CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:
~ REFERENCE TO CHILD ABUSE
~ STRONG LANGUAGE / PROFANITY
~ RACIAL DISCRIMINATION
"Look here! A sewer rat climbed out of the tunnels to join us this fine evening!" A male voice shouted with a slur.
"Ha! That's an insult to rats, comparing them to a black skinned maggot!" Another male voice snickered.
"Where the hell did that thing even come from anyways?" A third.
"I heard it belongs to the slayer!"
"Bah!" Said the first, "That slayer should keep a tighter leash on its mongrel, letting such a creature roam out streets. A disgrace."
Gaalin sighed as the group of men continued to speak about him, simply for the color of his skin, his race. Elves were not to be found fond of by man, dark elves were even lesser. Considered to be creatures of darkness, hatred and evil deeds, he was presumed utterly vile. Yet how vile were these men to say such a thing about him, when they knew nothing of him.
"Maybe we ought to show that demon out, eh? It's starting to stink up the place!" The men laughed as they were deliberately speaking loud enough for him to hear.
"Hey!" They shouted. "Hey! Devil!"
Gaalin glanced up and over his shoulder as he heard the insults come flying from behind him. His temple pulsated in growing frustration. He'd best get a look at the faces of the men he would be inflicting a great deal of pain on. The men almost fell out of their chairs as they smashed their mugs together. "Oye! Look, he's looking this way."
"Disgusting!"
"Look at his face! Ugly innit?"
Gaalin rolled his eyes and turned back to the scraps of food remaining on the table, glancing at the guards who sat with him. Half were asleep in a drunken stupor, while others mingled with the wenches who roamed the inn like hungry animals. There was plenty of activity tonight at the inn, a successful harvest was soon to be had and several of the citizens were finding themselves richer with the recent slaughter of the dragon, as its carcass could be used in several ways by different artisans. So now, it was a time of joy for many.
"Hey, you're a pretty little thing!" The same men called. "Come sit on my lap, I'll buy you a pint."
"Oh don't you dare, that lass is too good for you! Ya stupid oaf."
"Oye! What? So she should sit with your pig-smelling ass? You always go after the pretty ones, leave some for the rest of us."
Gaalin found himself rolling his eyes again, and then met the eyes of a younger guard who stared at him with a sheepish grin.
"What?" He spat.
The young man's grinned widened, "There's about to be a fight I'd say."
Gaalin snorted, "What makes you say that?"
"Hey! No! Pretty lass, don't go to that trash, come here!" The men continued calling for the unknown woman, spouting poor lines to entice her to their loins, then practically screeching insults at her.
"If you don't shut those bastards up soon, I will." Gaalin growled at the guard, taking another swig of his ale and a bite of bread.
"Hmm, I'd love to see that." A sweet voice said, a voice belonging to an attractive young woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She wore a simple muslin dress with green sash around her waist. Her wavy brown hair touched her shoulders, and she twirled a lock between her fingers.
"It's been a long time since I've seen you in here Gaalin."
He stared at her with a blank expression, swallowing his taste of stale wheat. She sat down beside him, ignoring the continued catcalls of the men at the table just a few yards away. She lifted the mug of alcohol from Gaalin's hand, taking a long and slow drink from it before setting it down.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Gaalin glanced back at the guard who was still staring at him, but this time mischievously. He looked back at the woman. "Am I supposed to?"
She laughed, surprising him as the last several encounters of him not remembering a woman resulted in a tantrum from them. Instead, this one laughed. She leaned closer to him, placing her hand on his forearm.
"It's alright. You may not remember me, but I would never be able to forget you." Her hand left his forearm, and he flinched as she gently cupped his inner thigh. He swallowed again, perhaps this time trying to swallow his own tongue. She smiled seductively at him, positioning herself comfortably at his side. In that moment, a hollowed-out horn filled with ale passed over his head, over the excited young guardsman, and onto the back of a rather large looking fellow sitting at the table beside theirs.
Gaalin watched the man pause as the liquid collided with his back, dousing his clothes with a pungent aroma and saturating the material on a cold night. He slowly rose from his seat, revealing a man who was not one you'd wish to truffle with. With muscles bulging from his arms, a wide torso stretching the material of his shirt, and an expression that resembled that of an enraged boar.
The man turned around, glaring downwards at Gaalin as if he were the one who threw the drink. The wench at his side forced an uninterested yawn, leaning closer to Gaalin, taking his arm, and wrapping her own around it. The drow elf looked upwards at the man, expressing a look of boredom, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.
"It's those idiots you want."
The frighteningly angry man looked past the table full of drunken guards and a hated elf, and towards the men who Gaalin assumed were shaking in their seats. The man bellowed out a roar, stomping heavily towards the opposing table.
"I'm going to kill you!"