The Gunslinger - Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1
The day started like every other day since entering the town. He awoke with the rising sun warm on his face. Hopefully something interesting would happen today. Every day was the same in this town called Stalemate. What a fitting name for a town where nothing happens, thought The Gunslinger. 
The Gunslinger started his day in the same fashion he had started every day since becoming a gunslinger. A modest breakfast (this morning consisting of a bowl of oats warmed over a small fireplace, and a delicious glass of sweetwater), followed by some stretching, tending to his modest farm(on which he grew tobacco, oats and some other assorted vegetables) and a short run. The run served two purposes the first of which was to maintain the physical prowess of the body while the second was to visit the graves of those he had once loved. After returning from his run and cleaning the sweat and dirt from his body, The Gunslinger prepared to face a day like every other before it. 
After donning his custom made (but worn and patched) black leather duster, boots, belt and hat, The Gunslinger reached for the chain around his neck that held two things, a ring and a key. Removing the chain and using the key to open the specially made steel chest at the foot of his bed The Gunslinger retrieved the only items he owned that were of any real worth. The revolvers he removed from the chest were the weapons of a different era. The silvery metal was tarnished and scratched and the wooden handles were worn, but the feeling of the weapons was like nothing else The Gunslinger had ever experienced, the feeling of power, the feeling of freedom, the feeling of revenge. After carefully inspecting and loading each weapon The Gunslinger prepared for his daily venture into town.
As usual The Gunslinger entered the saloon at about two hours after noon, based on the position of the sun. Taking his usual seat he flagged down a barmaid named Danelle. Ordering his usual rumm and sweetwater to tide him over until somebody approached him, he waited, as it was known throughout town that as long a job was not evil The Gunslinger could be counted on to complete the task. While The Gunslinger waited, he thought about the days before all the steam, before the constant grinding of gears, he thought about the days when his family was still alive.

