"Awright, who's got some balls around here?" The man was a veritable bear, huge and hairy. His brawny arms were easily as big around as a small tree. "Beat me, and your drinks are on me for the rest of the gloaming! Lose, and you pay my gloamday's tab!"

He turned as his eyes surveyed the barroom, an insolent smirk on his lips.

"Come on, ladies! No challengers?" He dropped his bulky frame into a wooden chair, which creaked alarmingly under the weight. "Y'all couldn't pass up a bargain like this, could ya? Surely one of you milksops wants free drinks this day!" His comment was greeted by more than a few rolled eyes and snorts of amusement from around the room.

"You mean you want free drinks, Ollan!" a voice called out from the crowd. "And your tab could break the mayor's budget!"

Everyone laughed and jeered at the jibe, and Ollan bellowed a hearty guffaw, his teeth flashing from within the black bush of his thick beard. "Ah, 'tis true, but a big man builds up a big thirst! Come now, at least one of you?"

"I'll take you on," came a deep gravelly voice.

Near-complete silence ensued as Ollan, in concert with every other person in the room, turned to look at the man by the door. He was uncommonly short, not much over four and a half feet tall. But despite his diminutive stature, his solid barrel of a body was stocky and broad, with powerful-looking arms and a thickly muscled neck. A bushy, rust-colored beard was surmounted by a crooked beak of a nose, and startling green eyes gleamed with amusement from beneath bushy red eyebrows. He pulled a battered cloth cap from his head, rolled it up, and tucked it in his belt. His frizzy red hair was thinning on top, but what was left looked like an explosion of coppery hair bursting out in every direction.

"Well, all right then! You look like you could use some free drinks!" Ollan waved a meaty hand at the chair across the table from him, "Have a seat and we'll get this going! What shall I call you, friend, since I'm to be buying your drinks?" The drunkest man in the room couldn't have mistaken the sarcasm in Ollan's voice, but the newcomer didn't appear to take notice.

The stranger bared his teeth in what might have been a grin. "You can call me Ragni, 'friend'. And I hope you have mighty deep pockets, because I have a mighty deep thirst!"

Ragni took a seat across from Ollan and scooted the chair up close to the table. Ollan rolled up his sleeve in a showy display, his massive arm muscles rippling impressively as he moved. Many of the men around the room chuckled knowingly and went back to their drinks. They had seen this happen so many times before that it had ceased to be interesting any more.

"Th' rules are simple. When we both settle on the grip, we go. First man to drive his opponent's hand to the table wins." Ollan set his right elbow on the table and worked his fingers, making his forearm pulse and swell. "Y' ever done this?"

"Oh, maybe once or thrice… " Ragni propped his right elbow on the table and gripped Ollan's hand firmly. His forearm was shorter than the Ollan's, forcing the big man’s hand into an awkward angle. He crossed his left arm behind his right elbow and gripped the edge of the table with his left hand, and Ollan did the same.

"Are you ready, my friend?" With a cocky smile on his face, Ollan began to apply heavy pressure to his grip, watching Ragni wince.

"I suppose… “ Ragni gritted out stolidly, “ ...best get on with it."

With a shared nod, both men threw their effort into the struggle. Ollan started off with his favorite strategy, putting all of his considerable strength into a quick and sudden surge against his opponent's arm. Many times before, he'd caught his challengers off guard and won the match before it even got started. He watched Ragni's eyes widen and smiled with satisfaction when he saw alarm flare in them. Ragni's hand began a rapid descent toward the table.

"Sorry, my friend," he said with a grim smile, "but I never lose."

"I'm sorry too, my friend," Ragni said through clenched teeth, "I don't have any money, so I can't pay." Ollan's smile faded to a snarl as their clasped hands gradually stopped moving only scant inches from the tabletop, and then, with excruciating slowness, rose back up to the upright position. A few of the men in the room suddenly took renewed interest in the contest.

Ollan voiced a guttural growl, his arm and shoulder bulged and flexed, and the back of Ragni's hand crept once more toward the table. Ragni's eyes narrowed in determination, and the movement again stopped, reversed, and the men's hands returned once again to the center. More of the people in the room had taken notice and were watching now. Incredulous gasps came from some of the spectators as, almost imperceptibly, the back of Ollan's hand began to creep toward the table. A low murmur of disbelief rolled around the room, and all eyes were now fixed on the two straining men. Ollan spit a low curse through his teeth, and then their white-knuckled hands were back to the center again. A little bead of sweat formed on Ollan's forehead and slid down his cheek toward his chin.

