Rove
The Grasping Isle, Herhor's End
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‘Green Apples in the Basket’ was the somewhat unusual name of this particular establishment. Although the name would suggest it, Rove knew they didn’t have any apples available, let alone green ones. They were far too expensive to import from the mainland to a place as backwater as Herhor’s End. Still, though, the owner, who also doubled as the barkeep most of the time, was a trustworthy guy with a good sense of humour, and the beds weren’t as lumpy as one would expect. And to top it all off, the food served here was warm, tasty and filling. Decently low price too. Perfect for a short overnight stay. A favourite of the more experienced Herhors around here for sure. Rove wasn’t an exception.
As he and Ayuen arrived at the Basket, Rove whistled one of the stableboys over and handed the lad two copper palms to take care of their horse. Seeing the horse being led away, Rove sighed softly, suddenly feeling quite tired. It had been a strange ride here, and he could use a soft bed and some bloody rest. His mental state had gotten quite a few blows tonight. Gesturing towards Ayuen to follow, he went inside before her.
The interior of the common room was pretty much standard fare, rather akin to the Duckling back in Handport. The only major differences here were the dried fruits hanging from the ceiling, with apples being suspiciously absent. The pair made their way to the bar, with Rove nodding politely to some patrons who he knew to be colleagues due to their garb, them nodding back or raising their mugs at him. The owner stood behind the bar, cleaning some of his glasses with a glazed-over and absent-minded look in his eyes. He was a middle-aged Human, and had somewhat of a pot belly. His broad and well-toned arms suggested the man had his fair share of past glory, though. His clothes were simple, plain and effective, and the shimmer of rare steel could be seen under his belt, branding him as quite the cautious man too. As the Herhor reached the bar, he tapped twice on the wood to grab the man’s attention and the barkeep lifted his gaze and set his glasses down.
“Afternoon, barkeep.” Rove greeted, managing a tired smile. “I and my employer here would like to rent out one of your rooms, two beds if possible, with a meal and drinks if at all possible.”
“Oh, thatta be no problem.” Came the response. “Just let me get me wits about me and grab me papers, see what rooms are I got free for ye, ey? Or if ye want to sleep with the horses, that’s fine too, but ye two don’t quite seem like them sort of folk who’d do that.”
Unceremoniously splashing some water into his face, the barkeep took a small booklet from a drawer under the bar, swiftly going through its pages and tracking lines of text with his finger.
“Yeah, two beds shouldn’t be a problem. Heh, even got a single room with a large bed for ye if you two would fancy somethin’ more romantic, hhmm? Take a chance?”
Before he could stop it, his right eye twitched at the thought. His employer wasn’t the ugliest woman he’d seen, but ehm… Yeah, not his type. Beside him, he noticed Ayuen shuffling her feet uneasily, the woman seeming to be on the verge of speaking up. Spotting the possible misunderstandings from a mile away, Rove quickly answered.
“Two separate beds will do, thank you for your concern.” He said with a flat and hurried tone. A glance at Ayuen showed him she was slowly closing her mouth again, a small sly smile around her lips.
“How much will that room cost, with the food and drink included?” He continued.
The barkeep turned some more pages with a disappointed look on his face, muttering something about prices under his breath before he found what the costs were. Rove could hear Ayuen’s light, mirthful chuckle from behind him and the barkeep flashed a quick smile to his female client.
“So one room, two beds. That’ll be one silver finger for the room. Three palms per person extra if ye want some simple food and drink for the evenin’.”
One silver finger for two people was a decent price for a room in a trade-centric village such as this and from prior experience, he knew the rooms here were decent. Without speaking another word, the Herhor fished out two fingers out of his pouch and laid them on the counter with a soft clink.
“Please put the change on the tap, if you will. I’ll be down for a drink later.”
“Alrighty! I’ll see ye soon then.”
As he gave Rove the key, the barkeep took another look at Ayuen, who suppressed a big yawn with the back of her hand.