Chapter 2
Back then the The Gunslinger had been known as Clynt Eestwud. A child of 15 years who was slight and gangely with long arms and legs that to others, it seemed that he couldn't control fully. Back then his father and mother had been farmers far outside the city of Briarburgh where they managed a small tobacco farm to earn a living. It had been a good year for the tobacco and the Eestwud's were expecting to make some extra coin. This coin would be used to send young Clynt to the city to attend school. On the day Clynt was set to leave to attend school in the city the news came. The news was brought from a distant neighbor who had been in the city days before. Something was attacking the city. According to the messenger the city watch had been able to contain the threat for now but the future of Briarburgh seemed uncertain. A few weeks later another message came that explained the city was completely overrun with some sort of metal insects that that consumed flesh to remain alive. 
Sometime later after the official fall of Briarburgh and the disolving of the government, Clynt was working with his family on their tobacco farm. While on one of the far fields Clynt heard screaming. The screaming seemed to be coming from the small house on the farm. The small house where Clynt's mother currently was... The Gunslinger recalled the ache in his legs as he thought about how fast he had run to the house. Arriving at the house Clynt took part in a scene that he would remember, and regret, for the rest of his life. 
Men had surrounded his father and mother and were threatening them with weapons that were unrecognized to Clynt's eyes. The weapons made grinding and whistling sounds as small gears turned and steam seemed to hiss from spots where brass fittings didn't seem to quite fit. Then Clynt saw him, the man he would chase for better portion of his life. The man was tall and thin, in the same way as Clynt. But rather than brown warm eyes that Clynt and his family possessed, this man had eyes of a most deep blackness. It was a blackness that seemed to peer into ones soul only to cause pain and havoc. The man signaled to his bandits and they moved forward. A bandit demanded that Clynts mother give up her jewelry not knowing that she only had the small wedding band made of iron that was a gift from her husband on the day of their betrothal. To scared to move Clynt watched the whole exchange from behind a near by tree. A tree for which he remembered many happy days with his family. Clynt's mother handed the small iron ring to the bandits, who seemed to be sated with their bounty for now. The ring would fetch food enough for a few days. It was then that the man said the words that would stick in Clint's mind for the rest of his days. "Kill them..." said the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. At this command the bandits raised their weapons, and fired. The Gunslinger cringed as he recalled the memory. Clynt didn't even hear the hissing and popping the weapons made. He only saw the destruction they wreaked on his family. Bursting from his hiding place he charged the group of bandits sinking his small work knife into the back of the nearest. With a grunt the man fell forward dead. It took a few seconds for the bandits to realize what had happened to their comrade. They brought their weapons up to fire but realized that due to the positioning of the child they were as likely to hit friend as they were foe. Knowing this the bandits collapsed upon Clynt with their knives drawn. Clynt was able to dodge the first knife attack but was immediately caught with a following fist, knocking the air from his lungs. There was then a searing pain. A pain that seemed to cut to his very core. A pain the likes of which he had never experienced. 
Realizing that their quarry was beat the bandits backed off. One commented "Why would that kid charge us? He had to know there was no way he could beat all of us." Another scoffed while picking the gear from his fallen comrade "What does it matter? Leave the runt he'll be gone soon enough." The last thing that Clynt remembered was crawling towards his dead parents.
Sometime later, Clynt had recovered from his wound. Shortly after he had been left to die at his family's farm a man had come by and saved Clynt. The man had the brightest eyes of blue Clynt had ever seen. He referred to himself only as The Gunslinger, and wore two massive guns at his belt. Once Clynt had fully healed he told the story of his parents murder to the man and explained that he planned to follow and kill the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. Hearing his story The Gunslinger decided that Clynt's journey was a good one and that he would help him on his quest. 
While they traveled, the first that that Clynt was taught by The Gunslinger was that one must always rely on his own senses to figure out what is going on around him. Many hours were spent with eyes closed listening or ears plugged with bits of cotton only seeing. Navigation through only smell and touch as well as feeling the vibrations of those things alive around you. After an extended amount of time performing the same rituals day after day, The Gunslinger presented Clynt with a knife so large it was almost a small sword. It was at least 8 inches long and made of the same silvery metal The Gunslingers guns were made of. The handle was wooden inlaid with fine lines of metal, smooth to the touch but not so smooth that one might loose their grip. The Gunslinger then explained to Clynt that he had become proficient enough in the arts to wield the weapon. The blade of a The Gunslinger.
The training that followed was more rigorous than anything Clynt had experienced previously in his life. All the negatives of the training were offset by the fact that the new training involved firing The Gunslingers weapons. The weapons were far too heavy for Clynt to wield at first but over time they became more easy to handle and Clynt rapidly gained proficiency with them. 
One evening after a long day of travel through a heavily wooded forest, the two stopped to set up their camp. Suddenly The Gunslinger froze and hushed Clynt to do the same. Clynt could hear or see no sounds but knew that The Gunslinger being far more advanced than himself could see or here something he didn't like. The Gunslinger drew his massive weapons from his belt and fired multiple rounds into the surrounding trees. Hearing the grunts of men falling Clynt knew The Gunslinger hit each of his marks. Suddenly their camp was awash with bandits. Clynt had his blade out in a flash and slew the three closest bandits to him immediately. He could also hear the reports from The Gunslingers weapons laying waste enemies all around him. Then he saw him. The man with the eyes of most deep blackness. When The Gunslinger saw this man he took aim and fired but the man with eyes of most deep blackness moved with unworldly speed. At the same time the man with the eyes of most deep blackness attacked unleashing a flash of light that Clynt couldn't follow at The Gunslinger. The light, which Clynt realized was a large shard of ice, took The Gunslinger in the shoulder. The Gunslinger grunting in pain raised his guns and fired more shots in the direction of the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. Clynt watched helpless as the battle took place for what seemed hours but was actually only minutes. As the battle was went on Clynt realized that The Gunslinger was going to loose to the man Clynt hated and feared more than anything on the planet. At this point Clynt conquered his fear and charged onto the battle field wielding only the knife he had been given by The Gunslinger. Slashing at the man with the eyes of most deep blackness Clynt forced him to withdraw enough to allow The Gunslinger to regain his footing. The man with the eyes of most deep blackness charged towards Clynt with a shard of ice held like a spear and Clynt was sure that his life was going to end. End with pain that he had experienced before as a child. Waiting for the pain Clynt prepared. Prepared for pain that never came.
Many things happened at once. The Gunslinger was in front of Clynt, the shard of ice piercing him through the chest. The Gunslinger also had a hold of the hand that had been holding the shard of ice, and had drawn his gun into line with the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. Holding the man with the eyes of most deep blackness in place, The Gunslinger fired his weapon multiple times. Seeing that each shot had hit home The Gunslinger smiled. Then The Gunslinger had died.
Clynt saw The Gunslinger die and was overcome with fury towards the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. Raising his blade he attacked the man with the eyes of most deep blackness sinking his blade into the man. He watched as the eyes of the man with the eyes of most deep blackness faded to a light brown much like his own. 
Knowing that his mission was accomplished Clynt wondered what he should do next. It had taken some time to get over the death of his good friend The Gunslinger. Clynt reflected on the fact that he had never known the mans real name. When Clynt had buried The Gunslinger (in the same fashion that Clynt and the Gunslinger had buried Clynt's family when he was young) he had retained the weapons and belt of The Gunslinger.
One day while wandering, wondering what he was to do with the rest of his life Clynt stopped at a small well in a town called Stalemate. It was a town somewhat near where he had grown up and figured it would be a good place to figure out what to with the rest of his life. While pulling water from the well he caught a reflection of himself in the water. Seeing the piercing blue eyes that he now possessed. The piercing blue eyes of The Gunslinger.

