Chapter 1: The Tavern Fight

Katalin stood outside the Dragon's Tooth Tavern, the crisp winter night biting at her cheeks, knowing that if she entered, she would almost certainly die. From within, raucous laughter and tankard clinks spilled out--a jarring contrast to the grief thickening the air around her. This was the place where her world had shattered a week ago when her father and husband were murdered.

She knew she wasn't ready, but feared her resolve would fade if she waited. She glanced down at her equipment, examining it with a critical eye. Her shield was a beautiful piece of smithing, the last thing Gregory, her late husband, had made before his death. Katalin marveled at its craftsmanship, the polished metal gleaming even in the dim moonlight. Its weight served as a solemn reminder of his stolen life.

Cradled in her hands was her most prized possession - the ornate warhammer she had crafted with the help of her father. The hammer had been ordered as a gift for the Duke's nephew, Laszlo. He was one of the men waiting for her inside the tavern, the man responsible for her husband's death in what the Duke's tribunal deemed a "fair fight".

She almost smiled looking at the rest of her "armor". She wore her blacksmith apron over a heavy wool sweater, leather boots and gloves and an oversized helmet, padded with cloth to stay on. The helmet had been left at the smithy for repairs and forgotten.

With a deep breath, she pushed aside her doubts and fears, focusing solely on the task at hand. Steeling her nerves, she pulled open the heavy wooden door. As she stepped across the threshold, raucous noise clarified into drunken singing paired with clinking mugs. The fire's warmth enveloped her, a jarring contrast to the icy purpose gripping her heart.

All heads turned, conversations dying as she entered. She felt their stares sweep her, confusion rippling through the crowd at her appearance. Gone was the happy village blacksmith with warm brown eyes. In her place stood a figure both ominous and tragic, the firelight from the large stone hearth casting flickering shadows across Katalin's face.

Her worn leather apron seemed almost comically workaday against the obviously high quality warhammer gracing her calloused hands. Mud crusted her scuffed boots while limp strands of hair escaped the overlarge helmet. Despite her appearance, Katalin exuded a sense of resolute determination.

As she scanned the room, Katalin saw each person outlined in shimmering colors - a newly awakened ability inherited from her father the moment he died. She did not fully understand the visions, she had witnessed deep green auras around her mother and lighter blues around the familiar faces of her father's apprentice and the workmen at the forge. The few others she had seen were those coming to pay respects for the passing of Henrik and Gregory, but she had still been deep in pain and delirium as her body adjusted to the abilities passed on from her father. At the time her vision had been nothing but a blur and she barely recalled seeing the visitors as anything but a foggy mix of pale yellows and blues. All but one, who's aura had been a bright vivid pink, but Katalin had put that image out of her mind and tried very hard not to think about it.

Here in the tavern, the patrons' outlines appeared as a dim rainbow, shifting through various pale shades of green, blue and yellow that held no meaning for her. Unsettled, she sensed the hazy outlines mirrored her own unsteady emotions, blurred at times by the rawness of her grief and spiking adrenaline. The once-familiar tavern now felt unpredictable, the auras of its occupants changing too rapidly for her to grasp. She longed for the deeper comforting greens of her mother or the lighter, steadier hues of the forge workers rather than the chaotic swirl confronting her. Ignoring her visions, she pushed through and walked deeper into the tense room, determined to see her purpose through.

The tavern patrons held their breath as she stepped into the dimly lit space, her entrance commanding the attention of every occupant. The anticipation was palpable as she surveyed the transformed interior. The center floor had been cleared, tables pushed against the walls leaving a large empty space between her and the bar at the far end of the room. The crowded room was a mix of familiar faces from the village and unknown figures, all men except for the two barmaids in their midst who had also frozen in place to watch Katalin.

On the other side of the clear space stood Laszlo, clad in chain armor with a longsword hanging from his side and a shield on his left arm. Surprisingly Katalin saw his aura as a light shade of pink, a pale imitation of the aura of the one person she refused to think about. He stood relaxed, his eyes fixed on Katalin. It was evident he had been anticipating her arrival. The only people behind Laszlo at the bar were the rotund cleric, Durkston, and the lanky bartender, Fredrick.

"Good, you're here early. I was afraid I'd have to wait half the night," he said with a smirk.

"You knew I was coming?" Katalin asked.

"Everyone knew you were coming. Even at the tribunal we heard about you ranting from your sickbed thirsting for revenge."

"Revenge? It's justice. You and your pigs murdered my father and Gregory", Katalin said through gritted teeth.

Laszlo, seemingly unfazed, dismissed her claim. "Murder? Your foolish husband is the one who challenged me. And your father was an accident. Azz and Val thought he was attacking me."

"You waited for Gregory to be drunk then badgered and insulted him. I know what happened that night."

"It's not my fault your husband had no sense of humor. He should have been pleased that someone so far above his station would even deign to notice him," said Laszlo.

"Liar. You killed a good man because he had something you couldn't. Did you think I would come to you now, or was this just to punish me for rejecting you all those years ago?"