“Are ye sure ye don’t want that big bed? It’s pretty comfortable sleepin’…”
Giving the barkeep one last stare, Rove started making his way upstairs, with Ayuen following closely.
“Would you mind if I’d take my leave and rest for the rest of the evening, Herhor Rove?” She asked, rubbing her eyes and blinking.
“Not at all. I’d encourage it even. If you need me for some forsaken reason, I’ll be down at the bar. I need a bloody drink before I go to bed.”
“Hhhmmmm, that’s fine.” She murmured softly. At this point, she was more or less just tiredly humming words as they both entered the room. The room wasn’t anything special, just a small space with two beds next to each other and standing about a meter apart. There was a small table in the middle, a bucket of clean water with some brushes in a corner and a window looking over the street. The soft orange light filtered in, the view already getting rather dark.
Putting down his pack in front of the window-side bed, he immediately checked the windows and the beds, making sure there was nothing or nobody hidden there. The water smelled and tasted fine as well. While he was doing so, Ayuen already claimed the other bed on the door side, dozing off on top of the blankets on her back, flipping through the pages of that little notebook he guessed she took notes of the journey in. After he was confident that there was nothing wrong with the room itself, he closed the windows and secured the shutters. Sighing, he turned to Ayuen as he made for the door.
“Miss, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Have a good night.”
She didn’t do as much as look up from her notes, giving but a nod to indicate she’d heard him. For a moment, Rove looked at her wings lightly twitching as she read, the Herhor calming down a little bit at the sight.
Sighing once more and shaking his head, he made his way down, closing the room’s door shut behind him and locking it.
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As he came down the stairs, Rove took a good look around the common room, taking in the patrons sitting and lounging around the place. The tavern was mostly full, the sounds of people talking and gossiping buzzing through the room. There were mostly traders enjoying themselves at the tables, all taking their chances with the dice or gossiping in small groups about the latest trade opportunities. He could see some people with well-maintained bronze weaponry and leather armour too. Probably colleagues, if he had to guess. Grunting softly to himself, he made his way down and headed straight to the bar. He wasn’t feeling like talking about contracts and work at the moment. The barkeep, noticing him sitting down, came to him.
“What can I get ye to get that scary look off yer face?”
He noticed the frown on his face as well. Damnit. The Herhor vaguely gestured towards the bottles lined up behind the bar counter.
“A nice mug of dark ale would be nice if you happen to have any. Something spiced perhaps. Something small and savoury to go with it wouldn’t go unappreciated either.”
The barkeep nodded and gave him an understanding smile, turning around to walk towards the kitchen, to come back with a big mug of dark ale in his right hand, the foam streaming down its sides. In his left he carried a small plate of cheese and sausage, the cheese’s smell stinging the Herhor’s nose. Good cheese, nice.
To Rove’s surprise, the barkeep walked around the bar and sat down on the stool beside his, putting down the ale and food in front of the Herhor.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” The old man said, the heavy accent suddenly gone from his voice. The man’s voice had shifted to become calm and serious, the polar opposite of what it had been when he and Ayuen entered the Basket. That certainly rang some alarm bells in his head. Rove gave the man a suspicious sideways glance as he sipped from his ale.
“You seem to have gotten yourself quite the troublesome contract, Iron Herhor. There’s quite the price on your client’s head under the bandit and lesser mercenaries, you know?”
One of the drawbacks of being a known local. He hadn’t frequented this inn often, but apparently, the owner was well-informed. Too well informed.
“I’m quite aware. But my question to you would be, why would you know all this and take your time telling me.” With all that had happened in the last few days, he had quite some good reasons to be suspicious. His unexpectedly serious drinking companion didn’t seem to mind it though.
