CHAPTER 21

“What’ll it be?” the one-eyed bartender said without looking up as Kopius approached the actual bar inside the tavern. Oh shit, a cyclops, Kopius thought before remembering that he was in some kind of magical, medieval world–game, not a world, a game.

“I’m… uh, looking for someone I was supposed to meet here?” Kopius replied, scanning the various bottles that lined the shelf behind the man. The cyclops spit into the mug he was cleaning, ran a dirty rag inside it, and placed it under the bar. His one eye lazily veered in Kopius’s direction and looked him up and down.

“I ain’t in the business of people watching, friend, or people finding for that matter,” the bartender replied. It was clear Kopius was not, in fact, a friend. “If you’re looking for bounties, you’ll find it across the way with the law.” The bartender turned back to his business of cleaning.

“I’m not doing bounties,” Kopius began, not allowing his tiredness to lead to frustration. “He told me to meet him here for a drink.”

“Drinks I can do. What’ll it be?” Throwing his rag over his shoulder, the large one-eyed man leaned against the counter and waited for an answer.

“I–ah, don’t have any money right now. The guy I am meeting will, his name is–”

“Boy, names mean nothing to me unless we exchange coins or goods.”

“What about services?” Kopius asked.

“Services?” the man said with a huff.

“Yeah, like a cellar full of large rats to clear out or something?” Kopius said with a straight face.

“Nope,” the man said without blinking.

“A spider's nest to get rid of?”

He shook his head, visibly annoyed.

“Fine, fine,” Kopius said, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “What goods do you take?” The cyclops' gaze traveled to the pouch that was tied about Kopius’s waist and gave a look that suggested whatever Kopius had to offer wasn’t going to be enough for even a drop of water.

Kopius, reading the man’s expression, started to feel the heat rise in his body. This asshole thinks I'm some broke-ass beggar or something, Kopius complained internally. This would have been a moment in Cory’s existence to use an almost-maxed-out credit card and proclaim loudly that “drinks are on me!”

Absent a delinquent credit card, Kopius reached into the small pouch, summoned a healing potion, and pulled it out like a valuable stone. The eye of the barkeep widened ever so slightly, enough to give Kopius the clue that this was one of those ‘goods’ that would get him a drink, or three. A smirk crossed the lips of Kopius as he placed the potion bottle atop the bar.

“What will this get me?” Kopius asked with all the smugness that he could muster.

“That will get you drunk for a night or two and a room; or poached by the first scoundrel that sees what you're carrying,” the bartender said, clearly giving more of a warning than a value proposition.

The cyclops glanced over Kopius’s shoulder and before the two could start to bargain, a portly man slid next to Kopius with a devilish grin on his own. The man had a greasy, gritty pig-face and a swine's snout adorned with several piercings. He was a head shorter than Kopius and was dressed like someone who spent most of his time in the wilderness. A few sheathed knives were about his exposed belly on a belt that struggled to remain clasped.

“That, my friend,” the greasy man said nodding at the vial, ”will get you the name and location of anyone you may be looking for.” The man spoke with a slight lisp that sounded like the beginning of a drunken slur. “It could also get you the best drinks Sloan has to offer for the night,” the snouted man continued, nodding towards the one-eyed barkeep. Sloan, apparently the name of the unwelcoming bartender, had leaned back from the conversation, seemingly wanting no part of it. “But that’s not the best you could get for that potion you got there.”

“No?” Kopius inquired. He returned the potion to the pouch and rested his back against the bar. ”What would the best deal be?”

“Your safety, of course.” The man smiled a bit wider, his grin exposing yellowish-green teeth with gaps where others had gone missing. His breath was vile, causing Kopius to gag slightly, which only made the man's grin grow wider. Kopius brought his hand up, he cleared his throat and waved the man's intrusive breath away.

The pig-faced man suddenly had a knife out, poking it against his gut. Kopius froze, thoroughly surprised things had escalated so quickly. He raised his hands up as though the man had pulled a gun on him. The little pig man sliced the pouch from where it was tied on Kopius’s belt, spit in his face, and turned away as though nothing had occurred. Kopius quickly wiped the loogie off his face; anger rapidly taking shape in his mind.

It was one thing for him to be robbed–after all, he kinda… sorta–you know–flaunted the vial for everyone to see BUT getting spit in the face was a rage-inducing level of disrespect. He hadn’t taken into consideration that he was a new face in an old town which probably didn’t see new faces very often. Anyone looking to take advantage of a newbie, especially a newbie seemingly by themselves and visibly unarmed, would be watching. A quick glance around the occupants of the bar and Kopius could tell none had seen a thing. They remained too lost in their own conversations or miseries to notice.

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Or they don’t care, he thought.

Kopius tried to calm his growing ire, slow down his breathing. He knew he would need to have his head on straight for what was going to happen next. The pig-man managed to get several paces away before he stopped in his tracks. That was the amount of time that Kopius had to get his head right. The greasy man turned slowly, chuckling to himself.

“You think you can pull a fast one on Brizzl,” the short pig-faced man spouted, catching the attention of the patrons that were close by. Brizzl raised the pouch and turned it upside down. A few flowers and small rocks fell to the floor at his feet.

