“Come back soon!” My‑re called out to the merchant group as they hastily left. Gromp followed them to the door, seeming satisfied with their gait as they went. He then turned to her, nodded, and came back inside. Watching the merchants round the corner, she muttered in the Rirorni native language of Rathiri, roughly translated as ‘the holes on donkeys’ backsides.’
My‑re heard a snicker behind her. A young man walked past, pulling a tired-looking navy-blue cloak around himself for warmth as the wind blew his brown hair wild. He shuffled along the dirt road toward the back of the tavern wearing old, worn shoes. Normally, she wouldn’t have given him a second glance, but the blue cloak reminded her of a similar one she wore growing up in the Rirorni Empire. Besides, he seemed to understand what she had just said in Rathiri.
He rounded the corner, and she followed, carrying the two sacks of trash. The peasant began to rummage through the large garbage containers housed out back as if looking for something to eat. She felt horrible that a person would need to go through it when they threw out perfectly good, uneaten food at the end of the day.
“Hey boy, are you hungry? My‑re asked.
The hungry peasant looked up and nodded.
“Come around closing time, and I’ll get you something to eat. I can’t promise what, but it’ll be good,” My‑re said and placed the two sacks of trash in a receptacle. She proceeded to head back to the tavern and sighed at the four to five hours of constant work ahead. She then got an idea.
Testing him, My‑re asked in the Rirorni tongue, “Do you speak Rathiri, and would you like a job?”
Before he could answer, a voice behind her called out, “Where is your axe now, little lass?”
Great. My‑re had heard that voice before.
Turning, she saw the three Dark Circle soldiers from earlier. The leader, older than the others and the same one who had planted his hand on her backside.
“How’s the wrist?” My‑re snorted.
“Doing just fine after a healing potion. If I recall correctly, you were going to take it with your axe, but I don’t see it,” the leader said, glancing around her. “All I see here is you and a bunch of waste. Oh wait, that’s just a peasant.”
This elicited snorts of amusement from his two companions.
“So, I take this isn’t a social call?”
“Nope.”
“Very heroic of you cornering an unarmed woman.”
“Oh, we aren’t armed either. It’s just you and me, little lass. However, considering you are a Blood Games champion and a Lord Protector, and I’m just a common DC soldier, I see the odds are in your favor.” He then began to crack his knuckles loudly, one after the other.
“Just you and me? A stand-up fight?” My‑re questioned.
“Well, you see, my mates make it a stand-up fight. It's time to have some fun, gents. Get her.”
My‑re pivoted into a defensive stance. She’d hit the leader first, hard, and then-
The ringing sound of a blade slowly being drawn from its sheath drew everyone’s attention. Looking behind her, she saw that the hungry peasant had just cleared a great sword from an elaborately decorated leather housing previously hidden in his blue cloak. He went into a solid fighting stance, demonstrating he knew how to use the weapon. He narrowed his eyes at the soldiers and wrung his hands around the weapon’s hilt.
The three soldiers stopped and stared at the gigantic sword. They slowly backed away. “We’ll catch up later, lass, when your boyfriend isn’t around.”
As the three retreated out of the alleyway, My‑re called back. “You know where I am…and he’s not my boyfriend!”
My‑re whirled on the man, marched up to him, and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Hey, I didn’t need to be rescued, and I didn’t say anything about asking for help.”
The hungry peasant sheathed his great sword, strapped it to his back, covered it with his cloak, and replied, “No, you didn’t, but you did say something about a job.”