Chapter Four
925 Words
The first thing he noticed, when he walked into the tavern, was that it was quiet. He had expected taverns to be filled with drunk, screaming men and women, but all he saw was a total of five. They were sat with their mouths closed, with a big jug of alcohol in their hands and they did not move more than lifting their hands to take a sip.
They did not even move, or flinch, as the hard wind slammed the door shut behind him. Philippe walked towards the bar, ordered a mug of Moshnabeer and took place on one of the barstools. He tried to blend in, but also took a look at each person that was here individually. Which one should he approach?
Unexpectedly, he heard a loud laugh. He immediately focused his eyes on the man that caused the sound, and saw the man making a fist and slamming it to the table repetitive. As sudden as it started, it also stopped. The man took one more big sip from his jug, got up from the table with a lot of noise, and moved himself towards the bar.
The moment he turned his face towards Philippe, he noticed the guy had a big, fat scar on his face. One of his eyes was half shut because of it, and the thick white marking went all the way into his neck. The man's nose was also slightly crooked, and Philippe guessed that it had been broken several times.
While their eyes met, the man walked towards the lady behind the bar. She was busy rubbing some old cloth on the wooden jugs. She lifted one eyebrow, as she spat on the floor. 'When are you paying your bills, Reagon?' she said. Philippe was surprised by the confidence she had in her face. The guy in front of her was truly terrifying.
'Beer', Reagon said moody. The woman smiled, but did not move an inch. 'Beer', the guy said again. After seeing the woman ignoring him, he added: 'Now.'
The woman put the jug down, put both hands on the bar and leaned towards Reagon. 'Money', she imitated the man. 'Now.'
Right when Philippe realized the two of them had gotten into a staring competition, Reagon gave in. He put his hand into his pocket, and threw some money on the bar.
'Oh come on, Reagon', the woman cried. 'That's not even half of what you owe me.' Reagon lifted his shoulders and his only reply was once again: 'Beer.'
The woman picked up the jug and continued brushing it with the cloth. She did not give Reagon any attention, when he continued: 'Does this scar, look like I do not pay my debts?' he said loudly, while pointing at his scar. The woman was not impressed.
'I have heard your Muerthall story a thousand times, Reagon and trust me. It's not going to help you in this situation. Scars have nothing to do with you paying your debt.'
Philippe jumped up when he heard her say it. 'I have not heard the story yet', he said excitingly. Reagon turned his head towards him. 'And why would you be interested?' he grunted. Philippe lifted his shoulders. 'Interest', he answered vaguely.
Reagon took a big sniff, looked at the woman that was still ignoring him and said loud enough for everyone to hear: 'I think we have found someone to pay for my beer. Keep it filled, alright?'
The woman looked up, but not at Reagon- at Philippe. She raised an eyebrow. Philippe nodded, took some money from his pocket and handed it over to her.
Completely content, Reagon walked back to his table, with his jug filled with fresh beer. Philippe followed him, carrying his own.
'They're all barbarians', the man started after he emptied half his jug in one big tug. 'Unmannered, uneducated', he lifted his shoulders. 'They are like me', he continued. 'I have even lived with them for a little while. But no more!'
Philippe's mouth dropped. 'You have lived with them?' he said, completely startled.
'Exactly', Reagon agreed. 'They lived scarce, spread out, did not make groups. Sometimes you found one, or a second, and they'd let you live, or plainly ignored you. But when they started forming groups, everything changed. There was no place for strangers any more. They're being led, I'm sure.'
'Led?' Philippe asked in-between two sips of his beer. 'Magic', Reagon answered. 'Magic I tell you.'
He pointed at the scar on his face. 'This is what one of those monsters gave me. It could've cost me my life. I'm serious... if I see one in the future... I will completely lose it. I'd like to have my revenge.'
Philippe lifted his empty jug, and the woman walked over to fill it. She did the same with Reagon's mug. After Reagon drank that one too, Philippe slowly asked him what he wanted to ask him. 'So... what if we go after them together? See what magic it is that's leading them?'
Reagon started laughing. As hard as he could. The sound filled the tavern and Philippe felt awkward because of it. 'You are crazy', the scarred man yelled. Philippe felt that he got a little angry. 'Do not laugh at my request', he said annoyed. The laugh disappeared from Reagon's face.
'Wait, you're serious?' he whispered. He took another sip from his jug and the grin came back on his face. 'You know what, come back the day you leave, and I will come with you.'
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