Saturday, April 30, 2011

The Showdown at the Inn of the Welcome Wench, Part 1

Mathron sipped the warm ale as the atmosphere of the surrounding tavern washed over him, making him feel slightly more at ease.  His pocket coined two silver- enough for his ale and meal, leaving the Elf with a bedroll, the stars and the great outdoors as his accommodations tonight.  It had been a long rough day of travel, and with each slip of cathartic ale Mathron felt increasingly numbed to his near overwhelming fatigue.  To tired to even remove his chain mail, Mathron had headed straight for the tavern and sat in the first unoccupied seat.  After placing his order the waiting game began.  His hot meal would arrive soon, and Gods his mouth was watering at the thought of hot mutton shank.

The bar seemed to be getting increasingly rowdy, and Mathron cast a glance around, too tired to even care what the commotion was all about.  Idly toying with the holy symbol around his neck, Mathron half wondered if he, as a paladin, should feel guilty over his current apathy.  He nursed another sip from the generously large ale horn his silver had bought, and felt much less conflicted. If there was no due cause for him to get involved, then why should he?  Even though the sound of voices seemed to be escalating to the point of violence, it was a tavern, Mathron reasoned.  'I am but a paladin, not a baby sitter for all around me' Mathron thought to himself.  'If they give each other a few lumps, what of it?  Mighty Thor call us to all battle at times...'  Mathron found his thoughts interrupted by a plate of hot lamb, large baked sweet potatoes and rich, hearty vegetable stuffing, all covered in some kind of brown sauce.  The waitress placed it down unceremoniously in front of the starving Elf and was off again in an instant. 

Sighing contentedly, Mathron placed his ale horn to one side of his plate, and reached for his holy symbol to offer thanks for this meal when it happened.  A very large, very drunk man suddenly filled Mathron's vision for a split second before crashing down on top of his table, destroying it and his meal. And his ale.  Mathron looked down upon the wreckage of unconscious man and ruined mutton, and then sideways to the source of his malcontent.  Another very large, very drunk man, though this was victorious over his foe, accepting congratulations of fellow drunks.  Mathron stood and faced him. "You owe me a meal.  And an ale."  There was no malice present in Mathron's voice, only a quiet rumble, like a storm on the horizon.

The drunk spit on the tavern floor.  "Ha! You'll get nothin' from me you stinking Elf!"  The man taunted, drunk off his first victory and the 12 or so ales he'd had already.

"You will buy me a meal, or I will take it's value from your face."  Mathron, much like his deity, dealt with conflicts in absolutes.

"I would like to see yo-" Despite being clad in heavy chain mail, Mathron often surprised people with his spectacular speed.  Recently, he surprised this drunk man.  Mathron's fist pummeled the man's jaw, sending his head whipping backwards.  His form followed suit, and within a heart beat the man had fallen, sprawled out on the ground.

Mathron looked down at the man, who was barely conscious.  "A meal. And an ale."


  1. Now, now Mathron. How are you going to get what you want if you knock the people who are suppose to get it for you semi-unconscious? Tsk, tsk.