Read (DBD&D) Dancing Between Devil and Death :: "Friend"

Then the pub's door slammed open. The Night's breeze entered an ominous howl. And taking the time to glance at the entrance, several of the men beheld a stranger. He wore a broad-brimmed leather hat, ashen hair fluttering in the wind, and a dark cloak concealing his face from the nose down. This stranger's intense eyes of snow surveyed the room, skipping past the rabble of men and resting on Neleve.

"Either my timing is impeccable," he started nonchalantly, "or I have just earned the wanderer's greeting."

"Go on about your business," sneered the bald man. "Have a drink, sit down, or leave unless you wish to join us."

"You there!" the stranger pointed at Neleve. "Are you at the center of this fixation?"

"What are you, traveler? If you're seeking this cheat's word, best sod off!"

"I arrived with no such intent, but I see one reasonable course. Perchance, I can convince thee to let this matter, whatever it may be, resolve peacefully? Ideally over a drink, as I need one."

"You need not involve yourself in this, good sir!" exclaimed Neleve. "I'm in this, alone. Besides, gods know I've tried using reason. So don't waste your time with it."

"Too late!" The one-eyed fighter and his close attachment of three men rushed Neleve.

Neleve jumped back and evaded the first blade, then reprised with a high kick that knocked his opponent to the floor. Of the three that followed, the bad-bearded attacker thrust his own knife; but moving quickly and efficiently, Neleve dodged, causing his loss of balance that concluded with his fumbling over the table. Neleve then parried the second man's fist with his left arm, consolidating with a strike that shoved his opponent into the man behind. One the other side of him, the rest began their convergence. Thus, in his moment of respite, he balanced the nearest chair on his foot and launched it against the group. When it struck, they fumbled and lost momentum.

By the time his opponents regained their footing, Neleve had set himself in between two tables. And in their blind fury, they stampeded into more tumbling. Even those few who did not fall found themselves thoroughly beaten back. For his swift kicks, punches, and their awkward footing they were ultimately unable to stand toe to toe against one man. Failing in three versus one, fooling themselves in one versus one, the limited pub space inevitably worked to Neleve's advantage; the restriction coupled with his agility, it ultimately left the brawlers to self-imposed collapse.

"Die already!" cried he of the bad beard, suddenly lunging from Neleve's blind spot. Neleve turned to see the sword's edge on his periphery. But as it came down, another hand caught the arm in a vice. It belonged to the ashen-haired stranger. And despite wielding his sword with ten fingers, the bearded man could not break free of the stranger's single-handed grasp. Thus, seizing his opportunity, Neleve struck the bearded man's throat and caused his gurgling fall for breath.

With the brawl painstakingly concluded, the floor was littered with bruised bodies. Aside from Neleve, only the ashen-haired stranger stood on his two feet.

"That was quite courageous of thee, sir whose name I have not learned."

"Nay. Just a reactionary gambit," replied Neleve.

Meanwhile, the bartender casually stood behind his counter, occupying himself via the arrangement of the steins. It was a mundane room, without angry beatings environing them, but he had remained calm before and after the fact. And once the last two men assumed their stools side-by-side, he turned around. He would stare silently at their impassivity until Neleve requested a drink. "Any wine accompanying your stock?"

"I can forgive y' for wreckin' my pub," he replied, "but not for that request!"

"Spirit for me, if you will," enjoined the ashen-haired stranger

And the barkeep was content to turn around, pour drinks, and then return with two steins of the same refreshment.

"My name is Neleve," he said, staring within the rim of his stein before taking a refined sip.

"Dane is my name," the stranger responded, still as a statue. Therefore, Neleve was first to extend his arm, slowly turning and inhaling Dane's ambiguous countenance. Dane turned his eyes and reacted in kind. They shook hands.

The next few moments of leisure were spent in alcohol. Only a few moans from the grounded brawlers broke the pub's silence.

"I best be leaving now," said Dane, rising from his stool.

"Where to?" asked Neleve, expressly curious.

"Cannot say, for my stride is whimsical as of late."

"I'm sorry?"

"For the moment, I have no definitive destination. East, perhaps?"

"There's something we carry in common."

"Truly?"

"I'm setting forth as well. You may accompany me since you seem like you can hold your own"—Glancing the floor littered with sorry and beleaguered men—"as far as the simple ones are concerned. You may prove the beneficiary to my... let's call it hiatus!"

"You are saying I may benefit thee?" Dane considered. "A change of pace. I suppose if I am not the cooperative sort, I am blind to any other purpose." Thus, he took another drink as Neleve tried reading his mind.

He is uncanny from the average encounter. "Whenever you're ready, friend."

"My name is Dane," he clarified.

"Yes, you said that... Have you never been called 'friend?'"

"I'm not sure what that means."

"May time merit an explanation. But, as of right now, I am ready." He rose from his stool. Anticipating their departure, however, the barkeep delayed Neleve, gesturing at their surroundings and lending a hint with a beckoning hand. "Right." Neleve willingly dropped his pouch of coins on the counter for the owner to confiscate.

"So substantial?" questioned Dane.

"'Tis only money."

Standing from their stools, Dane and Neleve started toward the exit. But Neleve abruptly stopped and began a personal investigation of their surroundings. Eventually, he indicated the barrel by the doorway, its peculiar inner rumbling. After lightly kicking the base, he found Friar Thomas cautiously availing himself from underneath the lid.

"A good feeling had I when I laid eyes on thee!" schmoozed the small man. "Right, wasn't I?" Neleve simply held out his hand and the friar sighed. Reluctantly, he returned Neleve's winnings from their lamentable card game, dropping the entire sack in his hands.

Thus, the pair left the pub and everyone as they lay. Dane would step outside with Neleve close behind, into the cold outdoors to breathe the night's breeze.

And that concludes Chapter 3 of The Wanderer. If you enjoyed any of it, do hit that vote button. Thanks for reading, and I do hope you join me as we explore the world with our strange characters.