“Umm…” I glance behind me, taking in my surroundings one last time.
The tavern is dim, illuminated only by a few oil lanterns. Groups of men and women fill several small clusters of tables scattered around the space as they eat and drink—the scent of ale wafts through the air, accompanied by a strange undertone of… piss.
Two men fight nearby. They yell obscenities at one another, slurring their words. Blood streaks across their knuckles as they throw fists. One picks up a barstool, slamming it across the back of the other to knock them over. The tavern erupts incheers as the patrons thoroughly enjoy the spectacle. Others place bets on who will win, sliding coins back and forth to one another.
“I need a job…” I say hesitantly, tearing my focus away from the fight and back to the man behind the bar.
The barkeep is seemingly unfazed by the chaos. He huffs, grabbing something and tossing it at me. “See how you fare for an afternoon.”
I catch the stained apron in my hands and unfold the mess of fabric. I’ve never worn an apron before. Pulling the cloth over my head, I tie the strings behind my back and adjust it over my dress.
The warlord would establish a favorable reputation. If people discover who I am, their trust in me will erode. This means I must create as many positive associations as possible so that people will come to my defense.
“Ale and wine cost one bronze. A plate of roast is one silver. Vegetable pottage is three bronze, got it?” He spouts a list of prices to me. “When folks leave, clear off the table and wipe it down so others can sit there. And if anyone tries skippin’ out without payin’ you, come get me.”
“And you are…?”
“Alastor.”
“I’m Rae.” I smile, shortening my name to hide my identity. While most Elvarrans likely don’t know who I am, it's best to take as many precautions as possible to blend in.
He grunts before walking away to help someone on the far side of the bar. I turn to look at my surroundings. The fight between the two men comes to an end, and everyone returns to their conversations.
“You, halfling girl! I need a refill.” A voice shouts from across the room.
Glancing over, I see an older Elvarran raising their tankardat me. I pause for a moment. Halfling girl, not human girl. The distinction jolts me. Many Elvarrans must have assumed that I am a halfling already. Do they really believe no human would ever cross the Northern Alps and settle in Khalessor? Maybe that assumption will work in my favor. Let them keep calling me that.
I walk over to him, pluck the empty cup, and return to the bar. After Alastor fills it, I drop it off at the table, and he hands me a bronze piece. This isn’t so hard… perhaps having employment is easier than I thought.
“What can I get for you?” I make a round to a patron who has recently arrived.
“Vegetable pottage.” An older woman says, passing me three coins.
“Of course.” I smile, picking up the coins. I return a few moments later with her bowl, setting it on the table. Grabbing a rag from the bar, I wipe down a dirty table. I accidentally overhear the men talking beside me, three soldiers likely unwinding from a long day.
“This bloodshed is unnecessary,” one of the soldiers says, slamming their tankard on the table with a thud. He has unruly, dark hair and brown eyes. “Another king dead. And yet we still can’t access our magic.”
“I heard whispers of a resistance forming against the blade,” the second soldier says in a hushed tone. He has short black hair, deep umber skin, and ice blue eyes.
My body freezes. A resistance… against the King? If the other Elvarrans didn’t want him to kill the humans, then I must find out what is happening. Rumors are often more potent than the truth, and an excellent one can turn the tide in any court.
“I heard the curse is the King's fault,” the third soldier whispers before leaning back in his seat. He’s young, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
“I heard the king of Rykaris is threatening to stop defending the Grimhold Crossing if he doesn’t comply,” the first soldier replies.
Desperate to hear more, I keep wiping the same table. Grimhold Crossing is one of two travel routes between the north and south. Crossgate is the other. Many battles and squabbles break out over these two mountain crossings, as whoever controls them could control the flow of humans and Elvarrans across the border.
“Woman!” One of them calls for me.
“Yes?” I stand upright, turning to face them with a smile.
“Another ale.” He pushes his empty tankard towards me.
“Right away.” I pluck it from the table and move to the bar.
Carrying food and drinks to patrons in exchange for the whisperings of the townspeople is more valuable than any money Alastor could give me. I need to find this resistance and determine their plan. If I help them take down Wrath, I can finally be free.
“Raelys?” I hear a voice call my name.
