standing behind a wooden counter was the innkeeper a balding red-headed man sporting muttonchops. He -Val, his name was, as Orianna remembers- wasn't necessarily a bad man, or so Ori would argue, but he was definitely bad in his own way. He greets a pair of customers, gloved hands firmly shaking hands which belonged to the pair as he asked another waitress to direct them to the free table the dark-garbed men had recently left vacant.

"Food's ready Va- ah!" Ori the waitress exclaims above the crowded voices, stumbling as she does coming out of the kitchen doorway. She takes a breath as she takes a quick second to lay a jug of wine and assembles four tankards before beginning to pour into one of them. "The fish should be done soon, Val!" Her voice sounds strained, she wasn't used to working this hard, especially not when more than half of the staff hadn't turned up.

Women in dresses and blue aprons delivered meals to men with strained smiles, business was certainly busy oddly enough. But they weren't ready to serve fifty people. This was just a small pub in a big town, they couldn't have anticipated this.

After she fills up the first tankard she moves on to fill the next one up without spilling a drop until the older man stops her, his rough, gentle hands warms her own hand resting at the neck of the jug as she stops pouring. "It's a bit late for that." The innkeeper states looking over his shoulder, directing her gaze to the doors which slams shut just as her eyes meet the door.

"Right. Should I-" The plain-faced woman asks before being silenced by an exaggerated hand cutting through the air.

"No." The man interrupts her, "Chances are we'll be needing this whole bottle of wine, maybe even more." Val finishes his sentence at the same volume as the rest of the room, which to his own surprise is a quiet whisper. To be able to hear his own voice in such a busy day was a shock to both him and Orianna, only their voices weren't the only noises in the room.

(-)

A fully armoured man rode his horse into town at an easy pace, trotting, his weapon of choice concealed underneath the saddlebags of his strong workhorse. A black cape lined with orange stripes billowing in the wind while he looks up at the sky, dark clouds rumbling overhead. As if threatening to drown him in a flood of rain.

'It won't come to that.' He thinks to himself, turning his head down to face the dirt road. Puddles of mud showing signs of frequent rains, footsteps mar the road. Which was an annoyance to the Knight, his own horse, spotted white on black, snorts at the familiar roar of thunder above.

The footsteps all across the road had been expected, only giving him trouble with tracking his prey. A crew of deserters who had run off with a captive. Whatever could have driven these men to abandon the legion... it didn't matter.

They wouldn't come quietly, but their very lights will be snuffed in the dark. That much he can make certain.

Through the slits in his visor, the Knight spots a rather lively building, filled with not just jovial laughter, but the familiar clinking of bottles. The roof of it was much like the rest of the buildings in the nearby radius, thatched and extended outwards, providing some shelter. Whomever the shelter was intended for, it would do for his horse, whom positively whinnied gently, throwing his head around happily.

Sweeping his legs over and back around the back of the horse, squishing the soft earth beneath him he reaches to unlatch the poleaxe before stopping and thinking otherwise. It wouldn't be necessary for such a building, as a matter of fact, it would be unnecessary. As versatile as it is, there probably wouldn't be enough room.

And much to his surprise, after his initial entrance, plenty of room would be made to accommodate his presence.

(-)

The wooden door closed behind him, a solid figure of an armoured man walked closer and closer to the counter, a decorated cloak followed behind each footstep. Val's signature friendly smile failed to reach his lips, Orianna the waitress already having scrambled away, making room for the man to lean over the desk. His imposing figure had the peasant standing still, quietly praying in his mind for his own safety. Thin slits in his helmet gave no indication that he was calm or enraged under all that.

Everyone knew what this man represented, everyone knew what this man did.

Some in the building had bolted out however they could, drinks jumped out windows, men and women ran out the doors pushing and shoving their way to the front. Orianna amongst them all. Not that he noticed, cold sweat falling above his brow from not only the stress of the day. But the fear of what the man in front of him was. But in spite of that, he mustered the courage to speak, "Greetings Milor-"

"Silence." He said immediately, the man did as ordered and shut up, fearful for any grave consequences to arise as deemed by the knight. Green eyes wide in fear of what could possibly happen next. He was merely a peasant- nothing in comparison to a knight of such clear superiority, a dragon stared back at him as he dared to look down, to look away from the imposing man only to see the symbol emblazoned on the cloth hanging from his hips. Sure maybe he might've skimmed a bit of cash off the top but with the way things had been going today, he wouldn't need to keep money from his employees any longer. Besides, he only took a small teensy-

As the man's thoughts raced in his head, the Knight swiftly drew a parchment from his pouch, neatly folded and hidden underneath his belt. On it was a sketch of sorts of a man's face. Val's face visibly relaxed when he realised he wasn't the man the man was after. Nodding, his hairy arm swung up and pointed at the back door of the inn wordlessly, still unable to speak from the relief he was feeling. Though after uselessly smacking his lips together a few times he formed a sentence soon enough.

Val spoke, blabbered and did not stop until he swore on his mum's grave he got the point across. "Three men with him there was. He- they- all of them wore brown, like monks! An-and the girls said they smelt like blood, you can catch them if you go now I'm sure of it!"

An armoured hand reaches down at the counter to raise a tankard filled with wine to the brim, some of its contents were starting to spill, it was an expensive brand but that wasn't a point Val was willing to argue against the man. His face cloaked in darkness beneath the helmet.

Raising the visor of his helmet the man gives a crooked smile to the innkeeper, who takes in as many details about the Knight's face as possible. A square jaw, pale skin, an ugly scar on his forehead, stubble and a pair of pale blue eyes locking onto him with a grim stare. Downing the drink quietly before setting the empty cup back down on the hard table's wooden surface. His light blue eyes unflinching as the visor falls back down in place.

The Knight takes his leave, but not through the back door as the innkeeper stated. First, he had to retrieve his weapon. Pulling the door inwards the knight pauses and turns his head back, voice booming across the short distance in such a clear and demanding tone. "Do not leave town, lest you wish for a renewed purpose in the gallows?"

Giving the red-headed man little time to answer the warning, the Knight shut the door behind him. Only a choked scream affirming that the man had heard him.

Thinking to himself, he wonders 'Did I lay it on too thick?' With a noncommittal grunt, immediately discarding any thoughts regarding ethical matters he pulls the poleaxe from underneath the saddlebags.

There was little to rush over, the walls of the city were certainly secure. As were the gates. All possible traffic would be recorded and made known to him, as was required of the bailiff. If his prey were to attempt an escape he would be alerted, if his prey were to start up some trouble, he would be alerted. All he had to do was wait.

Justice was patient after all. It would come to right all wrongs in time, however long it must take.