It remained vivid in my mind, an indelible mark, as though it happened yesterday. The broad back of my father in through his armour as he departed from home with his hunter guild that was called The Swallows. Though he had been nothing but a inert foot soldier unable to use krana , he was a dashing warrior to me.
How tragically mistaken I was.
A scout from the now-defunct guild had discovered an adequately sized, untouched den of pyro wolves, a fearsome grade three kranic beast. Their leader, Sazan, arrogantly believed his guild, despite being only grade two, was sufficiently skilled to subjugate the den without seeking an alliance.
A catastrophic miscalculation.
That day the entire guild of twenty five was was annihilated, leaving only two surviving deserters. A prudent decision I say it.
After two weeks of constant worrying, the men from the corpse crew of the royal guild association of our kingdom of Ilantris retuned to us the half-eaten, half-missing body of my father upon a bier.
The subsequent days remained a hazy blur. All I could recollect now are gnawing pangs of sorrow and the mournful cries of my mother.
There was nothing more left for us in the royal city. After receiving a portion of the guild treasury and selling our meager assets, both me and my mother had retreated to the town of Ferryvile where my maternal grandparents lived, which was hundred miles to the west of the royal city.
I was nine years old at the time. Knowing we had some capital, my grandfather suggested that we start some small business. Coincidentally, he possessed the skills to brew wine and beer, so we ended up opening a tavern in the eastern part of the city. We named it 'Fox Whiskers.'
Ten years forward, we were now the second biggest tavern in the town of Ferryvile. It was early into the night and patrons came pouring in.
Ferryvile sat atop a vein of iron ore, making mining the town's major occupation. And what could be more rewarding for a miner, after a long day beneath the earth than a tankard of ice-cold beer? The air was thick with a pungent cocktail of alcohol and the raw, unwashed aroma of the miners.
With practised movements, I moved around the floor, table to table delivering refills of beer and food along with our two hired waitresses, Misi and Foppy, both twin sisters at age twenty five.
It was a busy and night. Chatter from every table fused together into undiscernible cacophony. I took a glance of my busy mother at the counter, who smilingly exchanged gossip behind the hardwood counter. Previously, while we were still a budding business, Mother and Grandma worked the kitchen. Subsequently, our success allowed us to hire three skilled cooks. Mother now mostly worked behind the counter.
Hearing no further summons and observing no new arrivals, I leisurely leaned against a wooden pillar, releasing a deep sigh of relaxation.
"Oh really now! He did what?", I heard my mother exclaim, during a conversation with a customer. "Trust me, Martha! He was then made to walk naked!", the man continued, speaking of Garith the farmer, another forty-year-old like my mother. Garith had been a frequent customer at our shop, his visits often tinged with an obvious intent to court my mother, as he was a bachelor and my mother was fairly beautiful with few wrinkles to her face. The faintest of crow's feet traced the corners of her eyes, softening her expression. Seeing my mother enjoying herself made the corners of my lips upturn. Though it's still fairly recent, she seems to be moving on from my father's passing. I never wanted her to be so devastated again.
Foppy walked up to me with a tired expression stretching her stiff back and shoulders. "At last, some respite," she said, a sigh escaping her lips. "Any good tips yet", I asked in a chuckle. "None. All cheaplings today.", she pouted and I nodded.
"Say Friel. After the closing, how about you and I find an escape?"
Before I could answer her, a loud bang at the entry startled both of us. A tall and intimidating figure stood there in tattered clothes.
A hunter.