literature

Tales from a Shadow: Prologue

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The fire cast a warming glow across the wooden floor of the tavern, interrupted periodically by age-old ale-stains that so often christen the boards. Sitting at the tables are the evenings usual occupants.  Most of them already well on their way to drunkenness. The room is filled with riotous laughter as one of the patrons takes a quick chance to squeeze the bottom of a passing wench, who promptly pivots around to deliver the transgressor a hefty slap. The bartender shakes his head with a smile at the evenings usual events. Sitting at a table next to the bar is a table of three men playing craps, wagering their days earnings. A few patrons sat at the bar while mulling over a pint of ale trying to drown their sorrows away. A wandering musician had arrived not long ago and was now in the process of earning his meal. Leaning against the wall on the far end of the bar, he plays a short, merry tune on his fife; so far he had earned a copper or two but not enough to purchase a room for the night. Overall the evening was turning out as usual, uneventful, which was a good thing because normally if something happened it meant that he would have to pay for repairs the next day.

As the evening went on the people came and went, the air became heavy with the smoke from weed pipes as well as the scent of ale as it was graciously slopped over the tables and on the floor. However, there was one patron who didn’t leave. He had come in sometime earlier that evening and sat down at a table in one of the corners. So far he had declined any offer of food or drink from the wench and spent all of his time seemingly staring at the surface of his table, as if studying in hopes of finding some hidden message within the grain. It was difficult for the bartender to distinguish much of the man because he kept the hood of his dark blue cloak pulled up, so the bartender, Arrol was his name, took note of the man’s clothes. He wore a white tunic, or it would have been white had it not been so old, with the cuffs tucked into the bracers he wore on his wrists. There were black gloves tucked into the leather belt he wore around his waist to hold up his travel-worn brown pants. There were patches in his pants where they had worn out some time long ago. His boots were black and they buckled on the side, these too were in need of replacement. The man had come in with a rucksack on his shoulder which now slouched against the chair leg in a futile attempt to stay upright. He seemed like a simple traveler who simply wasn’t hungry, but there was something about him that made the man seem different. Arrol had spent most of his life running this tavern and had become a decent judge of character but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just pass this man off as just another ordinary traveler. As Arrol was trying to put a finger on it the stranger did something unexpected. He called over the serving wench and asked for some bread and water, and gave her a coin for her service. During the exchange Arrol got his first look at the man’s face. Shallow wrinkles were etched in his slightly tanned skin, but they didn’t detract from his features but rather added to them giving him that look of wisdom that only comes with age. Instinctively Arrol raised his hand to his own face, feeling his own wrinkles but continued to consider the stranger. As the man spoke Arrol could make out that the man had white teeth and an articulate way of speaking, not that Arrol could hear him but the way the man formed his lips made his speech seem deliberate, almost designed. His nose was neither small nor large but somewhere in between and slightly rounded. A scar from some unknown battle cut across the man’s eyebrow narrowly missing his eye. His eyes were the most captivating part about him. They were light blue and calculating, not in the way that made people uncomfortable but showed he was an intelligent individual. They also seemed to have a kind of twinkle behind them that added a bit of boyish adventurism to the man. He smiled to the serving girl as she went off to get him the food. Then he went back to his brooding until the girl came back with his food, and he gave her another coin.

Arrol stopped her as she walked by.

“Let me see that,” he said referring to the coin. The wench gave him a bit of an appalled look and almost seemed about to refuse.

“I’m not going to take it,” Arrol comforted, “I just want to take a look.”

Reluctantly she handed over the coin. Arrol turned the piece in his hand, it was gold, with an insignia which he had never seen before. On one side there was a pair of crossed scimitars while on the other there was embossed into the coin the picture of a city. Still curious over the coin Arrol handed it back to the serving girl who had her hand held out impatiently. It was rare enough to see gold in this town, but what was stranger still was that Arrol had never seen a mint such as this before. Many travelers came through this small town and the tavern owner had seen every single one of them, but not this one. Turning his gaze back to the stranger who was now almost done with his meal Arrol kept a close eye on the stranger.

“You are something different my friend,” Arrol said to no one in particular, “And I hope it’s not a bad thing.” With that he went back to his duties at the bar.
This is the Introduction to the long-awaited autobiography of Baidos Armen, otherwise known as Super Rogue. I hope you enjoy this little taste of what is about to come.
© 2005 - 2024 superogue-KD
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superogue-KD's avatar
Now that I read this again I realize that I could have done a great deal more proofreading. I'll be sure of that in the future.