“Just take the advice. From an ex-colleague to somebody still in the trade. Even though I don’t take contracts anymore doesn’t mean I’m not involved in anything. If you doubt my advice, go to the office here in town, they’ll confirm what I’m saying.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Rove took a deep swig of his ale and swallowed it with a big ‘Aaahhh’ afterwards, taking a piece of sausage to wash down the ale’s bitter flavour. An ex-colleague with lots of experience. Somebody with a heart for the profession. Intriguing.
“Very well, that’s not too important now anyway. So the bandits have put a price on my head, have they? How much?”
“Well, I’m quite sure it’s not the bandits who are issuing the bounty. They made it seem that way, but the price is way too high for that.”
“Let me guess… Fifteen golden hands, Marlight mint.” There was no doubt in his mind where the bounty had come from. Bloody Tyheart bastards...
The barkeep's lips slowly curled up into a smile, the man’s moustache rising a few centimetres with them.
“Exactly. Not exactly the type nor amount of coin a bandit would be able to come across on these parts.” The barkeep leaned closer in interest.
“You know who the culprit might be?”
Rove looked through the common room and didn’t see any particular faces he recognized. He nodded at his conversational partner.
“Yes, I do. Ran into some trouble on the way here with a couple of mercs. Killed all of them. One of them had quite the finely crafted wooden shield, reinforced with bronze studs and rings which we took after the battle. Also had a full suit of bronze plate, including a bloody full helm. Some very well-maintained weaponry too across the board. Watch out for a symbol with a tree and a heart. Should be quite easy to spot.”
The barkeep leaned backwards, stroking his chin slowly in thought.
“Can’t say I’ve seen or heard of people flying that symbol in a while around here.”
At this, his expression became somewhat surprised.
“’In a while’? Last I heard, mercs or Herhors flying noble colours weren’t very common here.”
“They still aren’t, but I’ve seen a few in the past few weeks. None in the last say…..six days or so though.”
Well, that was good news. Guess they could have a bit of a head start. With him and Ayuen having travelled by horse and all. Still, it was relieving to know the people of the Isle were noticing something was up. Out here, Herhors took care of their own.
“Good to know. Cheers old man.” Rove raised his mug to the barkeep, and the man took one of his own, the container still empty, and clung it to his mug.
“No problem, friend. Now, sorry if I sound a bit eager, but it’s not every day one receives a Herhor with so many rumours behind them in their humble little tavern.”
The barkeep flashed him a grin, his words full of confidence and genuine amusement.
“Would you mind sharing some of your experiences, maybe under the pleasure of another mug of dark ale, hhmm? The next one will be on me.”
At this, Rove couldn’t help but smile. And that smile changed into a laugh rather quickly.
“My exploits? With that tongue of yours, I’d be more interested in what you managed to do in your younger days.”
The older man joined him in his laugh, bellowing a throaty and low laugh through the tavern, turning quite a few curious heads in their direction. The barkeep calmed down a bit again and continued talking in a more subdued voice.
“Me? No, I was just a lowly messenger in my time. You on the other hand. I’ve heard a lot about you. The Herhor with the bronze sabre, an iron will, and the skills to back it all up. Finished all but one of his contracts. You’ve got quite the reputation, my friend.”
The words of the barkeep struck home more than Rove cared to admit. A warmth rose in his chest, and as the man said his praises, the Herhor puffed out his chest that tiny bit extra. Although, at the mention of his one failure, he couldn’t help but twitch a bit. He didn’t like to be reminded of that one bloody mistake he made.
“Well yes.” He took a good long swig of his drink before he continued, wiping off his mouth with a corner of his shirt.
“I’ve worked long and hard to come this far, after all. But I think I have to disappoint you. Not planning on divulging my entire life’s story to you here. Although I might tell you a few of the shorter stories in exchange for a few of your own.” He looked at the older man with a smirk. “Sounds good?”
“I think I can live with that.” The barkeep said, standing up from his chair and giving Rove a friendly slap on the shoulder.
Falling back on the accept he was using, the older man gave Rove a merry wink. “Well then, I think a free dark ale is in order for ye, ey?”