Chapter 3
The Gunslinger paused his moment of thought to look down at the iron ring he worn on the chain around his neck. The ring of his mother. The ring he had taken back from the man with the eyes of most deep blackness. Feeling the cool iron on his fingers he looked around the saloon for anybody who looked as though they could use some work done. His eyes fell upon a man with a handlebar mustache speaking to another man at a nearby table. Just looking at this man The Gunslinger stiffened. He realized evil when he saw it. The man with the mustache wore a gun that was large but seemed but a toy compared to the revolvers he was currently wearing. "I bet the man even named his gun." The gunslinger chuckled to himself. The man with the mustache was speaking to a barmaid about a woman at a table in the corner and didn't see that the barmaid had put a little something extra into their drinks. Raising an eyebrow at the woman who was sitting at a table covered in maps and books who he knew was responsible for the extra stuff into their drinks, The Gunslinger thought to himself "Huh. Maybe something interesting will happen today after all." The woman herself gave off an air of command and understanding that The Gunslinger had seen in few other people. Continuing to scan the room not worrying about the woman with maps and the man with the mustache , as the woman could handle herself well enough, The Gunslinger's eyes fell upon another. From what The Gunslinger could tell he was a half-elf and looked as though he was permanently up to no good, but there was no evil in him. The more disconcerting thing about the half-elf was the way that The Gunslingers eyes seem to want to not notice the man. Whenever he would look directly at the man his eyes seemed to wander away. However The Gunslinger did notice when the man decided to slip the tiny copper ring off one of the barmaids finger. He made a mental note to get the ring back for the girl. 
Leaving the saloon with no job for the day The Gunslinger left the saloon with a want to help the barmaid retrieve her ring. If he wasn't going to make any money today he might as well do something good for somebody. To this end The Gunslinger waited outside around the corner of a nearby building. If there was nothing else The Gunslinger had, he had time and patience to wait.
Much later that evening he heard the man with the mustache and his companion collapse. Followed by whispers from others. The Gunslinger picked out the half-elf and the woman with the maps. During their conversation he heard the half-elf name himself Clud... or Clood... The Gunslinger was still disturbed how his words seemed to avoid his careful hearing even from this short distance. The woman did not identify herself but agreed to meet Clod the next day to discuss details of a proposition regarding the mustached man's gun. "Guess i better be here tomorrow." thought The Gunslinger. "Something interesting might yet happen."

Cloud's Plan

The smoke from pipes and cigars filled the bar as patrons were enjoying drinks and conversations away from the humdrum's of work in the local stone quarry. Barmaids were making rounds barely able to keep up with the orders of drinks and food as the noise in the bar continued to grow as people were laughing and talking over each other.

From a table in the middle of the room music started to play, softly at first and then increasing in volume as if it was competing with the voices and laughter. A single voice matched the music telling a story it seemed that everyone should have been paying attention to, but as the bard noticed only his table was entranced by the song he took a brief pause and mumbled some words into instrument that only he could hear. He picked up the song almost immediately as if he never stopped. The music began to rise with smoke that filled the bar and began to shape it in forms of characters and creatures to which song's lyrics were speaking.

