“We need a healer!”
Rao of the Skull Squadron stable disembarked from the small craft arriving to Willow Beach on the Isle of the Eye. He stepped over a spot of blood at the bottom of the boat glancing at a warrior cringing in pain and grasping his hand with two missing fingers. A makeshift bandage was soaked red. Captain Darien, Lady Greywand military attaché, held another cloth, which was dripping blood and held the missing appendages.
“What happened?” a dockworker called out.
“Sawfish attack.”
“Ah, nasty pieces of work them sawfish. Didn’t ye tell him to keep his digits in da boat and out of the Lake of Mists?”
Captain Darien regarded the reeling initiate and when the wounded warrior wasn’t watching, he nodded to the dockworker, his meaning clear that he had.
The shore man shook his head.
Captain Darien patted him on the back. “Don’t worry son, Lady Greywand will have you back to normal in no time. You’ll be holding a weapon again in as little as two weeks. Now, where’s that healer!”
Rao snorted at the stupidity of the Alastarian and walked up Willow Beach. He noted for being called a beach, it was rather rocky. He breathed seaweed and fish, which was something he wasn’t used to from growing up in the Rirorni Empire or fighting in the arena on the grassland plains of Rocanis. He thought, I bet they have good seafood here. His stomach then began to rumble at the prospect of eating a basket of hot fish and chips.
Greeted by the sounds of construction, Rao entered the town. Workers scrambled across new wooden rooftops. The market area was busy in the afternoon sun. He saw three Shewish Giants enter a tavern with a sign reading, the Broken Sword Tavern. He had never seen a Shew before and it peeked his curiosity.
Entering the tavern, it was a burst of talk and laugher with the tinkling of plates and glasses. The yeasty smell of ale and other hard liquors permeated the air. Rao saw a woman weave in and out between the tables. She wore her dark hair short, similar to servant class in the Rirorni Empire.
As she approached the Shewish Giant table, she called out over her shoulder surprisingly in the Khan’s tongue of Rathiri, “Pol! Three mushroom meads for our best customers!”
“Coming right up My-re!”
Rao followed her gaze to a man. He had a long scar that ran from the left side of his nose across his mouth to his chin. His head was shaven with a few days’ worth of stubble, which highlighted a strong widow’s peak and appearing as if he had a black skullcap on. He also had a fresh scar with stiches stretched along his left forehead. He was a Rirorni and specifically one he knew; General Pol.
General Pol was smiling, but as he glanced in Rao’s direction, his head did a double take and the smile turned upside down.
“Rao! You son of a dog! You and your brother will pay for destroying my army!” General Pol called out and grabbed a nearby knife.
The tavern grew quiet as multiple heads and then their glaring eyes turned toward Rao.
Rao touched the hilt of his sword.
Every patron rose from their seat and their weapons rang drawing from their sheaths.
The serving woman, My-re, looked all around her and said, “Where’s my axe?
Rao slowly drew his hand away from his blade. Considering the hostile eyes staring at him, he began to back away when two rather large warriors came from behind him. Swallowing hard, Rao said, “Table for one.”