“Where’s the potion, boy?” the man said–louder now, so that everyone in the bar could hear. The closer customers picked up their drinks and made for the back of the room, clearing out the general area around Brizzl and Kopius.

In his past, Cory was no stranger to fights. Both in his nightlife of big cities or in prison, he had been in his fair share of fisticuffs. He often relied on his speed to overcome an opponent, though it hadn’t always worked in his favor. His biggest issue was that he generally didn’t throw the first punch, mostly in hopes that things could be worked out another way. Because of that, he’d lost a lot of those fights. Prison had helped him see the value of striking first, even if he didn’t want to.

Kopius did not have to think long on how things would pan out here. Even if Kopius wanted to use his words or run out the door, he already knew that wasn’t an option–that spit to his face had cemented the idea of beating this guy senseless. Kopius reached down his trousers, summoned the potion bottle, and pulled his hand back out.

“This potion?” Kopius replied, holding the vial in his hands. A grin passed across the face of Brizzl, and he pulled out his knife again.

“Now, why don’t you hand that over so we don’t leave a mess.” Brizzl replied.

“How about you buy me a drink and I’ll give it to you?” Kopius offered, giving the impression of diplomacy.

“I’d rather gut you and save myself the coin,” Brizzl replied with a sneer, taking a step forward.

“Alright, alright,” Kopius said sheepishly and took a step forward as well, making the distance between them just a few steps. Kopius, being right-handed, was mindful to take his first step forward with his left foot to give himself proper leverage.

Once that foot had touched the floor, Kopius said, “Here,” and tossed the glass vial in a high arc, almost reaching the ceiling, toward Brizzl. Knowing this old baseball prank worked ninety-nine times out of one hundred, Kopius wasted no time closing the short distance to the distracted Brizzl.

While the man’s eyes were focused on the vial, Kopius landed a solid, bone-crunching punch to the man's greasy snout and sent him sprawling to the ground. He then stomped on the outstretched arm holding the knife and kicked it away once it fell out of the man's hand.

Just as Kopius cast his gaze about for the flying potion vial, his legs were swept out from underneath him and he fell hard to the floor, banging the back of his head. Kopius quickly returned to his feet. Once he had his bearings he realized it was too late, Brizzl was already bull rushing him. The pig-man lifted Kopius up in a strong bear-like hug before slamming him down hard on a solid wooden bench. The impact drove the back of his head into the wood, air from his lungs and he was only able to get a short gasp before a strong hand clenched around his throat.

Brizzl had Kopius pinned to the bench, one hand squeezing his neck and his other hand pounding into his sides. Kopius squirmed and shifted, trying to give himself the slightest respite. He scraped at Brizzl’s eyes, and then punched him in his nose again. The fat man winced, loosening the grip around his neck enough that Kopius sucked in air before the hand clamped down again. The meager breath he managed to get in helped him gain a semblance of focus.

With his left hand, Kopius was able to grab the wrist pounding into his sides and momentarily stop the blows. With his right hand, for no other reason than to give Brizzl what he wanted, Kopius summoned another healing potion. In a swift fluid motion he smashed it into the side of Brizzl’s face, shattering the bottle in the process and sending the pig-faced man crashing back to the floor.

Kopius, gasping in air, got to his feet. His neck burned and the sporadic air intake felt like a metal searing his throat. As best he could he took stock of his surroundings.

Brizzl laid motionless on the tavern floor, blood leaking from his face. Kopius went to pick up a chair to smash on the man, but then felt a painful sting from his right hand. He looked to see his hand was sliced in several places, a victim of the potion bottle breaking.

As he looked though, his hand began to heal, the lacerations closing until they left no trace of the wounds; not even a scar. He then looked back at Brizzl and saw that the man’s face was also in a state of healing. Even with the pig-man’s face healed he remained motionless on the floor. Still in his rage, Kopius picked up the closest chair and raised it over his head.

“That’ll do!” came a booming, familiar voice from behind. Kopius turned around and saw Cici leaning against the bar. The big man turned to barkeep, made a gesture, and was given two large mugs.

“Cici?” Kopius coughed out, between gasping breaths, still holding the chair above his head.

“If it ain’t the Shadow of the Valley himself!” Cici announced with a great laugh. “I told you, Sloan, this is the lad that almost had me running for the hills!” Sloan looked at Kopius with the slightest hint of awe, at least as much as a one-eyed man could portray.

“Let us have a drink and talk about your adventures!” Cici continued as he made his way to a private booth. Kopius looked about the bar–all eyes were focused on him. After a moment, he absently let the chair drop behind him and it clattered to the ground. He gave Brizzl another look, spit on the unconscious swine, and walked back to the bar while rubbing at his sore throat. A blank window popped in his field of vision and he instinctively took a swing at it before closing it with his mind.

“Here’s that drink… Sir Shadow,” Sloan said shakily, sliding the mug toward Kopius.

“I’m not–” Kopius sputtered, his throat very much in pain from almost being choked to death. “I’m not the Shadow or the Valley or whatever–he’s just… he thinks he's funny.” Kopius finished, grabbing the drink.

Another blank window with gray borders popped into view. He was confused for a moment before remembering that Cici had offered him a drink and that he was now, technically completing what he assumed was an optional quest. Better get some XP with that shit, Kopuis complained internally, then took his place in the booth opposite Cici.