At this point there wasn’t an eye an ear that wasn’t focused solely on the bard and his music. It had soaked into every person's mind, making them feel and relive the story of the fall of Briarburgh. Emotions started to run throughout the crowd of terror and fear and then of excitement of the legendary hero's that would be talked about for years to come. The song came to an end and the smoke dissipated back into the rafters of the bar. The crowd cheered and whistled and showered the bard with coins for such an entertaining show.

"Due to the wonderful nature of these folks," Shouted Arniach, "One round on me for the house!"

Again the crowd cheered and clinked mugs of ale and glasses of wine. And as the crowd settled back into their conversations the bard decided it was time to relax at a back table. Pushing his way through the crowd to a now empty table against the back wall Arniach sat with a thud into the wood chair.

"You can sit down too, brother" Arniach said without even looking around as he was putting his lute back into its leather case.

"Well I do appreciate that" replied Cloud as he grabbed a chair and sat across the table from the bard.

"We always run into each other in the strangest of places." Arianch said looking across the table and picking up a beer the barmaid and just set down in front him.

"Allow me," said Cloud tossing a few coins on the table. "it’s the least I can do after last time."

The barmaid smiled and walked away pocketing what would have bought 5 pints.

"I would appreciate it if you would use my money to impress the women in this town." Arniach smirked reaching his hand out. "You think I don't know when someone picks my pocket?"

"Your money?" Laughed Cloud, "Nice Enchantment on your song, brother, you just had this bar pay for a weeks' worth of the fine living here."

"At least they smile when they give me their money, and not try and hang me, unlike others I know, now my coin purse please."

Cloud handed back his brother money with a straight face as to not encourage the banter from his brother and give him the satisfaction of smiling.

"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company today." Arianch asked looking less amused.

"Can't I just visit my brother, and enjoy his company?" Asked Cloud leaning back in his chair surveying the croud throughout the bar.

"No, no you can't" Arianch "Not since.."

At the start of this sentence, Cloud's eye were immediately brought to a deadlock gaze with Arniach and with little movement Arniach realized he should stop talking.

"Put them away, I can see we aren't here to relive those stories." Arniach said sternly, glaring back just as fiercely.

But instead of sheathing his dagger, he laid it on the table between them and said "This is why I am hear."

"Silent is such a beautiful dagger." Arniach smirked as he picked up the blade. "Perfectly balanced and unequaled in craftsmanship, except by its sister, Fate. Let me hold them both again, I love the feel of them."

"Again, this is why I am hear." Cloud responded sounding slightly irritated at the request. "He still has her, and the idiot decide he could get the relic from Briarburgh by himself…"

"Ahhh, so you are here simply for information then." Arianch now felt he was back in control of the situation. "Bard's do tend to have the information people seek, whether it is in a song or story!"

"Stop, you and I both know these dagger belong to our family," Cloud interrupted "and I will return them to it."

"And what of payment, brother?" Asked Arniach, "No information is free, Orion"

"Use that name again aloud and it will be the last thing you say, brother" sneered Cloud.

"Fine, Fine, what is it you go by these days? Cloud is it? Where to begin." chuckled Arniach. "Named for the constellation you were born under, a hunter of epic abilities, and you hide behind the same name for which keeps the stars from us these past few nights. But you are right, I will not tell that story tonight, or of the tragedy that 'clouds' you now for I have a feeling our family name would only hinder your progress."

Cloud shifted uncomfortably in his chair, only his brother had the ability to make him feel this way. Interrupting his brothers normal story telling style for information he said, "My world was taken from me, and it opened my eyes to what this place has truly become. Enough of the history lessons already tell me about this sudden gathering in Stalemate."

"Patience, little brother!" Scolded Arniach, and seeing that more people were starting to be interested in their conversation, he whispered another enchant and sang a song. The lyrics danced across the tables and caused the patrons to only be able to hear the voices of those sitting nearest to them.

"Now," Continued Arniach "It seems that those kruthik things did not only push out the people but have started hording relics for some reason, and even my songs haven't been able to confirm which or to whom they belonged. This of course has attracted all sorts of gentlemen of your stature to try and recover whatever is there in order to turn a quick buck or establish themselves into society. But as you also know to go in there alone is suicide, and judging by your clothes I can see that you have even tried. So to the parts I do know, There is a Warlord, a Gunslinger, a Wizard and an Ardent with their own purpose for venturing into Briarburgh."

