Daenan muttered numerous curses behind his visor as he walked down the stairs towards the taproom. The conversation had made him recall memories he preferred to leave buried. He was annoyed at his friend, even though he knew the little one didn't deserve it. It wasn't Faen's fault that everyone only thought of Orcs as barbaric creatures. He caught himself in the nick of time, his armoured fist a hair's width away from smashing a hole through the wooden wall in anger. He suppressed the hideous truth that the members of his kin that roamed these lands were indeed nothing but hideous, vile and violent beasts and tried to smooth out the lines of anger on his face. Bad enough that he was green, had massive fangs and more teeth than most Men were comfortable with. No need to further scare them.
As he entered the taproom he was warmly greeted by the other guards and some of the patrons that knew him. Marcus barely spared a glance and a friendly nod for him, for the short merchant was too busy gorging himself on a substantial amount of food. Where the tiny man put it all was anyone's guess.
Walking towards his colleagues, Daenan sat down, the bench creaking slightly under his weight. A call for more drinks went out while the Orc took off his helmet and slid it down his back. He smiled broadly at those around him and started to relax. Friendly banter, strong tales and stronger ale never failed to cheer him up. It wasn't quite like home, but it sufficed. Mug after mug was emptied and soon people started showing signs of minor intoxication. Laughs became louder, smiles were wider and the slaps on the back became harder. When one of the guards made the mistake of slapping Daenan with as much force as the bloke could muster, Daenan's grin was all the warning the poor fellow got before a massive smack echoed through the room as the guard's head dipped straight into his plate. The rest of the table roared and whistled in approval, which doubled when Daenan obviously lied about being sorry and profusely apologised. The man was a good sport about it and the event was soon forgotten as more ale was brought forth and another old, embarrassing memory was brought to the front.
When the serving girl set down a new tankard in front of Daenan, she made quite a show of leaning against him, her ample chest pressing hard against his shoulder, earning the pair plenty of hoots from the others. She grinned broadly at the group, gave the Orc a quick kiss on the cheek and to everyone's amusement and Daenan's embarrassment, she smacked him hard on the ass.
"Would be a shame if you turned violent, you know? You could charge all the way up to the third room on the left on the first floor, open that damnable door that—" she turned towards the bar where the innkeeper was slowly washing glasses and mugs and shouted "— still needs to have its hinges oiled", before continuing her lecherous chat. "And have your way with me without me being able to do anything about it." She gave him a wink and slid her hands across his armour, causing the Orc to raise his arms and shoo her off. She laughed and started to walk away, throwing her arms up in desperation and Daenan made use of the moment to smack her on her ass as well, causing her to yelp and jump. She managed to keep her angry glare up for about two seconds before it was replaced by a broad grin and she joined the others in their laughter.
"Invitation still stands, big boy." She blew him a kiss and ran off as the innkeeper shouted for her to stop flirting and start bringing drinks again.
Daenan started to relax. Properly relax. His language became less guarded, more swear words slipping in with every drink he took. People started to arm wrestle and within a handful of matches everyone started to pile on him. Bets were exchanged as he took on the majority of the inn's clientele one after another. That was an old game he and the guards often played, and even though some of the inn's customers were wise to their tricks, the numerous drinks had dulled their senses. The first matches the tall Orc won without much trouble, easy squashing any resistance under loud cheers and applause. Then the victories started being harder to gain, but they were still inevitable. After more than two dozen contests, Daenan's face contorted with effort and concentration as his hand wavered back and forth, between victory and defeat. One of the stronger, broader men in the room saw his chance and walked over to the table with much bravado. As he sat down and flexed his massive arms the room went silent for a brief moment before people started shouting and new round of bets was noted down. Daenan grinned, but there was uncertainty looming behind his eyes. The broad man flashed the Orc a cocky grin. Somewhere in the distance the serving girl shouted that she'd bed the winner, a comment received with plenty of hoots and people slapping the contestants on the back while making remarks that seared Daenan's eyes.
As the final bets of those willing were placed, weighing heavily against Daenan, despite most of the guards betting heavily on their champion and shouting with slurred voices how he was absolutely unbeatable and they'd regret their choices. The serving girl quickly declared herself referee and eyed both men with a luscious lick of the lips before she placed her hands on the men's. She counted down and the game began. The muscles in their arms went taut as they exerted massive amounts of strength. The crowd erupted, cheered, yelled and screamed as Daenan's arm slowly started bending, his hand going down in the wrong direction. More bets were placed as the handful of undecided patrons realised the victor was certain and in the midst of it all people overlooked that the innkeeper left the bar to place down a few crowns on Daenan.