From the crowd of onlookers a voice called out, “I'll put five silver on the short fat guy to win!” Ragni shot a brief murderous glare out at the crowd before returning his concentration to the match. First one bet, then another, and then many more were offered up and taken as the two struggling men continued to seesaw back and forth, with neither of them gaining a clear advantage. Back, neck, and arm muscles pulsed and swelled, and sweat began dripping off the faces of both men, splashing in little puddles on the tabletop. Each tiny movement elicited new cheers, jeers, and enthusiastic encouragements from around the room — along with a new surge of animated betting.

Ragni locked eyes with his opponent, who was now openly growling aloud as he strained, and let a sly grin steal slowly across his face. "You should always save back a little bit for the end, boy, don't burn it all up right at the start." He let his grin widen as he steadily increased the pressure on Ollan's arm. Bit by inexorable bit, the back of Ollan's hand began to creep toward the table. Ollan threw all of his remaining strength into his arm, howling with exertion, but he couldn't stop the relentless decline. He watched, unbelieving, as the back of his hand was finally pressed fully against the tabletop and held there for a brief moment. A tremendous cheer — and more than a few loud groans — resounded throughout the barroom.

"Bartender! Set me up with a nice, tall, cool ale! And that'll be on my new friend's tab! Mind you keep that mug full up, now!" With a devilish grin, Ragni patted Ollan sympathetically on the shoulder, then got up and waded into a flurry of hearty handshakes and back-slaps from his well-wishers, as money from bets eagerly — or reluctantly, as the case may be — changed hands.

--

Ragni pushed through the tavern door and stepped out into the last of the gloaming day, stuffing his unruly hair up into his worn cap. He peered with bleary eyes at the horizon, where the light of Sol Alphus was giving rosy notice of its impending arrival. By the Breaker's butt cheeks, he'd been drinking longer than he'd thought! He didn't stagger at all as he walked, but then again he'd had a lot of practice at drinking. A whole lot. Maybe too much? He laughed out loud at the thought. Never, ever too much! He walked along the quiet street to the narrow alley next to the tavern, then turned and strolled into the alley.

A shadowy figure formed itself out of the shadows and moved out to block his way. "About breakin' time! I've been out here cooling my heels half the damn' dimday while you're in there carousin', having a grand old time playing the hero!"

Ragni laughed again and clapped the man fondly on the shoulder. Griffor was a gangly, long-limbed man with weathered skin. He sported a shaved head, deeply tanned, and there was a long white scar tracing from his hairline down his left cheek. His lanky frame seemed almost frail, but many an enemy soldier had found out — usually with fatal results — that he was anything but. Despite his harsh-seeming greeting, he had a broad smile for Ragni — although his dark-colored eyes always held a certain hardness in them that never went away.

Ragni flashed a lopsided grin as he punched his friend not so gently in the arm. "Serves ya right, ya big bastard! 'Short fat guy,' my breaking ass!” He blew a derisive snort. “Besides, I had to be cordial to my new friends, and sweet to my new enemies, didn't I? There was quite a bit of coin wagered and lost in there this day. Wouldn't do to seem too eager to be gone." He rubbed his hands together and winked at Griffor, "Speaking of which, how'd we do this time?"

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Griffor's smile widened. "Oh, we turned a tidy little profit today!" He held up a fat purse and shook it, making a pleasant jingling noise. "Copper, silver — even a few gold! Enough to hold us over for a little while, I'd say."

Ragni examined the pouch, weighing it with his eyes. "Ah, that's the good life! I do feel a little bit sorry for that Ollan, though, he seemed a good enough fellow. Definitely had a good enough purse!"

"One that's a lot lighter now than it started out today," growled a voice from the shadows farther down the alley, towards the back of the inn. Ragni looked past Griffor and saw Ollan and another, younger man stalking towards them. Ollan definitely looked quite a bit bigger standing up than he had seemed sitting down. Ragni stepped around Griffor and moved out to the center of the alley.

Griffor shook his head in resignation as he spoke in a low tone that only Ragni could hear, “Go easy on 'em, Rags.”

