3rd of Spring, AV 511
Berus almost nodded off as he leaned back contentedly in his chair, strumming his lyre. Eyes closed and fingers absently playing one of the simplest tunes, he was able to completely shut out the sounds of the bustling bar around him and imagine in his head the great adventures he had read about in so many books. He viewed it as if he were a bystander; watching as great heroes struck down mighty enemies… Then he placed himself in the shoes of those heroes, imagining himself-
Snap! He came crashing out of the daydream as one of the strings on his lyre snapped cleanly in two. He yelped in surprise and overbalanced in his chair. He fall backwards with a crash and landed on the floor in a great heap. He leapt up to his feet as quickly as he could, dusting himself off and glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily enough, the people in the bar were too busy having a good time to notice a single slight man falling. He let out a sigh of relief as he righted his fallen chair and retrieved his lyre from the floor. That’s what he gets for dreaming of a life beyond what he had.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Berus walked over to the cup he’d laid out in case anyone had decided to tip him for the music. His shoulder’s sagged a bit when he saw that the cup contained not a bit of coin but was instead filled to the brim with someone’s vomit. Ugh, the life of a bard; filled with music and vomit.
Abandoning his cup and its vast treasures to whomever was luckily enough to have the job of cleaning this tavern, he headed for the door. However, he was intercepted by three drunken men who’s bloodshot eyes told him that they’d drunk their fill tonight. They all regarded the short man with half-coherent, amused expressions. Their leader, the largest of the three and about twice Berus’s size, stepped forward.
“So uh… Berus isn’t it? You the bard who thinks of goin’ out and bein’ a hero?” The drunkard managed to spew out, along with a large amount of spittle. He seemed to be teetering slightly, making Berus very afraid that he’d fall forward and crush the poor little bard. Berus glanced around, certainly not enjoying being accosted by drunken people when not in the same state. The three men in front of him were all much larger than him and, judging by their many bruises and rough, slightly bloodstained clothing, they appeared to be very experienced in brawling. All of them bore muscles obtained by hard work in the harsh, cold lands.
“Well, I am Berus and I am a bard. And yes, I do think I’d like to go out and see the world, along with perhaps an adventure or two,” Berus replied, grinning a bit at the last part. “Do you gentlemen mind stepping aside so-“
The leader interrupted him loudly, “A little runt like you? I bet even a practice dummy could beat you up.” He glared at the bard threateningly, his dark eyes flashing and changing color to a fierce green.
Berus backed away slightly, unsure of how to proceed. “I don’t look it, but I’m a fast little runt. I bet I could do some damage, given the chance.”
The two sidekicks laughed loudly for a moment as the leader crossed his big, meaty arms. “Tell you what, runt, if you can land a good punch on me, I’ll let you be on your way.” The leader smiled widely, displaying several gaping holes between his yellow teeth.
Berus looked around to see if anyone could help him. Unfortunately enough, this was not a challenge that could be evaded. He sighed, setting down his lyre and lamenting his ill luck. He stared hard at his opponent for a long moment, trying not to stare in disgust at the drool falling from the man’s mouth. His eyes shifted from a sparking green to a fierce blue as he attempted to pick the easiest target on his opponent's muscled body.
Then, stepping forward for more momentum, he sent his left hand flying at the man’s chest with all of his strength.
The drunkard stepped easily to the side of the blow, grabbed Berus’s wrist, and tossed him through the door and out into the snow in one easy movement. Berus crashed into the ground hard, mind reeling, and attempted to hop back to his feet.
He managed to get one shaky leg under him just as the drunkard’s fist collided with his jaw and sent him down once more.