As the Orc's hand was a mere few inches away from defeat, his expression changed. "Everyone done betting?" he asked. Seeing that it was indeed done, he grinned broadly at his public, flashing them his full set of teeth. He turned his gaze at his opponent and smiled at him. It was a smug smile, full of pride, and it was well deserved as he started pressing the massive man. Slowly but certainly the tables turned as the Orc started exerting himself properly. The cocky grin remained as desperation etched ugly lines on the man's face who just now realised that he had been played the fool. For that matter, so did the rest of the crowd, the impending loss of their coin slowly rousing their intoxicated minds. As the battling hands crossed the halfway point, the serving girl winked playfully at Daenan and blew him another kiss. The guards cheered, the slightly sober patrons that had bet on the Orc did the same, the innkeeper grinned, the other betters desperately urged their player to not give up, to aim for victory, Marcus ate, and in the midst of this chaos, Daenan smashed his opponent's hand down onto the table.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As the coins were collected and heated argument over whether the game was fair or not erupted, Daenan wrapped his arm around his opponent's neck and pulled him close before emptying his tankard over the man's head under loud cheers. The man returned the favour a moment later and the two engaged in a moment of mutually trying to crush the other in a violent hug that would grind lesser beings to dust. This settled the argument and under loud applause the massive man grabbed another tankard, dubbed Daenan Champion of the Inn and a true Man amongst Men, before emptying this tankard on the Orc's head as well. Within moments everyone joined him and the poor Orc was utterly drenched in ale. The room quieted down again when Daenan's colleagues carried in a large barrel, two men on each end, and put it down in front of him. Everyone backed away from the green giant as he adjusted his stance and grabbed the edge of the barrel, slowly lifting it. The liquor soaking his gauntlets squelched as he dug his fingers into the wood as he steadily brought the entire thing above his head. He opened his mouth, as if to call a colleague over to unfasten the lid so he could douse himself in it, seemed to change his mind, then slowly shook his head.
"That'd be a waste, wouldn't it?" he asked, before letting the barrel slide out of his hands. He took a step backwards at lightning speed, brought his hands down and caught it, carefully putting it down on the floor. He looked around, eyed the quiet audience, then smashed his hand through the lid. "Barrel's on me!" he bellowed, and the room erupted in cheers once more.
Thoroughly doused in alcohol, intoxicated by the victory and the girl who was quite pretty, for a human at least, dancing around him and constantly skirting the border between flirtatious and raunchy, darting across one side to nimbly land in the other every so often, and drunk on the atmosphere he nearly missed the sound. Nearly. It brought him out of his stupor immediately and his hands slid across his weapons that were, as always, slung across his back. He never went anywhere without them. He felt the urge to put his helmet back on, but suppressed it. Not yet. Then the door was kicked open and the source of the sound entered. The fanatics of the Flame, who had drawn their swords only moments before, burst into the inn.
The crowd went silent, men pausing mid-drink and the serving girl fell against Daenan's broad chest, as she had been leaning in to kiss him on the cheek the moment before. The only sound that remained was that of the innkeeper nervously wiping the bar and Marcus who didn't bother to look up from his meal. Two dozen armed men spread around the taproom, surrounding the clientele, their swords pointing down but looking no less threatening for that. The leader of the group stepped forward, a tall, handsome man with a large mustache and a golden blazon embroidered on his shirt. He eyed everyone present as if they were a group of cockroaches, his blue eyes full of disdain.
"There have been reports that heretics and criminals are being harboured here, committing crimes against humanity and violating the Lord's commandments. We are here to root out the filth that plagues this fair city. Rest assured, if you are found innocent you will be let go and you shall receive a crown as compensation for the caused inconvenience. If you are found guilty, however, you shall burn at the stake. Now— By the Lord! You!" he shouted, pointing dramatically at Daenan. "Take off that hideous mask right now! How dare you wear something as vile as that and—" the man paused and fell silent. Not a very uncommon thing when Daenan stood up to his full height, rather than slightly bending to make himself look less threatening. His dark eyes stared intensely at the man. Tall as the man was, he was still shorter than the Orc, and where the leader of the fanatics looked handsome and impressive, Daenan looked rough and dominating.
Under the gaze of two dozen armed men and nearly a score of patrons, Daenan slowly stepped towards the leader, seemingly without a care in the world. "Is there something wrong with my face, good sir?" he asked, his voice calm, polite. A soft smile on his face. Now Marcus looked up, as he sensed that his meal was in danger. His eyes took in the scene, widened considerably and he started gulping down what remained of his food as fast as possible.
"Your face? There is no way an Orc can be in the city! The Lord would not—"
"Shh. Be quiet little man." Daenan pressed his finger against the man's lips and mustache and the man fell quiet, intimidated by the Orc's aura. "You see, me and my friends here had a lovely evening so far. Everything a proper evening in an inn should have. Good drinks. Decent food. Good company. Pretty wenches all over me. But there was one thing missing, and I am truly, truly glad you have arrived to bring me that. Now I can truly say that the evening is complete."
The man regained some of his composure and took a quick step back, bringing his sword up and holding it steadily in between him and the Orc. Daenan was impressed. The man was experienced if he could maintain his composure despite the aura pressing down on him. "What do you mean, vile beast?"
"Oh, you know. What every bar needs once in a while."
Daenan grinned, Marcus swallowed, the leader blinked and the next moment Daenan advanced on him. The man tried to stab him only to discover that the Orc was much faster than him as his sword was batted aside by a casual wave from Daenan's armoured hand. Grabbing the man by the shirt and trousers, he lifted him above his head as he had done with the barrel earlier.
Looking around the room, seeing both the patrons and the fanatics back up a bit, he flashed them all his teeth again and bellowed "Bar fight!" at the top of his lungs, before throwing the man into his comrades. Not giving them a chance to recover and raise their blades, he charged them.
As the patrons followed his lead and started pelting the armed men with chairs, plates, tankards, tables, anything they had nearby, a maniacal laugh escaped Daenan's lips as he roared a battle cry, launched himself into the air, smashed his head into the ceiling and landed on top of two fanatics, knocking them to the floor.
As an inn-wide, full on bar brawl broke out, the fanatics struggled to use their swords on account of the constant barrage of chairs being thrown at them and being heavily outnumbered. The leader, who climbed back to his feet rather unsteadily, started barking out orders, felt someone tap his shoulder, turned around with a swearword on his lips and was greeted by a very large fist approaching his face at a rather unpleasant velocity.