I remember blood, and bodies. I thought one of them was mine.
I remember someone standing over me, and delivering the killing blow. Was it a dream?
That was my homeland. That was Eire. Now, I am somewhere else. I know not where or how.
Perhaps this is the lands of the Tuatha. Perhaps this is the realms of Crom. It is not for me to be knowing.
That was two weeks ago..
To make my way, I sell my sword and strength of arm for money. I care not where, when the money is good. So it is, that I came to work in a tavern, called “the Giddy Goblin”, acting as a kind of bouncer there, drinking their beer, discovering the MAGIC of a distilled liquor I’m calling “uisce”, and spending more than I earned. That then, is also how I got involved in other “work”, busting limbs and getting paid for it, through a weasel eyed fella who goes by “Kestrel”. The work isn’t, strictly speaking, “legal”, but law’s don’t matter to me. It puts bread in the table, and uisce in me. So I’m not complaining. Seeing my love of being “in the blood”, Kestrel also set me up for fights below the bar, and invited betting on it. I get the chance to pummel some fools that step to me, so more fun there! This fighting with just my fists and wit’s? I like it! Give me more a that!
It brought me to now.
Today.
A portly man walked into the pub, obviously full of himself and his station. Were it only him, the day would have ended like any other, but he was not alone. His companion was fit, armored, and his eyes had a glint to them. This man had known battle. Clearly he was there to guard the blowhard, but, from the look in Kestrel’s eyes, I knew there would be more to follow.
I had a match that day, down in the basement. A coin tossed to one in the know brought spectators down for the “entertainment”. I squared off against an orc brute with too many muscles and not enough brain to know the score. As we circled each other in our fighting “ring”, I saw the two newcomers in the crowd. Perhaps they had laid money on our sport. Soon the blood was flowing from us both, as we cut each other open with our fists. The fight would last until one of us was out on the floor or cried “enough!”, and I have yet to give in. The orc stepped up faster than I thought he knew how. His rising fist caught me under my chin, and I could swear I felt a pop in my neck and everything went dark. It was only a moment though! I never hit the floor, though I heard the orc celebrating as though he had won. I threw my head to the side, and the pop I heard told me my neck was better. Perhaps it had slipped out of joint? My opponent turned, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
I leapt in, covering myself, and dug my fist under his right ribs like I was reaching for a sack of gold. Something broke inside him. He bellowed like a bull in heat, but my right hand stopped his crying when it rearranged his jaw. He decided to nap a while on the floor. Later, I pulled one of his tusks out of my fist. That new fellow’s guard nodded and quickly smiled at me. I think I had made him money.
It might have been a few hours that passed, before Kestrel came to talk to me. The portly merchant and his guard had settled in at the table.
“That fellow”, Kestrel said, eyeing the merchant, “he’s got no business being HERE with all that obvious money to throw around”.
“I’m going to have two more of the gang follow you over to him. Convince him to “share the wealth”, with us. Don’t feel the need to be gentle about it either! I’ll be right behind you!”
Money is money. What do I care where we get it from.
I walked up to the table flanked by two others of Kestrel’s gang of cutthroats and theives. I knew them both from work similar to this. Black Tom had a way with knives, but none with people. Unless, of course, he was gutting ‘em. Fisheye Pete, well, the way his eyes looked, the name was obvious. He wasn’t too good in a fight, but his weird stare made people nervous.
The merchants guard had been writing something down, yet he had his eye on us the whole way. The merchant was blabbering on and half drooling over the barmaid. He shut up as soon as we stopped at the table.
“Ya ought ta know better than coming in here, flashing money around like a big shot without payin yer taxes!” I said.
“Wuh, what tax?”, the merchant blubbered, “I’m fully settled with the guilds” he said with an uneasy, half smile. I think he’d already soiled himself. He looked over at his guard, who had settled back in his chair and was watching, like this was all a game he’d seen before. He seemed to smile.
“Ya gotta pay US fer entry here. Consider us the funeral tax. Ye don’t pay, it’s yer funeral”, I said. I don’t write the lines, they’re my standard talk. Kestrel told me to say them.
“How much do they pay you?” the guard said, leaning back in his chair. He still looked relaxed.
The question caught me off guard. “What?”, I said, turning to look at him.
“Clearly they pay you to do this, and you’ve got a talent. You’re good! Do they give you a cut of the money or all of it? Do they give you a place to stay, or do you just live at the bar?”
No one ever asks me questions like that or looked as comfortable while asking them. I found myself replying without really thinking about it. “Pete and I sleep on the floor in the basement after we clean up the blood”, I said looking over at fisheye.
I was going to say ‘who are you to ask”, but he went on.
“I think you can do much better than that”, he said. “Of course, it would mean a change of employment, but, I know where you can make some good money and sleep in your own bed. All you have to do is take up work with me!”
He smiled an easy smile, still looking comfortable in his chair while the merchant sweated beside him.
Black Tom laughed saying, “What’s he think? You’re just going to change sides in the middle of everything for a promise and a bed?”
Tom laughed, Pete laughed, I laughed.
Then I slammed Pete’s face into the table so hard his front teeth dug in and lived there. Fisheye made to hit me with a club, but I broke his foot with a stomp and caught him under the chin with my fist so hard that for a moment he stood stock upright like he wasn’t going to ever fall. Then he did.
I heard a thump behind me, at the table, and Kestrel’s head landed there and rolled. I had seen him trying to sneak up behind the merchant. The guard must have cleaved Kestrel’s head from him without even leaving his seat. When I turned around he was putting a sword back in its sheath.
The merchant squealed like a sheep.
The guard got up from the table and offered me his hand. “Tannas is my name”, he said. “Help me get this man to safety”, he said, pointing at the still sweating merchant, “and I think we can find a good purpose and some coin for you.”
My last job seems like a bust, and I’ve done worse. Hey, it’s a living! Besides, I think I like this one. It’s funny what you’ll do, for a few more coins…