Taking a big swallow of his beer Arniach continued. "If I were you, I would abandon this foolishness, go home to Mum and let her know you are still breathing for now, but since I know better, you will need to do what you do best."

Cloud smiled at this. It was the closest thing he would ever get to a compliment from his big brother. "Find out what these individuals want, lure them into trusting me, and use a small force to acquire Fate."

"Precisely," replied Arniach. "Now, don’t worry, I won't tell Mum I saw you again. I will let you do that in person, and promise me if you make it back alive that you will."

Cloud was now pushing his seat back and standing up. Grabbing Silent and sheathing it back under his cloak he looked at his brother, "I will, and to finally lay to rest these daggers."

"You have your information, and now you leave…"

"You expect more of me?"

"I guess not, other than payment for my information" Chuckled Arniach.

A coin purse appeared from nowhere and was tossed onto the table. "There ya go!"

"I really wish you would stop paying with other people's money" he thought to himself as he pocketed the extra coin.

"Oh and Or…"

A whisper of a sound was heard as a small dagger flew through the air sticking itself into the wall inches from Arniach's head.

"Cloud that is… It wasn't your fault…"

"I missed.." smirked Cloud making his way through the crowd to the entrance of the bar.

Cloud pulled his hood over his head as the memories of things past started dancing through his mind. Looking at the sky he saw dark gray clouds moving in to block his view of the stars. With the last remaining bit of sky still visible he saw 3 stars in a line… Orion's belt.

"Silent Fate will rest at home again Father" He said to himself as he climbed up on his horse. The long journey from Restov to Stalmate was under way and much planning needed to be done to find out how get the others to join him in what could be certain death against the kruthik.

An Introduction. (Inamorata Ch. 3)

“This is Zaxos,’ said Cloud, motioning to the man across the table from Inamorata.  He was tall, stronger than the wizards she’s known before.  There was something mischievous about the way he looked around.  So careless, Inamorata thought, like he’s searching for trouble.  “He knows the post-evac city better than anyone, and knows he shouldn't go back alone, despite his natural talents,” smiled Cloud.  Then Cloud indicated the warlord.  “Zaxos, this is Inamorata The War-”

Zaxos interrupted, “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of her.  I’m not sure why we need her help,” he directed his comments only at Cloud.  “Didn’t she lose the fight against the sorcerer who gave her that scar?” Zaxos grabbed up a couple of grapes from the bowl on the table and popped them into his mouth.  As he chewed, and with a slight sneer, he began again, “But then, if I could do this on my own I wouldn't be here, so I suppose we could carry her through the...”

Before Zaxos finish his last sentence, in one elegant swoop, Inamorata stood, unsheathed her sword, and slammed it into the table edge with great splintering crack.  A silence overtook the saloon, the damaged table became the center of attention.  At the bar, Daneille rolled her eyes, and went into the kitchen.

Inamorata leaned toward Zaxos, a small ornate dagger now in her left hand.  She pushed the dagger under the strong jawline of which Zaxos seemed so proud.  She stared squarely into his face, her eyes afire.  “The only thing being carried will be your rotten soul back to the depths where it belongs.  Insult me a fourth time and I will end you here, in front of all these lovely people, before you have time to charge any of that lightning,”   Zaxos looked surprised.  He swallowed, opened his mouth as if to speak, but she put more pressure on the dagger.  Instead, he gave the Warlord a careful nod.  She stood and gave him a strong nod back, then re-sheathed the dagger someplace in her boot. Zaxos and Cloud sat silently as Inamorata freed her sword from the table, sheathed it, and shouldered her pack.  She shot one more look of fury at Zaxos, and walked out of the saloon.

“Well,” said Cloud.  “That went better than expected.  She might even like you.”  The room again filled with chatter and the sounds of clinking glass.  

“Right,” laughed Zaxos, rubbing a drop of blood from his bruised jaw.

“It’ll be fine.  But next time?  Don’t mention the scar.”

Zaxos, crunched another grape, and thought to himself No one tells me what to do.

***

“Sorry about the table,” said Inamorata, dropping another piece of gold into the palm of Danielle the barkeep.  They stood just outside the backdoor of the saloon.

