The Bad Start of Every Adventure Story Pt:II
Within the ramshackle hut a handful of candles burned dimly, illuminating grizzled faces bearing scars and hard times observing the newcomer warily, sensing danger just in the arrival. The smell of musty wood from the wet of the downpour permeated the place. Dull oaken beams and planks of pine made up the floors and walls, and the hint of stale beer wafted into his nose. At least he was out of the cold.
After wiping the rain from his eyes Shepard took in the scene before him, three round tables sat cramped together with far too many chairs to fit comfortably at each, most of which were filled with somber patrons. One table was filled with men wearing nothing more than threadbare rags with rope-belts, either farmers or serfs. The other table sported three stocky men with wiry muscles and garbed in dark studded leather and bandannas. Mercenaries. The smell of musty wood from the wet of the downpour permeated the place. Dull oaken beams and planks of pine made up the floors and walls, and the hint of stale beer wafted into his nose.
Eyeing them closer as he approached the bar not five feet from the table where they sat, Shepard noted a greataxe propped up in the corner. If they had any other weapons they were concealed, which mattered little to him. He turned his attention from their cold stares to the innkeep who happened to be a rather young man with wildly unkempt hair and black stubble along his face and neck. He was standing tensely since Shepard had walked through the door, probably worried to death that this newcomer would bring trouble with him.
"Evenin'," he said loudly as he grabbed a mug to clean nervously, shooting a glance at the tables behind Shepard. With brow furrowing, the Lieutenant Marshal looked hard at the boy behind the counter, couldn't be more than twenty years old.
"Evening," he replied with a shout in order to overcome the cacophony of the storm pelting the rundown shingles on the roof. "You got any rooms for the night, or at least to wait out the storm?"
The innkeep shook his head in reply, "Jus' the floor under yer feet. Weren't meant to have no rooms when they built this place, save the one behind the bar for me family, or rather jus' meself now I s'pose. Yer more'n welcome to sit out this storm or take the floor 'til mornin', ain't got much else ta offer ye, save maybe a little ale."
"I'll have an ale then," he affirmed with four coppers slapped on the aged oak of the bar. With a nod, the innkeeper turned around to pull a clay jug from the shelf and empty golden water into a wooden pint, to then set at Shepard's awaiting fingers. Taking a long swig, Shepard tried to enjoy the brief respite of pleasure from his already wearying journey, it had been raining since he left Denerim, and but a few days from Jader, the westernmost Ferelden port on the Waking Sea's coast, he was beginning to feel drained from slogging through rainy mud for the last three weeks. He would have been faring far better had his horse not broken its leg slipping into a hidden mud hole. That misfortune occurred not three days after his departure, leaving him stranded on foot along the Northern Imperial Highway with no chance for another horse until he reached Jader, which would no longer matter anyway since he couldn't take a horse across the sea in the small ferries that ran from Jader to Cumberland in Nevarra.
With a sigh, Shepard moved over to the mostly empty table next to the bar and took a seat. The lone, sorrowed-looking old man that had been eating a miserable bowl of gruel grabbed his supper and stood up to go lean against the wall by the table full of peasants to finish his meal. Taking no offense on the account that Shepard was dressed in red-stained reinforced leather with a Highever-forged broadsword and shield on his back, Shepard supped on his ale as he watched the other patrons of the bar. The rain continued to beat down on the overburdened shack while the bar within was quiet, everyone had stopped talking since Shepard arrived.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye after taking the last swallow of ale, the would-be mercenaries stood up all at once, all looking at him with sure faces and confident stance. Shepard raised an eyebrow with a threatening squint of his eyes, but the three men were undeterred. The one in the middle who had been sitting farthest away from him let out a chuckle, "You're the messenger from the King am I right? Good fortune smiles on us that you stumbled in here on your way out of the country. Otherwise one of the other groups would've gotten the pay." He looked closer at them now. All bearing tattoos of a red skull with a pair of oars crossed beneath on their shoulders or necks. "And here we were thinking we had gotten the worst posting to look for your sorry ass in this wilderness, good thing we were wrong. The Crimson Oars have you now, so you can choose to surrender quietly or we bloody this tavern up with your insides," he accentuated his statement by pulling the greataxe up out of the corner as his two companions drew longswords from their sheaths.
"You sure you want to do that?" Shepard's voice was cold. "I've fought plenty of Crimson Oars in my time in the Red Dragons, several ships are sailing the seas today because you sorry pirates don't know how to fight." The middle man scoffed.
"Think we're scared of a grunt, eh? We'll gut you faster than you can stand up." At that the other mercenaries yelled "Crimson Oars!" as they rushed at Shepard. Faster than they could react, Shepard had the table he was sitting at flipped up in their faces. Batting it aside, they leapt at their prey now standing armed with his sword and shield, screaming battle cries. The first one swung his longsword high and Shepard raised his shield to push it up and out of the way and then brought his broadsword swiping from the side to chop halfway through the pirate's chest. The man's eyes bulged as he toppled to the ground. Shepard's sword came swinging out of the first man's abdomen to parry the next sword coming down from above. He caught the blade with the crossguard and waved it down and away from his body to pin it to the floor with his sword. The mercenary grunted angrily and tried grabbing at Shepard to free his weapon, but Shepard slammed his shield against the grasping hand, breaking fingers and pushing it away. Shepard fed him his shield again for good measure and it connected solidly with his face, making a wet crunching sound and sending the second man to the floor, out cold.
The last warrior screamed with rage and sent his greataxe at his enemy from his swordside, removing his ability to block with his shield. Shepard had to quickstep backwards and bend his chest away from the great sweep of the deadly axe head. He quickly noted that the peasants who had been sitting at the table were across the inn by the door, pressed flat up against the wall with fear. Before the mercenary could recover and swing again, Shepard locked his shield in front of him and barreled into his foe, slamming him over the table behind him, which rocked off balance and sent him to the floor in a painfull, headfirst fall. The ceiling swam around his head and he tried to feel for his axe, but his opponent stood fast over him holding the point of his sword across his neck. "Surrender," he said easily. He wasn't even out of breath. The mark of a man who was used to being in long fights that he probably didn't even expect to win with odds so stacked against him that there wasn't even means to measure it. He was calm, unafraid of harm or even death. With sword pressed hard to his throat, he snarled and made a wild grab for his axe, and then he couldn't breathe. Warm liquid rolled off his neck and he felt a line of cold on his throat. His eyes sunk behind their covers and darkness swallowed him up.
Shepard looked around the tavern wearily, the farmers and serfs staring with mouths agape at him, the barkeep gave him an unexpected nod considering he just decorated his tavern in red. "On the King's business are ye?" he asked the Lieutenant. He nodded silently in reply. "I'll see about settin' ye up for the night if ya still want, this storm's not about to let up anytime soon. Le's clean up this mess first, then we'll talk." It was going to be a long night it seemed.