SouthpawFighter
New Member
He gently rested the tankard of ale on the oak table. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The same chair he sat at almost every night he wasn't 'working'. Another gulp of ale and his tankard was empty. His gaze slowly scanned the tavern he frequented. The tavern had a name like any other one in town and they all meant the same to him. A place to distract himself with alcohol and ambient noises to drown out the thoughts rushing through his head. He preferred staying away from home where he didn't have this luxury.
Though, eventually, these thoughts would end up haunting him. His heart rate quickened and his breathing deepened as he remembered a horrible day. A village in the countryside. A man running. Yelling at him. Why is he running towards me? What is he saying? A sense of fear that he'd never felt before.
"Did you hear me, sir?" The sellsword fell out of his trance and looked up at the barmaid. "Ale, please." The barmaid laughed. "That's not what I asked you. I asked if you were that brawler that won the tourney this past weekend?" She exclaimed. The sellsword kept his gaze. He wasn't in the mood for talking. "Ale. Please." He repeated. She looked at him confusedly for a second. "Of course, sir." She grabbed his empty tankard and left his table.
He watched her leave, annoyed at her and disappointed in himself. He reflected on that horrible day. Such a peaceful life. So many of them. Lost. Over greed. If only..."Another tankard, sir." The barmaid interrupted him again. Why did I get upset at her for distracting me from my thoughts? Don't I come here for that purpose anyways? "Thank you miss, I'd like to er…" The sellsword's words caught in his throat. Don't be weak. Just give her a hefty tip and leave. "Here's an extra something for putting forth the extra work. Another tankard please." The sellsword said while handing her a couple of minted coins. He met halfway with his thoughts this time, a small victory. He rested in his chair, and tried to enjoy his ale.
Though, eventually, these thoughts would end up haunting him. His heart rate quickened and his breathing deepened as he remembered a horrible day. A village in the countryside. A man running. Yelling at him. Why is he running towards me? What is he saying? A sense of fear that he'd never felt before.
"Did you hear me, sir?" The sellsword fell out of his trance and looked up at the barmaid. "Ale, please." The barmaid laughed. "That's not what I asked you. I asked if you were that brawler that won the tourney this past weekend?" She exclaimed. The sellsword kept his gaze. He wasn't in the mood for talking. "Ale. Please." He repeated. She looked at him confusedly for a second. "Of course, sir." She grabbed his empty tankard and left his table.
He watched her leave, annoyed at her and disappointed in himself. He reflected on that horrible day. Such a peaceful life. So many of them. Lost. Over greed. If only..."Another tankard, sir." The barmaid interrupted him again. Why did I get upset at her for distracting me from my thoughts? Don't I come here for that purpose anyways? "Thank you miss, I'd like to er…" The sellsword's words caught in his throat. Don't be weak. Just give her a hefty tip and leave. "Here's an extra something for putting forth the extra work. Another tankard please." The sellsword said while handing her a couple of minted coins. He met halfway with his thoughts this time, a small victory. He rested in his chair, and tried to enjoy his ale.