The City of Gol

The desert stretched out endlessly in all directions, an unforgiving landscape of sand and sun. The heat was oppressive, baking the land and everything on it with unrelenting intensity. In the distance, rising up from the dunes like a mountain, was Gol, the broken City. A bustling hub of activity, teeming with life and energy. The streets were narrow and winding, the buildings packed tightly together in a maze of stone and wood. The smell of spices and roasted meats filled the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and dust.

At the heart of the city was the market, a sprawling expanse of open-air stalls and shops, where vendors hawked their wares with haggling and shouting. There were stalls selling exotic spices, colourful fabrics, glittering jewels, and strange potions. The noise of the market was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices, music and animal sounds. Taverns and alehouses dotted the city, their doors open wide to welcome patrons seeking respite from the heat of the desert.

The city was unlike any other, built inside a massive, ancient skull that towered over everything. Its bones loomed overhead, casting a shadow over the city. The eye sockets of the skull, once dark and empty, were now home to the tallest buildings, which rose up through the sockets and scraped the sky above. The jawbone formed an archway over the entrance to the city, where guards stood watch, their weapons at the ready.

The people who lived in Gol had transformed the structure into a bustling metropolis. The city's narrow streets and buildings were packed inside the giant bone structure, the walls of which were lined with shops, taverns, and homes. No one knew for certain who or what the bones had belonged to, but it was said that the people of Gol had found it in the desert, and had turned it into a place of shelter from the harsh environment. Despite its rough exterior, there was a sense of community within the city, of people banding together to survive.

As the sun began to set, the city came to life in a riot of colour and light. The noise and chaos of the marketplace began to give way to the sounds of the evening. The air was filled with the clinking of glasses and the chatter of patrons as they made their way to the various taverns. One such establishment was The Craic, a popular watering hole located near the edge of the city. As the night wore on, the noise inside the pub grew louder, with patrons shouting over one another and the clanging of mugs and plates.

In the dimly lit interior, a man had captured the attention of a small group of patrons. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a glinting object spinning through the air, its razor-sharp edge flashing in the dim light. The object twirled and danced with fluid, almost hypnotic movements, as if it were an extension of the man's body. With a final flourish, he snatched it out of the air, the blade glinting in his hand. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, impressed by his remarkable display of skill and dexterity.

The pub landlord, watching from behind the counter with a mix of amusement and concern. "You're going to lose a finger doing that," he says with a chuckle.

The man grins, sheathing the knife with a flourish. "Nah, I've got quick reflexes," he replies, flexing his muscular arms and flashing a mischievous grin. "Besides, I need my fingers for other tricks"

The pub landlord chuckles. "You always were a bit of a showman, Peadar," he says, pouring a drink for a nearby patron. "But at least you're entertaining the crowd instead of causing trouble for once."

Peadar winks. "Well I am a man of many talents" he says with a smirk. "And I don't cause trouble, I just find it wherever I go."

The pub landlord rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "You and your sense of adventure," he mutters. "But I suppose that's what keeps life interesting."

Peadar leans on the bar, scanning the room for his next target. "Speaking of adventure, have you heard of any interesting jobs lately?" he asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm itching for some action."

The pub landlord sighs. "You're never satisfied, are you?" he says, with a hint of fondness in his voice. "But if you're looking for work, I might have something for you. Let me talk to a few people and see what I can dig up."

Peadar grins, his agile fingers tapping impatiently on the bar. "Cheers, Tom," he says. "I owe you one."

Tom shakes his head. "Don't mention it," he says, pouring another round of drinks. "And I'm pretty sure you already owe me more than one"

Peadar laughs, throwing back his head. "Aye I might alright" he says. "I might alright"

A group of Rowdy men entered the bar. They were a rough-looking bunch, with grizzled beards, leather armour, and an assortment of weapons strapped to their belts. They were laughing and cheering, slapping each other on the back and celebrating some kind of treasure they had in a burlap sack, which appeared to be glowing beneath the fabric.

"Drinks all around!" one of them yelled, slamming a handful of coins down on the counter. "We just bagged ourselves a big one!"

Tom raised an eyebrow, eyeing the group warily. He knew the type of trouble that could come, but he also knew they could be good customers if they were kept happy.

"Alright, what'll it be?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

The leader of the group leaned in, whispering something to Tom that Peadar couldn't hear. Tom's eyes widened, but he nodded slowly and turned to grab a bottle of the finest ale from behind the counter.

"This one's on the house," he said, handing the bottle to their leader.

The man grinned, pouring the ale into mugs for his companions. They laughed and joked as they toasted their success, slapping each other on the back and recounting the tale of their latest job.

Peadar watched the group with interest, his mind already racing with the possibilities while his agile fingers tapped restlessly on the bar. He jogged his way over to the group, greeting them with a friendly smile and a pat on the back. "Looks like you boys had a good haul," he said, eyeing their weapons and armour. "What kind of job did you take on?"

The rowdy leader turned to Peadar, sizing him up with a critical eye. "Just a little job for a local lord," he said, taking a swig of ale. "Clearing out some pesky bandits and retrieving some stolen goods. Nothing we couldn't handle, of course."

Peadar nodded, impressed despite himself. He had heard stories of these bandits and their stronghold in the nearby dunes, and knew it wasn't an easy feat to take them down.

"You know, I've been looking for some work myself," he said, leaning in conspiratorially. "You wouldn't happen to know of any jobs going around, would you?"

The rowdy leader chuckled, "Not for a pipsqueak like you!"

The rowdy men laughed, their rough voices filling the room. "Don't worry, mate" another said, clapping Peadar on the back. "You'll find a job that fits your size!"

The men snickered and made fun of Peadar's size, their insults growing more and more taunting. Peadar was tempted to leave, but he wasn't about to let these men get the better of him.

Peadar looked around the pub and saw a large patron, who looked like he had a bit too much to drink, heading towards the rowdy mens' table. Thinking on his feet, Peadar bumped into the patron, spilling his drink all over the group.

"What the fuck?" one of the rowdy men growled, standing up and drawing his sword. The patron stumbled backwards, tripping over a nearby stool and crashing into another groups' table, erupting a pub brawl.

As the chaos erupted around him, Peadar moved with grace and ease, weaving in and out of the drunken patrons, avoiding swinging fists and flailing limbs.

He took advantage of the distraction to lift the burlap sack from the rowdy table. With a sly grin, he slipped out of the pub and into the cool night air. As Peadar made his way to the exit, he gave a blind thumbs up to Tom, who watched him go with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Peadar knew that he had probably caused a bit of trouble for his friend, but he also knew that Tom secretly enjoyed the excitement of it all.

Peadar moved down the street with a spring in his step, feeling alive and free. The night was young, and he had a feeling that he was just getting started. With the burlap sack in hand and a sense of adventure in his heart, Peadar set off into the darkness, ready for whatever lay ahead.