By Sharcu Isengard
A man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head enters the Short Oar. He gazes casually at the seedy crowd as he takes his seat. Placing a few silver coins at the edge of the table, he motions for a drink.
A scruffy minstrel returns to his song, playing just well enough to avoid bothering the other customers. The waitress takes her coins, and slides a mug onto a table. A sound at the door, a former soldier kicking the mudd off his ragged boots, attracts the attention of the crowd for a moment. The gaze of a man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head lingers for a instant longer than most.
Unaware of his watcher, the former soldier calls for a drink. His well made bronze armor tells of his success in the military, but its tarnished and corroded state tells of his dishonorable discharge. He receives his ale, and glances around.
A stocky woman in a plain robe whispers to a man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head. He nods, drains his mug, and draws himself to his full height. A few gold coins vanish into a stocky woman’s palm as a man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head strides purposefully towards a former soldier.
Sensing the man behind him, the former soldier turns slowly as he stands. A flicker of recognition crosses the former soldier’s face as his gaze sinks into the midnight black eyes of a man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head. A single gasp, “you!”, escapes the surprised lips of a former soldier before his throat is engulfed by a large hand.
A man with a wide strip of brown cloth wrapped around his head crushes a former soldier against the wall. Breathless, the former soldier collapses to the gritty floor. Bound and gagged, he is rolled into a huge thick sack, and drug out of the seedy establishment.
The Honor of the Twenty-Four will be avenged.