“Yeah. I heard you, green skin. Mind your own business.”
He slurred his words drunkenly, and the other two laughed.
Red fiery anger rose inside of the half-orc like a tidal wave, and for a moment, Kraghtol could do nothing but stand frozen and fight down the urge to break the drunkard’s bones while the spit ran down his cheek. He could have easily killed the man with a single hit and, for amoment, he wanted nothing more than that. To crush the life out of the disrespectful man, to hear his bones breaking, to see the fear in the dying eyes.
He took a deep breath. It was just a drunken man, a single word, a drop of spit. There was no reason for the burning rage inside him. That was not who he wanted to be. With a slow, deliberate gesture, he wiped his face and grabbed the man’s arms, pulling them back.
“I told you to stop. Now get out.”
The tavern patrons looked rough, but Kraghtol found he had little problems forcing the three drunken men out of the door into the cool night air. He actually felt a sting of pity. They were probably too drunk to even get home safely, and the night was already rather chilly. As he was just pondering what to do, he saw the faint glow of lantern light reflected in the icy fog near the clock tower. One of the orderkeeper patrols that never went into the Oldport. Perfect.
“Come on, we’re getting you to the orderkeepers. They will get you home safely.”
Surprisingly enough, this led to a lot more objection from the three drunken men than he expected. But then again, when did drunkards ever make sense? Kraghtol had to use some more force to keep them moving in the right direction and not run away or start another fight.
The orderkeepers were surprised when he approached them with three unruly men in tow. They were a trio of young humans, and the man at their center with a carefully maintained brown mustache seemed to be their leader.
“Good evening, orderkeepers,” Kraghtol said in a carefully controlled, friendly voice. It didn’t hurt to make a good impression on thecity officials, although there was little to fear: The Guild of Peace only employed the most honorable characters as orderkeepers. Brynna, the elderly orderkeeper of Mistpine, was a good example; even though Kraghtol certainly was what you would call trouble, she always tried to be fair and just.
“What’s going on here?” the leader asked, and Kraghtol smiled at him.
“I’m working at Calder’s tavern over there, and it appears these gentlemen had a bit too much to drink. Could you perhaps get them home safely?”
The drunkard, who had tried to hit him, squirmed in his grip and slurred a few curses, but Kraghtol was holding him too tightly to get free.
“Asshole! Ratting us out to the bloodjackets! You regret that, you —”
The orderkeeper in his official red coat ignored the interjection but looked somewhat interested. “Calder’s tavern? Interesting.”
He exchanged a knowing look with one of his colleagues and raised his lantern right into Kraghtol’s face.
“And you are…”
Kraghtol blinked and tried to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.
“Kraghtol Wulfspar, healer’s apprentice, currently employed at Calder’s tavern.”
The scrutinizing gaze of the orderkeeper’s gray eyes felt cold, and Kraghtol didn’t like it.
“Well, thank you then, Mr.… Wulfspar. My name is Roderic Hawke. We’ll see that these gentlemen don’t cause any trouble. You may return to your… establishment.”
Kraghtol nodded and was happy to let the orderkeepers take over. He briefly considered making sure they would really bring the troublemakers home after their cryptic answer, but what else would they do? Still, as he walked back towards the tavern, he felt muscles relax he didn’t even realize he had tensed.
The rest of the evening went by rather uneventfully, but Kraghtol’s mind had a new thing to focus on besides the missing Guild answer. Somehow, his encounter with the orderkeepers left him feeling uneasy, and he didn’t understand why. The mustached man had been a bit rude, but not more than most people who encountered his unusual appearance. Still, the way the drunkard had reacted had been way too dramatic for the situation.
After the last guests had left the tavern, he asked Calder about it.
“Hey, Calder. I had a weird encounter tonight.”
The other man grunted from his position behind the counter, where he was tidying up for the day.
“Three of the guests had a few too many beers, and I had to throw them out. Then, I brought them to some orderkeepers, but they really didn’t seem happy about it. What do you make of that?”
Calder’s movements stopped. “You did what?”
His voice sounded low and menacing, with a hint of concealed panic.
“I brought them to the orderkeepers. I thought they could help bring them home.”