“It’s only the 3rd one in the month you've been home.  Perhaps it’s time for us to invest in one of those new fangled metal ones.” Danielle started to laugh, leaning her back against the building.  She pocketed the gold piece and studied the tired face of her friend.

“I do need this job,” Inamorata frowned, looking up at the brothel windows.  “That half-elf has something I want." She paused. "I just hate working with scavenger scum.”

“You never know, he might be something more.  The war was hard on us all,” winked Danielle.

Inamorata looked at Danielle, confused.

“Ah,” said Danielle as she headed back into the kitchen, “every so often I know a tidbit more than you, eh?  This is a good night after all…”

A Meeting. (Inamorata Ch. 2)

“What the?”  she whispered to herself, touching the empty leather holster.

Inamorata crouched over the body of the man with the moustache, but did not find his revolver, The Liquidator.  The man snored gently, sprawled on the porch of The Waypointe Saloon, just as Danielle said.  The tall friend also slept a few feet away.

“You know of it too?” a voice from the darkness wound it’s way like a snake into the warlord’s ears.  She looked out at the night, the main road drenched in light from the gas-powered lamps, but did not see the voice’s owner.  “I have it.  What’s it worth to you?” said the voice.

Inamorata stood, and took a few steps down from the doorway, looking out into the quiet street. “Name your price...” she said cautiously, listening for footsteps, breathing, any sign of numbers.

When she felt convinced the voice was alone she said, “I have a little gold...”

“I’m not much interested in gold, miss.  I have a different proposition.”

“I’m not much in the business of my mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said.  Inamorata walked into the road in the direction of the voice, hand on the hilt of her sword.  She was comfortable enough with the stranger to leave the porch, for she must have something in common with a person who knew this cursed weapon, and was able to take it off the man with the moustache without ill effects.  At the very least, she was intrigued.

Then the voice suddenly came from behind her.  “I know where your talents truly lie, and at the moment... I am in need of careful mind.”  She unsheathed her sword and turned to find herself face to face with the man, a hood covering his eyes.  She held the blade in the air just under his chin.  He did not flinch or falter.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“There is something in the city that I want.  I cannot get it alone.  You know as well as I that the evacuation left great riches to be claimed, for those who are willing to risk life and limb against the kruthik.”  

Inamorata shuddered at the thought of the man-sized insect-like creatures, and their four skittery legs.  She’d seen them in battle.  There was no honor in the way they fought.  Their existence was unnatural.

“I care little for riches,”  she lowered her sword.

“I thought you might say that.  But I imagine you are becoming as bored as I in Stalemate; this town is quite small.  And surely you would consider my task if it meant having the revolver returned to you.”

Inamorata looked down at the dust on her boots, back at the saloon, the red lights of the brothel upstairs, and through the park at the flat wasteland beyond.  She felt the weight of the pack upon her shoulders, and could not ignore the desire for the return of her mother’s weapon after all these years.  She sheathed her sword.  With a tilt of her head, and a raised brow above her scarred eye, Inamorata said, “Perhaps I am interested in your proposition after all.”

“Good.  I am Cloud,” said the half-elf, pushing back his hood to reveal the elvish ears and long hair she had observed hours before in the bar.  He extended his hand to conclude the deal.  “And I will meet you here again tomorrow to discuss the details.”

Inamorata (Inamorata Ch. 1)

“How do you think she got that scar?” asked the man with the handlebar moustache, motioning with a fingertip across his eyelid.  Then he threw back his second shot of absinthe since the woman had all but ignored his poorly conceived pickup line.  His tall and gangly companion sat across the table, nursing the one ale he could afford for the evening.

“Maybe she turned down the wrong guy!” laughed the tall one, and held up his glass.  A sneer crept across his face.  The men clinked their glasses; a solute to solidarity.  

They continued their speculations about others in the room, but their eyes often returned to the small table where the woman in question sat very still.  She stared only at her carefully laid out maps.  Occasionally she made notes in a worn leather journal, shuffled the maps about a bit, pushed a dark strand of hair back from her eyes, and the cycle would start again.  There was no drink upon her table.  The only words they’d heard her say so far were the explicit (and frustrated) instructions to the flirtatious barmaid to not bother her anymore.

