Wax Abyss

[ Yorrick ] Sweet Mead

Yorrick sat in the bar, at a small table near the middle. In fact, he did this nearly every day. He'd arrive just after lunch time and order a pitcher of the sweetest mead the bar had to offer, and sit at his lonely little table. He was always, always, always up to date on the latest news, because he would sit and listen to the tables and the conversations around him.

He'd heard of weddings, and crop stores. Of crimes and boredom. All of this wasn't terribly boring, to Yorrick, it was blissful. The idle chatter of the people coming and going was enough for him- enough to satisfy his quaint need for common knowledge.

Yorrick would only bat an eye when someone got too drunk and got hands-y with someone, or attempted to hurt someone. Being a half-dwarf, he was of average height, but he had wide shoulders and swathes of muscle. He was sturdy- large footed with a natural shoulder width stance, and had dark orange curls that sprouted from his head, and from his chin. He had a thick, well maintained, short beard, that when shaved would allow his immensely square and stocky jaw to be shown. His eyes were always half-lidded and sunken in, a dark brown that looked like dirt.

On this particular afternoon, though. Yorrick had to step in.

A man had entered with his wife. The two sat down, ordered dinner, and a few drinks. Slowly but surely, he'd gotten tipsy. Then, despite her protests, he's gotten extremely drunk and aggravated. Yorrick had seen this kind of thing before- a horrible person wed to a nice young woman, and that person abused her beauty and grace. Yorrik decided to step up- he couldn't watch him shout back at her anymore. He left his little table, heavy foot steps stomping across the wooden floor. His big, meaty hand clasped around the man's arm before he could strike his wife with his mug. 

"Stop that," Yorrick said in a gruff voice. The man, who's face was dusted red from the liquor, chuckled. "A-and just do you think- hic- you are? I'ms.... I is on a good ole' date with me lady!" The man slurred out. Yorrick grit his teeth, feeling the anger well up in his throat.

"Is beating your wife an idea of a good time?" He said, letting go and pushing the man away. The man fell back into a chair, nearly knocking it over. He got to his feet, shaking. "Aye, you wanna go, lad?" He said, putting his fists up. Yorrick cracked his knuckles.

Yorrick was extremely confused when the city guards came in, cuffing both him and the drunk man. On the ride back to the cell house, he'd thought over what went south. Had he been wrong in protecting that woman? Should he have let him hit her? He sighed, closed his eyes, sat back.

He'd been to the cell house before. He knew this would be a long ride.