"Come to me?" Laszlo scoffed. "As if I would want anything to do with a common piece like you," he dismissed. "And one who spends all day sweating and grunting in a smith. Be serious."

"I will be serious," Kaitlin declared, her grip tightening on her warhammer. Laszlo, noticing the weapon, remarked casually:

"I see you have brought my uncle's gift. That's very kind of you."

Looking back around the room for Azarillo and Valfisk Katalin asked Laszlo, "And where are your pig friends anyway?"

Laszlo, unbothered, revealed that the duke had banished his comrades. With a smirk and a shrug he added, "I've been told to stay out of trouble. But is it my fault if I am having a drink with my friend," he said gesturing behind him at Durkston. "And some madwoman barges in here and attacks me?"

"Fine. So just you then," Katalin said, her determination unwavering.

With measured steps, she approached Laszlo, her blacksmith's apron swaying with each determined stride. She pulled the shield off her back and held it defensively in front, and carried the warhammer low at her side. The room seemed to contract with every step she took, the weight of her purpose pressing down.

Laszlo held up a hand causing Katalin to pause. His voice cutting through the charged air. "Go home," he urged her, his tone devoid of remorse. "There's no reason for you to die. And Fredrick has done nothing all afternoon but complain about how hard it was to clean up all the blood. And besides, I would hate for my uncle to be mad at me again."

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Enraged, she charged at him, her hammer raised, ready to deliver justice. The tavern's patrons leaned forward, eyes fixed on the unfolding confrontation. As Katalin closed the distance, the pink outline of Laszlo in her vision unexpectedly shifted to blood red, catching her off guard.

Katalin swung her hammer, undeterred, hoping the newly discovered strength coursing through her-- another ability from her late father-- might catch Laszlo off guard. The clash was imminent, and the outcome uncertain, but in that moment, Katalin's determination burned brighter than ever.

The Dragon's Tooth Tavern became an arena, the air charged with tension as Katalin's hammer swung towards Laszlo. In a swift move, he easily deflected her attack with his shield and drew his sword. Dealing her a degrading blow as she passed by, Laszlo swung his sword, the flat of the blade striking her backside in a vulgar display of contempt.

"Pig," Katalin said turning back and resuming her attack.

The fight unfolded in a chaotic dance. Katalin launched attacks, and Laszlo, with casual ease, either deflected or sidestepped her blows. Amidst the clash, confusion set in for Katalin as ghostly images of Laszlo attacking or defending clouded her vision. The predictions were unreliable; sometimes, Laszlo mirrored the visions, but more often, he diverged from the expected moves.

As the skirmish unfolded within the confined space of the tavern, a malevolent smirk etched itself onto Laszlo's lips, his arrogance becoming increasingly pronounced. With each artful evasion of Katalin's blows, he reveled in the spectacle, relishing the opportunity to demean her further. His taunts, once mere echoes in the clamor of the tavern, grew louder and more venomous.

"You hit hard. I am impressed," said Laszlo. "The last time I felt strength like that was from a charging knight on horseback. It must be all those years of swinging a hammer at the forge. Or is it from swinging a much smaller hammer since you married that simpleton husband?"

"Katalin tuned out his lewd taunts, focused solely on the fight at hand. She continued her assault, circling and attacking from all angles, searching for any opening to break through his defense."

In a calculated move, Laszlo parried one of Katalin's strikes effortlessly, seizing the opening to twist the knife of disdain deeper. "You know, you fight much better than your poor Gregory. We had to loan him a sword and I swear he barely knew which end to hold" he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. His gaze bore into Katalin, assessing her with an air of superiority that bordered on cruelty.

Laszlo's cruel comparison was a deliberate attempt to exploit Katalin's grief, a calculated strike to demoralize her further. The patrons, once mere spectators, became unwilling witnesses to this assault on Katalin's emotions. The weight of her loss intensified, fueling Katalin's determination to avenge her father and husband.

With a fire burning within her, Katalin tightened her grip on the warhammer, Laszlo's attempt to degrade her had stoked the flames of her resolve. Fueled by both grief and fury, and the frustration of not having been able to land even a single blow Katalin renewed her attacks becoming more and more reckless.

Seizing an opportunity when Katalin's overly aggressive onslaught left her off balance, Laszlo callously kicked her feet from under her. She sprawled on the tavern floor, her ill-fitting helmet bouncing away. The patrons observed in tense silence at the expectation that Laszlo would finally finish the fight.

From behind the bar, Durkston laughed and said, "Looks like the wench is ready to yield. Maybe it is time you sheathed that longsword and drew the other."

Laszlo, smiling cruelly and reveling in the degradation, turned towards Durkston, responding with an equally crude remark, "True. She would forget that idiot husband soon enough."

Amidst the lewd exchange, in Katalin's vision, a bright glow enveloped Laszlo's left knee. A surge of realization coursed through her, and like a coiled spring released, she swung her hammer with unbridled force, landing a devastating blow on the glowing knee.

