"There is a saying that no man has tasted the full flavor of life until he has known poverty, love, and war."
-O. Henry
The sound of rain pouring over the roof engulfed the air. The tavern was strangely silent tonight; but then again, there aren't many people around. That's what happens when there's a war — even the liveliest places become oddly depressing.
I stared into the clear glass mug of beer on my table and held it in my hand. The mere sight of it reminded me of what I've become; a mercenary — a sellsword whose only purpose was to earn a few gold coins and drink until he's merry... but it was the only choice I had left to survive.
A group of armed men entered the tavern, their leader flung the doors open as if he owned the place. The silence of the tavern was broken and all eyes were on them. The leader was a bald man who called himself Scar. How creative, given the huge scar across his bald head.
"We're looking for a man called Siegurd," said Scar as he showed the barkeep an illustration of Siegurd. The barkeep saw that Siegurd looked as if he was not a day older than twenty. He had wavy black hair and a chiseled jaw, but his most striking feature was his eyes. He had a pair of solemn brown eyes that were hidden by the fierceness of his expression. The barkeep wondered if he had seen such a man before.
"My apologies, milord, I have not met nor seen this boy before," said the barkeep. Scar took out his dagger and ran its blade along the barkeep's cheek. "Please, milord, I know nothing!" The barkeep added. His legs were shaking and sweat ran down his temple.
I saw that the barkeep was breaking a sweat. He had locked his eyes shut as if closing them would make Scar and his men disappear into thin air. He whispered prayers under his shaking breath, hoping that God or whatever gods he served would come to help him. But gods don't save lives or make things happen. Only men do.
In times like this, the nature of man is most evident. Some would beg, some would run. Some would spend the last bits of their strength to fight back, and some would pray. But me? I like to take action. I pray to no god, beg no mercy, or cower in fear as I hopelessly believe that someone or something will save me. Because the only things I believe in are my weapons and my skills.
I had casually walked towards Scar and put my left hand over his shoulder. Their attention was now on me, but before any of them could say a word, I swung my sword at Scar's arm holding the barkeep, separating it from his body. Blood dripped from his severed limb as he writhed in agony on the floor which has now been covered in his puddle of blood.
The cries of an arrogant man are satisfying, but the fear written on their faces are far, far better. They could not see my face before as I had hidden it under a hood, but now that I've shown it to them, they will remember it for all eternity.
Scar's men were taken aback, one of them even fell on his arse and wet himself. "It's him! It's Siegurd the Mad Wolf!"
"Bounty hunters, huh?" I said, casually wiping off the blood on my sword with a piece of napkin. "I thought they'd be sending better hounds after me by now. But this is it? A bunch of pups baring their blunth teeth and tiny peckers at me!" I took Scar's dagger from his arm and wielded it in my left hand.
Scar's men were angered by what I said and surrounded me. An attack from all directions, huh? Maybe they're not entirely stupid.
I took the first strike and lunged my sword into the chest of the older man and threw the dagger at the ugly one's face. One of them managed to swing his blade at me but it only cut through my hood. I grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground. The last thing he saw was the glint of reflected light from my sword as I plunged it into his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth as the tavern fell silent once more.
I approached the man who had wet himself, "Go back to your master and tell him the Mad Wolf is coming."