And with that, the barkeep stood up and walked behind his bar again, leaving his customer alone at the bar for a little, while he got the ales he had promised.
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While the barkeep was away, Rove noticed that some of the patrons at one of the tables were getting rather rowdy. They didn’t appear to be locals, being dressed in neither the travelling leathers of a clear trader nor the armaments of a Herhor. Bandits didn’t make much use of the city, due to the large Herhor presence here, so in all likelihood, they weren’t thieves either. There were three troublemakers, two Vysari and a rather massive figure he recognized as being a Jiyt.
The Jiyt were a race of massive people that lived on the plains on the eastern side of the continent. Seeing as the Grasping Eye was situated on the west coast of Lugon, a Jiyt was a rarity. The fact that one was sitting there in this tavern did attract some attention.
The two Vysari who sat with the Jiyt wore rather extravagant clothing, although it was rather dusty and battered. Colourfully embroidered cotton trousers and shirts adorned their bodies, the shouty colours complimenting their apparent attitude perfectly. A symbol was embroidered on the front of their garb. A spinning coin, embossed with a coin pouch. Traders of the Wanderer's Coin merchant guild. One of the most widespread and influential guilds around, even on the Grasping Isle.
The Jiyt meanwhile was clad in a simple shirt that lacked the symbol, with a large bronze axe standing next to him against the table. Hired muscle by the looks of it.
One of the Vysari was ranting against one of the barmaids in a slurred voice, his red cheeks and nose giving away what the main problem was.
“Y-You wench. I… I s-said… Gi-hick… give me anotherrr ale, or I’ll have Ytom here teach you a lessson.”
His companion just nodded drunkenly while laying with his head on the table, murmuring incoherently in a language Rove couldn’t understand. The Jiyt just rolled his eyes at the display of his two protégés.
By now, the Vysari’s bad behaviour began to gather the attention of not only him but also the other Herhors present in the establishment, with a lot of them giving the two annoyed glances. A couple of them pulled their weapons closer for easy access. It was clear the quieter and well-armed patrons didn’t quite appreciate the ruckus. A couple of the Herhors looked around the tavern, nodding to one another.
This was escalating quickly. He wanted a quiet evening, damn it. And by Legria’s tits, he would get it.
He smashed his mug roughly into the bartop, causing the Herhors to look in his direction, questions in their eyes. Some eyes widened as he was recognized, and a few nods later, it was clear people were waiting for him to make a move. You had to love reputation. He nodded to the small group and quickly pointed to himself. Another round of nods followed and the sudden burst of activity seemed to die down, seemingly going back to normal. Rove knew better. The entire tavern knew better, the murmurings of conversation had died down to near silence. Everybody’s attention was on the drunk and the barmaid that was serving him.
To the barmaid’s credit though, she kept as cool as ice under this pressure, just giving the man a disgusted look.
“If your Ytom here has any common sense, he’ll bloody carry you away from here, he would.” She said, giving Ytom a look. The bodyguard just shrugged and shook his head.
“Hhha! He wouldn’t!” The drunk continued. “I ab… am the one that fillsss his pocketsss. I want to stay hick and get anop… anip… more drinks and he lissstens. Now get me MORE!”
‘Guess the bodyguard’s hands are tied.’ Rove thought to himself. A man of the contract it seems. He shook his head and took a swig of his drink. He was in a similar situation as this man, his hand tied by both the letters on that scrap of paper he signed and his pride as a Herhor. By now, the bodyguard was looking through the tavern with a rather helpless look on his face. The barkeep wasn’t here to help now though, and it wasn’t rowdy enough yet for the local bouncers to throw the drunk out of there. Then suddenly, a thought popped up in Rove’s head. That man’s job was to protect his charges. The only thing that needed to happen was a threat that the bodyguard would be forced to get his employees out of there.
