A Risky Proposition

The House of Strangers

Candles burn in metal sconces on the walls and wooden beams of the Black Horse tavern. The tavern's full. Every brigand and hardman from the south coast to the mountains is here - up to no good.

Warriors with sharp swords and ragged armour sit around wooden tables in the dark corners of the tavern. Some are here to find their next job. Some want to spend coin on brew and play cards. 

One of the warriors, a man with a SCAR over his left eye, spits over his shoulder. The spit lands on a serving WENCH'S shoe as she places a drink on the neighbouring table. 

SCAR: Sorry, love. You were in my blind spot. 

Scar, and the TWO WARRIORS he's sitting with, laugh amongst themselves. It's a joke that never gets old.

The wench glances down at the glob of slime on her shoe and gags. 

WENCH: You're a pig, Boris.

SCAR: How's about some of that crackling you served the other night? I could really do with a snack.

The Wench tucks a wooden tray under her arm and turns, dismissive. 

Scar grins and smacks her lightly on the bottom. 

SCAR: Tout de suite, my dear. Some of us have respectable professions to be getting on with. Innit, boys?

The Two Warriors grin menacingly at the young Wench from across the table. One of them  twiddles the point of a dagger on his finger.

The Wench leaves in a huff - she's a feisty one.

A FOREIGN MAN sitting on the other side of the tavern, sips from a porcelain cup. He glances at the warriors and the Wench. He's wearing a turban and cloak. There's a curved sword strapped to his belt.

It's raining hard outside the tavern. There's a leak in the roof that goes drip, drip in the corner. The Foreign Man casts a side glance at the tavern's front door.

SMACK!

The door swings open. Wood hits stone. Wind and rain come howling in from outside.

GAVIN THE BLADE,  wearing black leather armor with two swords strapped to his back, steps into the tavern. His head is completely shaved and it makes him stand out from all the men in the tavern.

Gavin makes his way to the bar, his shoes squelching with each step. He's soaked head to toe from the rain. He sees a fireplace in the corner of the tavern.

GAVIN: Give me a pint and something warm to eat.

A BARMAID nods and taps ale into a tankard. An OLD MAN sitting at the bar looks at Gavin and grins.

OLD MAN: Another job well done?

Gavin pulls his gloves off and wrings them out.

GAVIN: You could say that.

OLD MAN: Getting any coin for this one?

GAVIN: I'd better.

Gavin pays little mind to the Old Man. He's more interested in the pint of ale the barmaid places on the counter.

OLD MAN: How's about a pint for one of your oldest friends.

GAVIN THE BLADE: I don't have any friends.

Gavin leaves the bar with his ale and goes to the fire place.

OLD MAN (sarcastic): I wonder why.

The Foreign Man watches Gavin warming himself in front of the fire. The Wench from earlier brings a plate with boiled potatoes and thick slices of meat to the table beside Gavin.