The Last Available

The Last Available: Chapter 1

(This is a work in progress and, as such, is a very rough draft, presented as-is. This is my property and may not be recreated in any way. It's mine--all of it. Mine mine mine, mwahaha!)

Our tale begins at the Inn of the Scorned Woman which, as luck would have it, sat directly across the street from the Forgetful Husband Tavern. From the juxtaposition you would think that the two establishments were somehow related but, ironically enough, they were not. At least, that is what I have been told. I am not the utmost authority on such matters.

The air was hot and balmy that night-typical of a summer evening in Ralph's Keep. It was a town well accustomed to both sizzling summer nights and frigid winter days. Being nestled smack dab in the middle of the Realm, the town was also very familiar to travelers like the one who entered the inn's taproom on this night.

He was a large hulk of a man who had a bit of trouble fitting through the front door. But, then, he wasn't really a man at all. Why, he was an orc! Throg Axehammer was his name, and he removed his horned helmet as he sat at a large, circular table in the corner of the mostly deserted common room.

He grunted and picked his green teeth with a dagger, glaring around the room with squinty eyes and a frown on his face. He was certainly not an individual you would want to cross...or double cross...or even triple cross, if that was possible.

On his back was a hefty, dual-bladed battle axe. His armor consisted mostly of animal hides with bits of metal haphazardly jutting out here and there. There was not a hair on Throg's head and it was doubtful that there was a brain in his head, either.

It was late-almost closing time-and there was only one man working up at the bar. His name was Jaco Wingsgood and he owned the inn. A large man himself, he was quite well built for someone who worked behind a counter most days. He scratched his bald head and picked up several glasses as he walked into the kitchen.

Throg stroked the stubble on his chin and stared at the table. I wondered if he wanted a drink-it probably was not wise to keep him waiting. To my surprise, he patiently sat, picking his nose and examining the room. For a moment he looked less imposing and more...bored. Soon enough, however, the front door opened, and a man entered. He looked around briefly and then sat across the table from the orc.

He was clad in brown breeches and a bright blue tabard that was littered with the symbols of many different deities. On his left hip hung a long, slender sword and he carried a shield. He removed his shiny, winged helm and straightened his brown, shoulder-length hair.

This man would most certainly be Brutus TheKind. He fit the description, anyway. The fact that his armor was shiny, and his garb was immaculate confirmed my suspicions. I was beginning to wonder if this man had ever seen combat at all.

Throg looked Brutus over as the man inspected the fingernails on his right hand, obviously not paying attention.

Soon after, another individual entered the common room. Clad in chain armor that desperately tried to cover only the most sensitive areas of a lady, she carried numerous weapons. I noticed a longsword, a great sword, a short sword, and some kind of large stick. There were several more on her person, but I couldn't determine what they were.

Her name was Pylara Wondercleave-a vicious female warrior with a reputation for her combat prowess-she loved to kill, and everyone knew it. Of course, all this killing was mostly vermin and small animals. But she was apparently very good at it! I wasn't sure if she had some kind of a vendetta against them or if that was the only work that she could find around these parts. Either way, I would not want to be a squirrel right about now.