“Another absinthe?” asked their barmaid, tilting her now-empty tray towards the man with the moustache.  It smelled of old hops.  He assessed her face for a moment, thought her less inviting than the other barmaid, and certainly more stupid if her tray was in such a state already at this early hour of the evening.

“YES! And an ale for my friend...” he said, with an exuberant gesture towards his companion.  He leaned close to her ear and in an exaggerated drunken whisper said “And there’s extra coin in it for you if you tell us what you know of that woman over there - with the scar.”

The barmaid groaned and rolled her eyes.  “She’s one of our worst customers.”

“Could you be... more specific?” asked the man, squinting one eye and twisting his mustache.

“It’s just - she never orders anything.  Probably for fear of sullying her precious maps.  Takes up a table for hours at a time, and has more than once engaged in violence with our reliable patrons.”

“I see, and... does she have a name?  An occupation?  A reason for that impressive scar?” He brandished a golden coin between his fingers, then flipped it between each knuckle of his right hand.  The barmaid’s eyes grew wider.  She set her tray upon the table and sat down across from the man with the moustache.  She bumped the tall man with her elbow to encourage him to make room.

“Something de Guerre...” she said.   “In... Inamorata?  Something old and unusual like that.  She stinks of militia.  I’ve never seen her here with anyone else, and I reckon she’s been kicked OUT of the service, considering her temper...”

“A fighter?”

“A finisher more like.  Never seen her take more than a scratch in a brawl.  The other guy usually doesn’t come back for days, and even then they’re nursing wounds.”

“That doesn’t much explain the scar, does it?” he started to close his fist around the gold piece, bringing it closer to his pocket.  The barmaid licked her lips, and hesitated.  She glanced back at the dark haired woman, and then began again.

“Okay, see, there’s a story going ‘round about that, but it’s only rumor, ya know?  Heard by some of the brothel girls, told to some of the ex-soldiers passing through... I don’t want to be responsible for bad information.”

“Noted,” said the man with the moustache, turning a critical eye towards the barmaid.

She leaned in closer.  “Well.  Word is she’s the daughter of a well known Madam, but ran away from home when she was young.  Must’a learned some things, because I’ve heard the men call her ‘Dame’.  And you know that’s not an easy title to come by these days what with the fall of the Monarchy some years ago...”

“And the scar?”

“Right, the scar.  So. They say it was a lover’s quarrel.  Apparently the two lovebirds belonged to opposing sides!  Ha!  Must’a caught up with them eventually.  Like I said, never seen her here with anyone.”

The man flipped the coin across the table into the open palm of the barmaid.

With a nod, she stood, picked up her tray, and asked  “Can I get you two gentlemen a round on the house?”

***

Hours later, the bar was empty, save for two women.  Inamorata the Warlord stood to fold her maps.

“Danielle,” she called across the bar, “what happened to the new girl?”

The barmaid ceased her floor sweeping, and came to a stop by the Warlord.  “Oh, she went home early.  Crying on about how some half-elf stole her new copper ring.”

“Ha.  Yes, I noted him.  Quite sly.  And what did you learn from the two goons in the corner?”

“Ex-Military,” said the barmaid.  “I’d wager the moustache was once an officer, and the hands of the tall one looked as if he’d been working fields more recently.  They mostly wanted to know about you.  Lifted this paper off the tall one, though I’m sure anyone can tell the bounty hunter is actually Mr. Moustache...” She handed Inamorata a folded piece of paper.

“Awww, they always get my bad side,” said the Warlord, flicking the profile of the scarred eye with her finger.  She crumpled the wanted poster into a ball and threw it the sweepings.  “What did you tell them?”

“Just repeated the stuff that goes around town anyway.  All is well.”

“Well done,” said Inamorata as she pulled on her pack.  “Guess I’ll be going out the back door tonight.  Don’t feel like cleaning my blade again so soon.”

“No need,” shrugged Danielle.  “I gave them a round on the house... with a little extra something.  Saw them both pass out on the front porch waiting for your exit.  They’ll be too busy with their headaches in the morning to care much for where you’ve gone.”

“That was mighty kind of you, Danielle.  I owe you one,” said the warlord, laying 10 gold pieces on the counter.  She made her way to the front swinging doors.

Danielle called to her friend’s back, “Not yet.  Even now, I still owe you...”