Simon_Hawk
Ranger
“My god, this place is a dump.” She muttered under her breath. The young half-elf stood in front of the ‘Tuna Fish Tavern.’ It was a dingy, weathered old place, nestled inconspicuously in a back alley of Newport. The surrounding buildings blocked the moonlight and cast their bleak outlines upon the cobblestone street below. The night blanketed the Tavern in dreary darkness. It had a steep cedar shake roof line that was overgrown with moss. Dormers protruded from the roof and had their windows smashed out, the dilapidated stone chimney looked like it would crumble from nothing more than a stiff breeze. Wood smoke and the smell of greasy food drifted from the little tavern and filled the crisp night air with their essence. Sounds of a string and flute band coalesced with the raucous voices of the patrons inside. The walls of the little tavern could not contain the racket as it hindered the rhythm of the late autumn wind. Just then a drunken old man in tattered clothes staggered out of the front door and wobbled his way to the front railing where he wretched onto the ground. He then stumbled down the stairs and crashed head first into a heap of trash, his arms and legs flailing wildly.
She wrinkled her nose as she examined the scene before her and exhaled heavily, her breath condensing into wisps of white. She felt small, standing there alone in the darkness.
The weight of the task at hand created an array of disturbing thoughts. Images of murderers, mercenaries, and madmen danced wildly in her mind, every type of terrible person she’d ever been warned about lurked inside that tavern. She hoped things would go smoothly and that the person she was after would come quietly.
Her instincts whispered of the danger that dwelled within the little tavern. She wanted to turn tail and go back to her warm cozy bed to sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen as long as there was work to be done. She had accepted this job from the local adventurers guild of her own stinking free will. Giving up now was completely out of the question for her pride would not accept quitting. She clenched her jaw and strode forward and onto the front porch of the Tunafish Tavern.
She gave the thick wooden door a single powerful front kick, her worn sabatons spoke with a satisfying metallic thud against its weight. The door groaned on it’s hinges as it burst open slamming against the interior wall then shuddering to a halt. Bits of dust fluttered down from the overhead beams from the impact and were illuminated by the dull lamplight like falling snow. The band ceased playing as every patron in the tavern snapped up their heads and fixed their attention towards the commotion. She stood silhouetted in the doorway surrounded by moonlight. Her cloak was ravaged and full of holes, the tatters and leftover pieces hung from her like writhing tentacles as the cold outside air rushed around her.
The room was as still and silent as a graveyard as everyone stared motionless at her, only the sound of a crackling fire and the lid from the cast iron stew pot rattled as the contents started to boil over. Firelight danced in her azure blue eyes as she strode into the hazy, smoke filled room. A crotchety old man with an eye patch and an unkempt beard shouted. “Close the damn pneumonia-hole ya crazy bitch! It’s colder than a witch's tits in an iron bra out there!” The crowd burst into a cacophony of chuckles, guffaws, and snickers .
She ignored them. She didn’t care an ounce what they thought about her. She only focused on finding her charge. With narrowed eyes, she scanned the crowd of misfit adventurers, mercenaries and drunks, and caught a glimpse of a large man seated alone at a small table along the back wall. She spoke loud enough to be heard “Mord Olgar, you’re wanted dead or alive for theft, kidnapping, murder and the use of Illegal magic!”
The laughter in the room ceased as the patrons collectively gasped. All eyes shifted to the man as he slowly slid away from the table and rose to his feet. Mord lumbered forward, his large boots thumped heavily on the wooden floor, tables and chairs tipped and slid aside as he literally walked through them.
“My name is Rana Ellow and I’m here to bring you in.” She said to him.
She wrinkled her nose as she examined the scene before her and exhaled heavily, her breath condensing into wisps of white. She felt small, standing there alone in the darkness.
The weight of the task at hand created an array of disturbing thoughts. Images of murderers, mercenaries, and madmen danced wildly in her mind, every type of terrible person she’d ever been warned about lurked inside that tavern. She hoped things would go smoothly and that the person she was after would come quietly.
Her instincts whispered of the danger that dwelled within the little tavern. She wanted to turn tail and go back to her warm cozy bed to sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen as long as there was work to be done. She had accepted this job from the local adventurers guild of her own stinking free will. Giving up now was completely out of the question for her pride would not accept quitting. She clenched her jaw and strode forward and onto the front porch of the Tunafish Tavern.
She gave the thick wooden door a single powerful front kick, her worn sabatons spoke with a satisfying metallic thud against its weight. The door groaned on it’s hinges as it burst open slamming against the interior wall then shuddering to a halt. Bits of dust fluttered down from the overhead beams from the impact and were illuminated by the dull lamplight like falling snow. The band ceased playing as every patron in the tavern snapped up their heads and fixed their attention towards the commotion. She stood silhouetted in the doorway surrounded by moonlight. Her cloak was ravaged and full of holes, the tatters and leftover pieces hung from her like writhing tentacles as the cold outside air rushed around her.
The room was as still and silent as a graveyard as everyone stared motionless at her, only the sound of a crackling fire and the lid from the cast iron stew pot rattled as the contents started to boil over. Firelight danced in her azure blue eyes as she strode into the hazy, smoke filled room. A crotchety old man with an eye patch and an unkempt beard shouted. “Close the damn pneumonia-hole ya crazy bitch! It’s colder than a witch's tits in an iron bra out there!” The crowd burst into a cacophony of chuckles, guffaws, and snickers .
She ignored them. She didn’t care an ounce what they thought about her. She only focused on finding her charge. With narrowed eyes, she scanned the crowd of misfit adventurers, mercenaries and drunks, and caught a glimpse of a large man seated alone at a small table along the back wall. She spoke loud enough to be heard “Mord Olgar, you’re wanted dead or alive for theft, kidnapping, murder and the use of Illegal magic!”
The laughter in the room ceased as the patrons collectively gasped. All eyes shifted to the man as he slowly slid away from the table and rose to his feet. Mord lumbered forward, his large boots thumped heavily on the wooden floor, tables and chairs tipped and slid aside as he literally walked through them.
“My name is Rana Ellow and I’m here to bring you in.” She said to him.
