Broken Bonds [ON HOLD]

Chapter Three | Lexi Hayden

The doors of the tavern were propped open with two white oak barrels. The Poor Oath Tavern was quiet-that will change very soon though. Only three customers sat in the building. A man sat at the bar, fiddling with a flute. He wore a torn tricorne and golden ale stained his snowy cravat. Next to him, munching away at a bit of bread and hot soup, was Dullen. He was a lengthy fellow-always needing to duck when entering any building. Finally, sitting near the bar at a table was a figure cloaked in dark blue. The figure's skin was covered completely, only eyes revealed. On the figure's back, a bow rested, but their arrows were out of sight. The figure's attention was on the book in front of them.

It didn't take long for the regulars to enter The Poor Oath. The lot of them entered, four, but two have yet to show up. Dream smacked the bar and Mergal, the goblin looking man, turned.

"Woah there, Mergal, you are looking beautiful today," Dream teased.

Mergal detested Dream and his smug smile. Dream was a colonist from Naviam. He was sure to always wear a different pair of shoes everyday-today it was his feather brown spats. He must have had at least seven or eight coats, each with more buttons than a soldier's uniform. There was one thing that never changed: he was never without his mama blue monmouth cap that floated on his head because of how much ginger hair he had as he refused to ever get a haircut. His hair did not grow down, giving him the luxury to put it into a pony tail. No, it grew up and out. If it wasn't for the hat, Dream would look like a dog after it rolled around on a rug.

"Where's Morrie?" Dream asked.

"In the back making malt," Mergal said.

"And the boy, Michael? Where's the lad at?"

"Running errands. Just me right now." Mergal eyed down Dream, his eyes glowing through the thin slits in his face. He grabbed a glass from under the bar with his tan-green hand and began washing it. "What you want to drink?"
Dream laughed. "I'll wait for Morrie to come out."

Jesse, a fierce man with scar that kissed his cheek, placed a black flask on the bar. "Water, please."

Mergal grabbed it as Dream said, "the water's bad around here, you know?"

Jesse shrugged. "Water's better than rum."

Dalton barged into the conversation, laughing. "I can tell you've never been at sea, Jesse."

"Never had a desire to get on a floating coffin." Jesse took the flask back and took a large gulp of water.

"Big dog can't swim," Dalton mocked.

Jesse slammed the flask on the table. His hand flew to his side, looking for his dagger, but Dream stopped him. He scolded Dalton and then they all faced forward. Mergal began cooking up some soup and passed out whatever was left to the four men. They all, loud as trumpets, sipped the hot broth. Dream took his spoon and tried taking a bigger sip, but found it burning hot. He fanned his mouth with his hand, panting and looking for a napkin. He wiped face and looked to his side at the flute wielding man.

"You're new," Dream said.

The flute man, surprised, almost dropped the instrument. He ducked his head slightly and spoke in a hushed voice. "Y-yes," he stuttered. "I'll be performing later today."

Dream slammed the bar and rose up. "Finally, we'll get some music in here," he cheered. Jesse and Dalton joined in with mighty laughs. Only one of the regulars didn't mock the music man and that was Isaiah, the local smith. He sat quiet in thought. Isaiah waved his hand and Mergal slid him a cup of beer. Taking a sip, Isaiah brushed his greased hair back. No one payed attention to the troubled man for if Isaiah wanted his problem to be known, he would have told it already. But he didn't, not yet.