A cry of pain echoed through the tavern as Laszlo, unable to withstand the impact, collapsed to the ground before her. The once-arrogant fighter now writhed in agony, his earlier confidence shattered. The spectators, stunned by the unexpected turn of events, watched as Katalin, drained and emotionally spent, rose to her knees next to the fallen Laszlo. Taking a deep breath she prepared to finish the fight for good when she witnessed a vivid transformation in her vision: Laszlo's head was now bathed in a pulsating red glow. With her eyes fixed on the disoriented Laszlo before her she summoned every ounce of her remaining strength. From her kneeling position, she swung her hammer in a sweeping arc, aiming for the source of the pulsing red light.

In a surprising display of resilience, Laszlo, despite his shock and pain, proved his mettle as a seasoned fighter. He reacted swiftly, raising his shield to block the impending blow. The clash of metal against metal echoed through the tavern.

Laszlo's shield managed to intercept Katalin's strike, but the force behind the blow was overwhelming. The impact drove the edge of the shield into his helmet, the metal crumpling with a sickening crunch as it pressed into his skull. The onlookers winced at the gruesome sight, expecting the fight to reach its fatal conclusion.

To the astonishment of everyone, Laszlo, though battered and bloodied, survived the brutal hit. He sat up with arms slumped, his sword forgotten beside him. His legs sprawled in front, and his once-confident gaze was replaced with a vacant stare. Drool trickled down the corner of his mouth, and his eyes seemed to look through Katalin rather than at her.

Katalin, stared at the aftermath of her powerful strike. The tavern remained in stunned silence as she processed the unexpected outcome. This was not the triumphant moment she had envisioned. Laszlo, though incapacitated, remained among the living. In her vision the red outline of his body faded so as to be barely perceptible.

As she slowly rose to her feet, staggering back a few steps in exhaustion a torrent of conflicting emotions surged within her. The promise of further retribution still grasped tightly in her hand in the form of her hammer, but she hesitated to strike someone so defenseless. Laszlo's defeated form before her, still and helpless, presented an unexpected dilemma that challenged the core of who she believed herself to be.

In her confusion Katalin looked down at her hammer and the moment passed. She had sworn to the memory of her father that with this hammer she would bring justice. Looking back to Laszlo she took a step forward, determination etched on her face, ready to deliver the final blow.

However, the scene took an unexpected turn. Durkston, the overweight cleric who had been present throughout the confrontation, had stepped forward while she gathered her resolve, blocking Katalin's path. His inebriated state didn't deter him as he raised his arms in a attempt to halt her impending strike.

"Enough woman!" He thundered arrogantly.

Katalin, fueled by adrenaline and the intensity of the moment, did not even try to register what he was saying. He was only an obstacle in her way. As she started to step around him, the clergyman shifted to obstruct her way once more. Face reddening, he raised his hands commandingly.

"I forbid this! It's over!"

Frustrated at being blocked from her target, Katalin swept her shield out, slamming its heavy steel face into Durkston's meaty frame with brute force. With a startled cry of pain, he was lifted off his feet and sent reeling back to crash in a heap of smashing chairs and tables, fresh screams erupting from those barely dodging his flailing form.

Katalin peered down impassively at the cleric's crumbled form before turning her attention back to her true focus. Laszlo still sat there, defenseless and vacant, awaiting her judgment...

Katalin took a final step in his direction, but before raising her hammer she looked around the tavern once more and was met with a sea of shocked and disbelieving faces. The patrons, who had been witnesses to the brutal clash between her and Laszlo, now stared at her in a mixture of horror and awe. The auras she now saw were greatly changed. No longer a dim kaleidoscope of soft colors they were now a swirling mix of purples, ugly shades of green and yellow with a mix of red and orange. She did not know what these new colors meant but she did know that the way her village saw her had changed forever.

Her gaze returned to Laszlo, drooling and staring blankly into the distance. His once-proud form was now a broken and battered shell, a testament to the cost of her vengeance. His mangled left leg grotesquely contorted, blood seeping out of his caved-in helmet-- a gruesome sight echoing the brutality she had inflicted.

Katalin felt sudden unease welling up within. Destroying Laszlo had been her desperate hope of gaining justice by luck and fury. But now with him helpless before her, certainty wavered over what came next. Avenging family honor had propelled her this far - yet slaying a defenseless man echoed the cowardice of those she hated. Laszlo's arrogance was paltry rather than frightening in this moment.

Looking away from the defeated Laszlo and scanning the crowd she backed towards the tavern's exit, the silence enveloping the room echoing her internal conflict. Half way to the door she turned and rushed the final distance, desperate to escape the turmoil within.

With a final act of defiance, Katalin slammed the door shut behind her, the sound resonating through the quiet night. The cold air outside embraced her, offering a stark contrast to the tumult within the tavern. Alone on the cobblestone street, Katalin grappled with the consequences of her actions, the weight of her decisions settling upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The road ahead remained uncertain, and the echoes of the tavern's stunned silence lingered in her wake. She turned and headed for home.