"You know, I don't mind the loss of the money near as much as the sting what comes from all the wisecracks that goes along with it." Ollan strode up to Ragni and loomed over him belligerently, while the other man with him moved slightly over to one side. "Everyone in there finds it just oh-so amusing I lost, and especially to some short... little... pipsqueak!" Ollan emphasized each of the last three words by poking Ragni hard in the chest with a sausage-sized forefinger. Ragni could smell the sharp odor of whiskey coming from both men, and hardly needed to look to see the red-eyed courage they had both been working up.

"Ah, come now lad, we all of us take a bit of a ribbing now and again. It ain't nothing but good-natured fun! I'm sure you'll be the top man here again the moment I'm gone! Let me take ya back inside and I’ll buy you a round on me."

Ollan sputtered with indignation. "I'll be top man again? Oh, really? Because I'm not no more, is that it? I'm guessing some fat-assed little piece of pig shit is top man now, is he?" Ollan bellowed, red-faced, spewing spittle at Ragni as he raged. "I got a better idea! How about I crack your breakin' skull open and use it for my cup when I go back in?"

Ragni saw Ollan begin to clench his hands into ham-sized fists and shook his head, letting out a long sigh. "You don't wanna do this, son, you really, truly don't." He calmly pulled the old worn hat from his head and tucked it back in his belt.

"Breaker take you, I don't!" Ollan screamed, and swung a huge right fist at Ragni. Ragni had seen the punch coming long before it had even started moving, in the man's posture and the placement of his feet. Ollan was uncommonly big and remarkably strong, but his size made him slow, and his strength made him overconfident. He relied mostly on intimidation to win, and had little actual training. Ragni didn't try to dodge the blow, but instead tilted his head down so that Ollan's hand crashed into the heavy dome of his forehead. The maneuver was rewarded with a loud crunching noise as Ollan's knuckles shattered against Ragni's bony skull, and Ollan screamed out in pain. Ragni realized that he had underestimated the man's raw strength, though, as his vision filled with bright sparkles and flashes for a moment.

He shook his head to clear it, and immediately stepped slightly to his left, towards the big man’s friend, before the man could recover from his shock at hearing Ollan's howl. They should have both attacked in tandem if they'd been practiced fighters, but the friend had actually been expecting Ollan to finish off the fight with the first blow. Ragni swung a hard right fist, backed up by the momentum of his weight, hitting just above the waist on the man's left side. He felt as well as heard the lower ribs break. The luckless wretch clutched his hands to his side, wheezing out a thin wail of agony, and dropped to the ground. Ollan was still nursing his broken hand, howling, when Ragni turned back to him and slammed an open hand, palm-first, up between Ollan's legs. He grabbed the man's groin with a vise-hard grip and lifted. Ollan's scream dissolved rapidly into a whistling wheeze, and he flailed his arms in the air for balance as he came up on his toe tips, his eyes bulging and mouth working wordlessly.

"'Twas your choice, boyo," Ragni snarled quietly. He gave a vicious twist of his hand before releasing his grip. Ollan dropped to his knees, clasping his crotch with his one good hand while retching his stomach contents out on the ground. "'Twas your choice."

"Well, well, well, would you look at this! Public drunkenness, assault, and robbery, looks like to me." Ragni spun around at the voice, and found himself facing a pair of town guards. Both were dressed in the distinctive livery of the Eastern Alliance and holding their spears at the ready. "I'd say that's good for at least 24 hours in the stocks, wouldn't you say, Brin?"

The second guard gave a nasty smile, "Oh, at least. Unless, maybe you'd like to return the bets what we lost to that match in the bar. Plus a little extra for us to look the other way long enough for you to get the hell out of our town. No, come to think on it, make that a lot extra!"

"I was attacked by these two,” Ragni grated out as he gestured at the men writhing on the ground, “and it was two on one. I've done nothing more than to defend myself." Ragni felt his vision begin to narrow as his breath started to hiss between his teeth, "And I'll be damned if I'll pay a bribe to a pair of lowlife, crooked, piss-ant excuses for guardsmen!"

Griffor's face flashed alarm as he stepped up behind his friend. “Ragni, no, stop!”

