Stacking the Deck

            The winds howled outside, whipping through the trees and the tall grass, the sound like a screaming banshee. Rain came down in torrents, pelting roofs and roads with thick droplets of cold water. The ground was a muddy mess from the rain and the wind that whipped the water into icy blasts that would leave the skin as cold as the touch of death. It was night, and the night was made darker from the storm clouds that covered the heavens with their thick cloaks. There was no warmth in the world that night, spare the warm glow coming from the tavern in the center of the village. The tavern was a meeting place to those who lived in the village, a safe haven for weary travelers, and the only building large enough to house most of the villagers except for the local temple. But where the temple was a cold and lifeless building even on the sunniest of afternoons, the tavern was always welcoming. From the small windows carved into the sides of the tavern the light of the hearth fire spilled out into the raging storm outside, a bastion of warmth and life on a night that was as cold as the grave.

            Inside the tavern the noise of the crowd worked hard to drown out the sounds of the wind and the rain outside. A wandering bard had found his way into the tavern at the onset of the storm, and he was now firmly entrenched in a corner, his hands strumming furiously on his lute. The bard's songs were lively and kept the patrons in the tavern smiling and singing the refrains--even when the words were mostly unknown to those singing. The din of the tavern added to the warmth that the central hearth put out into the room, its blazing flame moving in time to the undulating mass of patrons as they rocked back and forth on the benches to the beat of the bards tune.

            While most of the tavern floor was taken up with tables and benches, along one side ran a bar nearly the entire length of the room. Behind the bar sat four large barrels filled with ale, each of the barrels had been tapped and serving girls constantly poured the amber liquid from the barrels into tankards. Wine bottles with varying degrees of emptiness cluttered the bar-top, and the red liquid ran as freely as the ale. The serving girls all smiled and joined in the gaiety of the night, despite their rumps being sore from the pinching, smiling and swaying through the crowds as they kept the libations flowing. 

            At one of the tables in the tavern sat four patrons, their demeanor and clothing immediately identifying them as visitors to the town, and not locals. One of the outsiders caused the locals of the town to cast curious glances at him every now and again, for it was rare that a Gromvar dwarf traveled this far north. Despite the locals' curiosity, they left the Gromvar well enough alone, and he paid their attention no heed. The table was neither tucked away in a corner, nor was it near the center of the room where most of the lively action was. The men at the table were ensconced in a game of cards, and their faces intent on the game, none of the men noticed the crowd, or looked up except when they needed to order another round of wine and beer. Two of them were clearly men of the sword, despite their different appearances from one another; both had their weapons still fastened upon their bodies, and their faces and hands bore the scars of many skirmishes, won at a price. The other two were more subtle in their dress and occupation, though their skin was not rent, their eyes were equally determined, and it was evident that they shared similar experiences of violence in the world that the warriors had.

            One of the warriors gathered up the cards on the table, his long brown hair spilled over his face and his shoulders in an unruly mess; a mess somewhat contained by a few braids that kept the worst of it out of his eyes. His beard was thick but trimmed and neat. His brown surcoat had seen better days, the trim frayed and much of the fabric patched from rough wear from traveling the wilds of the Midlunds. While the man wore little armor, what he did wear was quality steel and marred from battles. He shuffled the cards deftly before dealing them out to the table.