“Three more mushroom meads for the Shewish Giant’s table!” My-re of the Health Alteration Squad called out over the din of conversation and tinkering plates and glasses.
“What size?” General Pol of the Skull Squadron stable yelled back behind the bar of the Broken Sword Tavern.
“Gromp want Shew size!” Gromp hollered expanding his hands indicating a large serving. His two Shewish companions nodded in agreement.
“I never thought a drink concocted from fungus would have fancied anyone’s pallet,” My-mumbled and wrote it down on their tab. She looked to the packed bar and breathed out a sigh of exasperation. She agreed to help General Pol run things, being the only other person he knew who spoke the Rirorni native language of Rathiri fluently, and thought it would be an easy way to make some extra coin and get free drinks with the arena back open and gold flowing freely again.
Rumors abounded why Sheila Greywand closed the arena unexpectantly for a month. This included everything from a Dark Arena monster getting loose, to someone opening a Chaos Gate, to a marriage reception going horribly wrong between two prominent Delarquan and Andorian wizards’ guilds. All the populace knew is Sheila had been noticeably absent, indicating the ‘incident’ needed her direct attention.
The Broken Swords was doing well for itself, but there was too much work for the two of them. Now, with ample gold in people’s picket, all it seemed everyone on the Isle of the Eye wanted to do is eat, drink, and f—.
Swat!
My-re felt a slap on her derrière. She slowly turned on her boot heals to the table with three inebriated soldiers. She eyed the perpetrator, older than the others and seemed to be their leader, as he nudged them having gained her attention.
“Three more beers and there an extra gold coin if you sit on my lap,” the instigator said patting both his legs. This brought chuckles from his mates.
“Good sir, you move too fast, as I prefer to hold hands first,” My-re responded, extended it towards him, and flipped her short dark hair.
The drunken leader nodded with excitement and reached for her hand.
My-re’s left four fingers wrapped around his right thumb, nails digging into his palm, as her thumb pressed firmly on the outside of his hand. She twisted, extending the soldier’s wrist farther than anatomically intended. There was a sickening snap!
“You b—!“
My-re interrupted him as she pulled down hard. He screamed in pain.
“Up, now,” My-re said calmly.
There was little the soldier could do, but comply. My-re dragged him, who barely was able to keep up, towards the bar and General Pol.
“Where’s my axe?”
“What?!” shouted the soldier.
“Don’t kill him here,” General Pol said in Rathiri looking to a bucket filled with sawdust used to absorb spills.
“Where’s my axe?” My-re repeated.
“At least take him outside. I don’t want blood all over my bar,” General Pol said pointing to the entrance.
“No, please…I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You got that right after I take your hand. Now, where’s my axe.”
“Please, please, please! I wronged you and I apologize. Here, we owe you three gold pieces for the drinks. There’s an extra three for a tip.”
“I must have misheard. Did you say ten?”
“What?!”
“Where’s my axe?”
“Ten…ten is good. Please let go. I swear I won’t do anything like that again. Just let me leave,” the soldier pleaded.
“Done,” My-re said and let his hand go.
The soldier crumbled to the ground, but quickly picked himself up and holding his right wrist. He had difficulty counting out the gold with his left hand. He and his friends began to leave.
“Great, you’ve just lost me three customers,” General Pol said in Rathiri to My-re.
My-re glanced at the Rirorni general and said to the three men leaving. “I expect you back tomorrow and on your best behavior. Don’t make me come find you…and tell your friends.”
The three turned and nodded in agreement and hurriedly left.
My-re snorted and said in Rathiri, “They’ll be back.”