The guards' faces flushed red from the insult as they glanced at each other and then angrily back to Ragni. "I'm going to say 48 hours in the stocks now, my little friend, for resisting arrest along with your other crimes." Brin showed his teeth in a malicious grin and lowered his spear to point at Ragni's chest. "You just might want to reconsider your decision… "

Baring his teeth in a grim snarl, Ragni stepped forward until the point of the spear was a finger's breadth from his chest. Consciously, he knew that Griffor was speaking somewhere behind him, "Ragni, no, please don't... it's not worth it." But the words were no more than indistinct noises in his hearing, and they made no sense to him. They were drowned out by the rushing of his blood in his ears, and the rage was upon him.

Faster than a heartbeat, Ragni stepped quickly to one side and grabbed the spear shaft just behind the head with his left hand, pushing it up in the direction of the second guard. At the same time, he hammered his right fist down hard on the leading hand of the man holding the spear, breaking the thumb with an ugly crackling noise. The second watchman, caught off-guard, was scrambling backwards in an attempt to bring his own spear to bear. Ragni yanked on the first guard's spear, snatching it out of the man's weakened grip. He instantly reversed direction on the spear, bringing the butt up, and drove it ferociously into the stunned guard's mouth. Head and helmet flew back, and the man screeched as his lips split over cracked teeth, and blood and broken teeth fountained from his ruined mouth.

Before the first guard had even dropped to the ground, Ragni was already ducking to avoid a clumsy spear thrust from the second attacker. He still held his spear by the shaft near the bladed end, and he swung it roundhouse, like a club, into his opponent's knee. The man yelped and dropped to one knee, and Ragni brought the spear haft around, up over his head, and smashed it down across the top of the second guard's helmet with a resounding crack. The guard's eyes rolled back, and he fell in a senseless heap. Ragni reversed the spear in his hands and stepped over to the first guard with the weapon raised, point down. The man whimpered through hands clasped over his mangled face, and terror shone in his eyes. Ragni heard his name being called insistently from far away, and an odd rushing noise, as if the voice was carried on the wind.

"Ragni! Stop! It's done! You won! It's over!"

There was a light touch on his shoulder, and Ragni spun around on the spot, whirling the spear to the ready. Griffor stood there, distress on his face and sadness in his eyes.

"It's over Ragni, it's over… "

Ragni felt the rage drain out of him like water from a bucket, leaving him weak and weary. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and looked down at the two watchmen. "Are… are they dead?"

Griffor looked around at the men on the ground. "No, but by the Breaker's buttocks, they aren't very far from it." He looked back at Ragni, "Sweet mother's teats! You were about to kill them!"

"I didn't, though." Ragni tossed the spear to the ground with a clatter, his face bleak.

"Not for lack of trying! Dammit Rags! They're guardsmen, not some common street trash! We're gonna catch all kinds of trouble from this!"

"Guardsmen, pfah! Guardsmen didn't act like that when I was — "

"But you're not, you idiot! You're not Sergeant Ragni of the Vertrex's Arm anymore. You're just one more down-and-out, broke old bastard trying to live a bygone dream! Dammit Ragni, this just can't go on! I can't do it anymore. We are in more trouble in more cities than I care to remember!" Griffor inhaled deeply and let his voice drop to a low rumble, "This is the last time for me, Rags. We're done."

"Griff?"

"I told you before, Ragni, I'm trying to leave that life behind me. I've seen too much — too much fighting, too much death. I want to go somewhere quiet, tend a Breaker-begotten garden, maybe learn how to milk a damn goat. Hells below, I may even try to find an ugly old widow who'll take a deadbeat ex-soldier in and let me keep her bed warm at night." Griffor's eyes and voice softened, "This has been a long time coming, Ragni. Peace doesn't suit you. You take care of yourself, and keep in mind you're getting older, so some of these young pups could become a match for you one day soon." He proffered a hand to Ragni.

"Ha! That'll be the day!" Ragni swatted Griffor's hand aside and pulled the man into a tight bear hug, "You go find yerself that widow and goat, Griff, just make sure you remember which one to stick your willy into!" He shoved the heavy purse of coins into Griffor's pocket. "And that should pay for the garden," he said gruffly.

Griffor stepped back and saluted Ragni with three quick fists to his chest, and then walked wordlessly past him and out of the alley. Ragni stared after him for several moments, face expressionless, before he knelt and quickly rifled the barely-conscious men, relieving them of any coin or valuables he could find.

"Sorry boys," he said quietly, "had to give my old buddy a parting gift."

He stood and left the alley.