“We don’t serve people that are as shit-faced drunk as you are, we do not!” The waitress continued, standing there with her arms crossed. “So shut up or leave, there is nothing in between. Your choice!”
The drunk’s face began to turn even redder at the waitress’ resistance, and that redness didn’t have anything to do with any ale the man might have drunk. Sensing it was time, Rove put down his mug and stood up with a grunt. He took a few steps towards the waitress and her unruly customer. Rove gave his waiting colleagues a thumbs up and silently pointed out where he was going. Four Herhors of different races and armaments stood up, each clad in leather armour and a shiny bronze weapon at their side. With the five of them, they slowly made their way towards the Vysari.
To the bodyguard’s credit, he saw them coming as soon as Rove pointed towards his employees and the Jyit laid his hand on his axe, clearly vigilant and ready.
Silent and full of confidence, the group stopped next to the troublemaker, staring down at him, hands on their weapons. The drunk, not entirely aware of the danger he was finding himself in, turned towards them with a sneer.
“What... you want? Get lossst, pathl… pathi… dumb lowlifesss. Do you have an-…”
“You. Keep your fucking mouth shut. I will not ask again.” Rove interrupted him, his voice and eyes cold as a midwinter storm. “You’ve made quite enough of a ruckus here. You heard the lady. Your drunk face is no longer welcome. So shut up or we’ll cut out your tongue.”
He pulled his sword out of his sheet a couple of centimeters, doing it slowly to make the gesture as threatening as possible. His compatriots did the same, glaring daggers at the drunken Vysari. The drunk’s face went even redder, something that Rove didn’t think that would’ve been possible. Meanwhile, the corners of the bodyguard’s mouth curled up, having caught on to what they were doing. Grasping his axe, the giant man suddenly stood up, toppling his chair. Probably for some added dramatic effect. He was quite an impressive sight, the top of the man’s head almost reaching the ceiling. A good 2.5 to 3 meters tall. Dang, nice.
“I cannot allow you to do that.” He bellowed, his voice loud enough to be heard across the entire common room. “Touch my client and I will have your head, you lowly worm.” Rove would’ve been insulted was it not for the small smile on the man’s face, about a meter above him.
“Sir.” The bodyguard continued. “There are too many of them here. For your own safety, I’ll escort you somewhere more safe and fitting.”
“B-but, I wasssn’t do-... AAGH!” The bodyguard just picked up the trader and his quieter friend, carrying them both outside of the tavern. Just when he left, the giant turned around and smiled, nodding thankfully before finally leaving. Rove answered with a smile and a wink himself. The Herhors near him sniggered and put their weapons into their scabbards again. Clapping both him and each other on the shoulders, they went back to their drinking. With the cause of all that drama gone, conversations slowly began to resume, and soon it was business as usual as if nothing happened, although the atmosphere was more cheerful as a whole now.
Turning around himself, Rove began to walk back to the bar and when he passed his four colleagues, he held up a fist. One by one, the Herhors bumped their fist against his, a grin on their faces as they resumed their banter with their friends.
For a moment, Rove thought about joining a table for some chatter but decided against it. The barkeep was still gone and the only other company Rove had was probably scribbling away the time upstairs. He sat down on his barstool again, laying his right foot on his left knee, content with relaxing a bit as he took up his mug again. Just as he finished the last of his dark ale, the bartender came back, two fresh tankards in hand. To the man’s credit, he did notice that something had happened, noticing the drunkards had gone and the change in the general vibe in his tavern. The older human sat down next to Rove, putting the full tankard of ale next to him while taking a swig himself.
“So, somethin’ good happened?” He inquired.
Rove couldn’t help but give the bartender a broad smile while he picked up his tankard.
“Oh, nothing much. Just a nice show of solidarity.”
‘When this is all over, I really should return here.’ He thought to himself, determined to enjoy the evening. Being contracted didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the smaller parts of life. Sometimes he almost forgot, and shame on him for that.
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