An Ending...

[Raiden Morana]

The old warrior sat in the shadows and surveyed the tavern with a sigh. It wasn’t unlike many other taverns in the land, it stank of fresh vomit and weed, the scallies that drank there stunk of sweat and saddle rot… and the ale wasn’t much better.

Maybe he was just getting old. There was a time when he would have breathed deeply of the tavern and drank it even deeper. But alas those days were gone. The army life was good to him back then but how had he ended up in a shit hole like this.

Paid a pittance to train the local militia of a town almost as backward as the orcs he helped protect it from. His joints burned when he trained and grated like sheets of ice in the damp and cold. But that was his lot now, passed indiscretions meant there was no way he could dwell in a bigger town for fear of being recognised and hunted down. Damn his joints ached.

A stranger entered the tavern. He leant at the bar to talk to the barkeep. It was all too apparent that the stranger was a warrior. The way he looked over the tavern as he entered, checking the corners he was skilled at his trade. The barkeep shook his head, those few extra coins each month were worth it, and the stranger turned away in disappointment.

As the man  turned to leave he thought he saw the outline of a someone sat in the far shadows, damn he was good.

He’d almost missed the man in the corner. He smirked to himself, must be losing it in my old age. As he approached he knew he had at last found his prey. It had taken him nearly two months of scratting around the cess pits of Sosaria before he had found his man… But found him he had.

The hair in the seated warriors ponytail may be more grey now than black and silver tinted stubble had replaced the once well kept goatee but the warrior was unmistakeable to his old friend.

“Mind if I join ye?”
“I can nay stop ye.” Said the warrior eyeing the stranger.
“It’s good to see you old friend.”
“Is it?”
“Sure, means I don’t have to skulk around shit holes like this for another two months looking you.” Said the stranger with an honest grin.

The warrior allowed himself a stifled chuckle. Looking closer at his old comrade he saw the man had not lost his ready smile, though it did seem he’d lost an eye. The glass one that replaced it was finely crafted but it’s blank stare still gave it away.

“Who took yer eye?”
The stranger stiffened slightly. If anyone else had asked like that they would be slipping about on their own innards.
“Kaldorians.”
“Bastards. I never trusted them.”
The stranger nodded.
“How do you shoot yer bow now. Yer were a crap shot with two eyes!”
The stranger's laughter boomed.
“Believe it or not I’m a better shot than ever. Should have poked it out years ago eh?”
The two old friends laughed and shouted over for a pitcher of ale, their mood now lightened.

“The Baron wants ye back in his service old friend. That’s why I’m here."
“The true Baron or the bastard that rules in his stead?”
“Octiovus is old and senile. You know this.”
“He was as mad as a cat  when he ruled and we followed him.”
“True enough old friend but he has no time for politics now. He’s retired to Trinsic or somesuch… he paints.”
The warrior sighed.
“Then my friend you know my answer.”
The stranger nodded solemnly.
“I must bring you back one way or the other.”
“I figured so.”

A none too pretty wench put the ale down on the table along with two fresh cups.

“Well let’s at least get drunk before I spill yer guts on the floor brother. Ye’ve travelled long enough to find me a few drinks won’t hurt.”
“True, true.” The stranger chuckled.
“So how’s that feisty lass ye shacked up with, do ye have her here with ye?”
“She died with our firstborn.”
“My friend I am truly sorry. I had no idea.”
The warrior nodded.
“It was my fault, I made her wait too long for a child. My duties came first and the gods punished me.”
“Ye both had duty brother and I know she loved ye. These things happen, the Avatar does not punish ye.”
Drinking back the bitter ale the warrior said almost to himself. “And I loved her and no other.”
Looking to the stranger the warrior tried to raise a smile.
“How about ye and that pretty archer? Ye made a fine pair eh? Four sprogs I heard ye’d had.”
“Five now! And she does fine.”
“Five! Grand eh?”
The warriors face hardened.
“I will mourn their loss and look after them as well as I can afford.”
The stranger drained his cup and nodded twice.
“I know ye would.”
“How many have ye brought with ye?”
“Four Grenadiers.”
“They any good?”
“None as good as ye were old friend.”
The warrior nodded.
“I’ll try and make it fast, for ye at least.” Said the warrior rising with a wince. Damn his knee.
“Old bones eh?”
“Yup! The battle lust’ll get ‘em movin’.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way brother.”
“Yes it does! Let’s get it over with.”
The warrior spat and unhooked the maul from his belt as they left the dank tavern for the bright afternoon sun outside.

The light blinded him. He could not move. There was a dark blur bearing down on him but he could not focus. It was almost upon him and still he could not see clearly. He felt a poke to his stomach and heard a giggle he had all but forgotten. A warmth came over him, the like he hadn’t felt since as long as he could remember. He heard familiar voices of comrades lost and the unmistakeable laughter of an old friend. He was home at last.

[Marcus Kobra]

Kinda sad.....  *smiels cruely* but I like stories that end bitterly hehehe