Torris Corozad is perhaps the most talented weapons expert and swordsmith that her country has ever seen. She is also the leader of a band of runaways and vagabonds that hides out in an abandoned monastery on the border between two rival countries.
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T H E B L U S H I N G M A I D E N had been their meetup spot for as long as Torris could remember.
She could be found there most nights, either raucously performing stirring renditions of classic bar melodies, or skulking in her usual spot in the corner with a pint of ale and a scowl stretched across her face, depending on how the day's business had gone.
Today, she was in rare form; neither exuberant or melancholy, some combination of hopeful and wistful. She sat at the bar, swishing her brandy idly and looking, not at the other patrons, but through them.
A deep voice broke her from her momentary trance.
"I would offer you a gade for your thoughts, but I spent the last of mine on the Maiden's Tears coming your way."
Torris smirked wryly as she met the man's eyes, and he pulled out the stool next to her and sat. Just as he said, the barkeep walked over with three small glasses filled with a clear, almost glowing liquid, and placed them in front of her with a grunt.
"You know, Bruin, usually you have him tell me who sent the drinks, and then you wait for me to approach you."
He smiled and placed a dark hand on the bar. "Yes, well, I'm a pirate, love. The usual rules don't apply."
She raised a playful eyebrow. "I thought you preferred to think of yourself as a privateer."
He shrugged his enormously broad shoulders. "Times change, so do titles. I fancy you'll think the same of me no matter what it is I'm called by the locals."
She turned her body away from the bar and towards him, looking him in his one good eye and letting an expression of mild amusement dance across her features.
"And what makes you so sure that I think of you at all?"
Instead of a responding, the pirate leaned in closer to her and studied her face, his own so near now that she could almost taste his familiar scent of salty sea breeze punctuated by the tang of mint leaves she knew he chewed in an effort to mask it.
"I've missed you," he muttered, his usual charming disposition breaking for the briefest of moments so that his dark pupil cleared and looked her slowly up and down.
She looked away then, leaning back and shifting her weight. "It has been a long time since I last saw you, Captain Bruin Slatte."
"Too long." He nodded his assent, but did not break his gaze.
Torris turned back towards the bar and focused her attention on the small glasses of liquor in front of her. She knew she was likely already drunk enough to forget the now-murky thoughts that had been troubling her, but she saw no reason to stop there. She raised the first and closest of the glasses to her lips, tossing the liquid down in one searing gulp, screwing her eyes tightly shut against the burning sensation it left in her mouth. Bruin had always loved watching her do that.
