Arrecrest: Enrog

Enrog took five paces into the musty tavern. He removed his heavy duster and shook the dirt of the road off. He took a long drag of the air around him. The atmosphere of the room was perfect, heavily saturated with hops and sweat. A sign hung at an angle on the wall, ‘Best Tavern In Arrecrest’. It was a load of horseshit but Enrog liked the place all the same, it was the easiest place to get a half decent beer unnoticed in the capital. He’d lost too many games of cards at most of the others to show his face again, a reputation for losing your temper and not paying up makes a welcoming party unlikely.

“Enrog. Not here to make I trouble I hope?” The bar keeper was a short man but the rifle he kept on the wall wasn’t just for show. Enrog had seen a man attempt to pass on his tab, then had left instead without his wallet and four of his fingers.

“I keep well enough Pender, maybe it’s your shitty beer that keeps me looking young” The scars on his face stood more prominently at that moment, embossed in his worn skin. Each word left his mouth as if it were full of sand. Pender finished pulling his ale in silence as Enrog dumped a fistful of coins on the table. He received a distasteful look as Pender counted each coin before handing him his beverage. He dragged himself to his usual corner with the hope to put the day behind him. He’d been sat down for no more than two minutes before the door burst open. The problems he thought that he had buried in a building earlier that day had managed to catch up with him it appeared.

“Outside please gentleman” Pender declared, never looking up from cleaning the bar. The four men gestured at Enrog, pointing him to the door. They obviously knew of Penders reputation but not his own. They weren’t with the group from earlier, so he assumed it must be from a separate incident. They had interrupted his evening either way so he wasn’t going to be soft if they wanted to cause trouble.

The street dimly lit by orange lanterns along the pavement cast his shadow over the men. The pack seemed uneasy as they gauged how big he really was. A walking wall of muscle and the sword on his back was bigger than the shortest amongst them. He could tell two of them were already casing the easiest escape routes and were putting several feet of space from him. Enrog reached over his shoulder, his gloved hand slowly pulling the blade from its sheath, the sharp steel glowing like the sun as it caught the reflection of the street lights.

“Which one of you lads was looking for private dancing lessons then?”

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