Day of Winter in the Year 513 AV
Roy did not frequent taverns very often. He preferred dealing with his problems head on, rather than drinking them away. He quite literally dealt with them head on but usually in a different, more, aggressive way.
There was a loud crack as Roy’s forehead smashed into the eye socket of the drunkard outside of the Pig’s Foot. The liquored up man crashed onto his back, arms splayed out. He lay on the snow covered ground moaning, unable to get up.
“I suggest not trying to screw with me next time you feel the urge to get in a fight,” scowled at him, irritated. His head ached from the blow but the forehead was the hardest part of the skull. It packed quite a punch if placed properly.
The nineteen year old youth strode to the door of the tavern and pulled the door open. He was met with a wave of musty air, reeking of stale sweat and alcohol. A haze of smoke floated lazily around the ceiling that emerged from the pipes of men and woman alike smoking their pipeweed. Laughter and shouts collided together into one sound as they assaulted Roy’s ears.
Roy glanced around the sleazy joint in distaste. All manners of people lounged around the tables, tankards of ale and plates of food were scattered around. The bar itself was fairly full, the bartender and a young barmaiden worked behind the counter.
“That must be Mev, the owner of the tavern,” Roy eyed him as he treaded over to the bar. Everyone knew Mev. He had never seen him, himself but he had heard enough about Mev to know you didn’t want to mess with him. He could throw down better than anyone else, from what the stories said.
Roy arrived at the bar and took a seat, an empty stool on each side of him. He rested his elbows on the counter, fingers steepled together and cast his blue eyes around the room. Seeing the rowdy antics of the regulars, Roy tried to remember why he was there.
“My parents don’t know when to just leave an issue alone. They just keep prying and prying and prying and hope I’ll talk about it.”
They had been trying to get him to talk about the turmoil that was so apparent in his mind. He had stormed out of his small apartment he shared with his mother and father and angrily stomped through the streets. The freezing temperatures slowly got to him though and he was forced to either return home or find a warmer location. But going back was not an opinion at the moment. He was still too angry at deal with them.
His attention was brought back to the present as the barmaiden came his way. “What’cha be needin’ hun?” She purred as she looked at him coly.
“You have anything warm? Soup, maybe?” He cupped his hands and blew on them, emphasizing his point.
The woman winked at him, “Sure thing, sweety. I whip you up somethin’ real quick.” She disappeared into the back. Roy idly fingered a few mizas in his coat pocket. He rarely carried coins on his person but he had recently earned some miza from his parents business for some work they had him do.
“Probably trying to buy me off and lure me in by making some money. It won’t work though, I don’t want to take over the candle making business. Why can’t they seem to understand that?!”
Roy growled quietly. The metal coins cut into the palm of his hand as he squeezed it, growing frustrated. It was a constant battle with his parents. They wanted a certain way of life for him that he vehemently opposed. He wanted more than barely scrapping by in the slums of Sunberth making candles his entire life.
He sighed and let go of the coins, letting them fall one by one into his pocket. He crossed his arms and set them on the counter, waiting for his food. He looked forward to getting some warmth inside of him to fight off the bitter cold that awaited him.
Roy did not frequent taverns very often. He preferred dealing with his problems head on, rather than drinking them away. He quite literally dealt with them head on but usually in a different, more, aggressive way.
There was a loud crack as Roy’s forehead smashed into the eye socket of the drunkard outside of the Pig’s Foot. The liquored up man crashed onto his back, arms splayed out. He lay on the snow covered ground moaning, unable to get up.
“I suggest not trying to screw with me next time you feel the urge to get in a fight,” scowled at him, irritated. His head ached from the blow but the forehead was the hardest part of the skull. It packed quite a punch if placed properly.
The nineteen year old youth strode to the door of the tavern and pulled the door open. He was met with a wave of musty air, reeking of stale sweat and alcohol. A haze of smoke floated lazily around the ceiling that emerged from the pipes of men and woman alike smoking their pipeweed. Laughter and shouts collided together into one sound as they assaulted Roy’s ears.
Roy glanced around the sleazy joint in distaste. All manners of people lounged around the tables, tankards of ale and plates of food were scattered around. The bar itself was fairly full, the bartender and a young barmaiden worked behind the counter.
“That must be Mev, the owner of the tavern,” Roy eyed him as he treaded over to the bar. Everyone knew Mev. He had never seen him, himself but he had heard enough about Mev to know you didn’t want to mess with him. He could throw down better than anyone else, from what the stories said.
Roy arrived at the bar and took a seat, an empty stool on each side of him. He rested his elbows on the counter, fingers steepled together and cast his blue eyes around the room. Seeing the rowdy antics of the regulars, Roy tried to remember why he was there.
“My parents don’t know when to just leave an issue alone. They just keep prying and prying and prying and hope I’ll talk about it.”
They had been trying to get him to talk about the turmoil that was so apparent in his mind. He had stormed out of his small apartment he shared with his mother and father and angrily stomped through the streets. The freezing temperatures slowly got to him though and he was forced to either return home or find a warmer location. But going back was not an opinion at the moment. He was still too angry at deal with them.
His attention was brought back to the present as the barmaiden came his way. “What’cha be needin’ hun?” She purred as she looked at him coly.
“You have anything warm? Soup, maybe?” He cupped his hands and blew on them, emphasizing his point.
The woman winked at him, “Sure thing, sweety. I whip you up somethin’ real quick.” She disappeared into the back. Roy idly fingered a few mizas in his coat pocket. He rarely carried coins on his person but he had recently earned some miza from his parents business for some work they had him do.
“Probably trying to buy me off and lure me in by making some money. It won’t work though, I don’t want to take over the candle making business. Why can’t they seem to understand that?!”
Roy growled quietly. The metal coins cut into the palm of his hand as he squeezed it, growing frustrated. It was a constant battle with his parents. They wanted a certain way of life for him that he vehemently opposed. He wanted more than barely scrapping by in the slums of Sunberth making candles his entire life.
He sighed and let go of the coins, letting them fall one by one into his pocket. He crossed his arms and set them on the counter, waiting for his food. He looked forward to getting some warmth inside of him to fight off the bitter cold that awaited him.
