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The same has happened a million times before. The young bar maid wrapped tense fingers around the handle of the jug of rice wine, the tears in her eyes still fresh, brimming on the edge and threatening to make themselves known. Swallowing hard, clenching her jaw, she crossed the room to the table in the far corner. The three men sat, hunched over the wooden surface, raising their mugs with a litany of laughter; their beards dripped, the result of careless indulgence. She sighed, choked back her pride, and crept in between two of them. Eyes staring at the floor, she reached her arm out and gingerly placed the jug of wine on the table as inocuously as possible. Her effort was for naught, as the burly one with the red hair threw his arm around her waist for the second time that evening. "Oh darlin', no need to be so shy...we are all men who respect...a fine woman...at this table. And you are...a fine woman..." The other two men guffawed, one of them reaching for the fresh jug and sloshing himself another mug-full. The red haired man - Yav, as people around these parts knew him - took a hold of the bar maid's hand, pulling her closer, face to face. The stench of his breath made the poor girl's heart falter, and her cheeks to flush; holding her breath, a knit betwixt her brow, she stammered: "A...k-kind sentiment, sir...but I...I really must be g-getting...back to...w-work..." Yav chuckled, a hearty laugh, and his ample stomach rumbled. "Lass, whatever they are paying you - " Before he could continue, a voice rose from the table next to them: "Leave her be." A young man sat, slouched back in the chair, his face obscured by thick black hair, casting shadows in the lamplight; his jacket, a deep brown, appeared heavy - perhaps a little odd for common attire. A hush settled over the dim. After a pause, Yav shouted over to him: "Lad...perhaps you best be minding your business...I am known for my skill with a sword. I trust you do not want to meet mine." The young man didn't falter; he didn't even look up. "You might hold your tongue, sir. And let the girl go. For I am known for my skill with a sword as well...if you are wise, you do not wish to meet mine." Yav, skeptical of course, hesitated a moment - his lips turned into a scowl. "Oh, is that so...why I oughta-" As his fingers fumbled with the hilt of the sword, a blade was drawn to his throat; the young man had deftly risen, slid behind Yav, unsheathed his sword and pulled it to it's rest. Swallowing hard, Yav released his grasp on the bar maid's waist; her eyes grazed up to look at the young man's face as she ducked away; all she could see within the shadows was a deep grey eye. She quickly glanced away, a shiver darting up her spine. "And I would suggest more gentlemanly dealings with women from now on." The fear had risen into Yav's eyes, and even he could not disguise the shaking fingers that still fumbled at his waist. "Now, perhaps you should apologize to the young lady?" he suggested; the other two men were already on their feet and digging through their bags for gold, dropping a hearty handful onto the table. "Y-yes...I'm...I'm sorry, ma'am," Yav stuttered, his arms finally falling in resignation. The young man pulled his blade away and stepped back; Yav immediately took the opportunity to rush towards the door - casting a single glance back over his shoulder to the young man who had accosted him. Visably shaken, he wandered into the darkness beyond the door. The young man turned away; the bar maid reached a cautious hand out to touch his shoulder. "Life is about choices, m'lady. Not so much choosing sides as choosing right over wrong...my allegience lay with the light." He strides toward the door before her hand can reach him; her silent thanks unreceived. Mumbled whispers fill the room, stories of legends, stories of the greatest swordsman in the lands...stories of the protector of the light. But only the fabric of legend...wasn't it? `Zyza | |