A Lonely Tavern (3)

I tucked Zeal into bed as she burped away a full stomach, doing my best to at least make her as comfortable as possible. The little beastkin seemed to like the warm sheets and silk pillows, sinking into their fluffy and soft embrace with a satisfied belly.

The tavern owner's cooking skill was unexpected, but appreciated.

Zeal insisted that I held her hand until she went to sleep. It was her own little way of making sure that I wasn't going to abandon her. I didn't mind. I understood completely what she wanted to feel and see, reassurance. Reassurance that tonight would not be any different, that she would wake up with something she knew and trusted.

Reassurance that she was safe. Not alone.

Minutes passed before she finally slept. She snored loudly against the silence of her room, accompanied only by the muffled symphonies of critters outside. I held her hand for a minute more, ensuring that she felt my presence for a bit longer even as she welcomed rest.

Seeing her fast asleep, I stood up and surveyed the room. The windows were an obvious entry point for any would-be assassin or kidnapper. The fact that we were merely on the second floor meant that even a highly motivated non-magical assassin could, in fact, climb up the walls and pose a threat.

That annoyed me.

I summoned a ward over my palm and tuned it to defense. The ward then spun an elaborate web of immaterial threads within the room, securing every corner and entrance. These threads, upon detection of an intruder, would instantly materialize with a sharpness that would slice through anything weaker than iron. Only I could see it.

Though I had need for prisoners to interrogate and make use of, I was not in the business of using children for my own personal benefit. Especially not Zeal. I designed the ward to kill any foolish enough to dare harm or take her away.

After making sure that the ward would recognize Zeal and not accidentally turn her into mincemeat, I found myself once again feeling... lost.

No. Rather, I was directionless. I didn't need to sleep, but neither was there anything worthwhile to do. I could maybe teleport back home, but what for? To check on the progress of my sentinels and helpers? There was also the option of starting my investigation into the necromancer. But where to begin? Each option had merits worth considering.

I sighed. Maybe I could instead learn more about the city? The tavern owner seemed knowledgeable enough, assuming I could break through the stubbornness behind that stubby beard.

After giving Zeal one last look as she snoozed away, I made my way downstairs. The dining room was empty, as expected. The halfling, however, was drinking at the counter. That was unexpected. It was nearing midnight too.

I gained the drunken halfling's attention as I pulled a stool and sat in front of him. He was red and crying.

Wait. Crying?

"Aren't ya supposed to be sleeping?" He said, more coherently than what I was expecting.

"I don't sleep, remember?" I answered.

"So you were serious," He smirked, "Ya drink then?"

I shook my head, "I can drink. I just don't get drunk."

The halfling glared, "You sound like an elf."

There was a hiss to his tone, akin to that of a threatened snake. A serpentine disdain. I put my hands together and leaned close. I hoped to know the halfling better. He indeed had the air of a veteran, with hard yet fragile eyes.

"Fortunately, I am no elf." I said.

"I know. Ya don't look like em," He downed a jug and beer trickled down under his chin, "And ya don't act like em."

He wiped his chin with his elbow and sighed.

"Ya just sound like em. Hurts my ears."

I turned and looked at the empty dining room, gazing at lonely tables and chairs. There were small, almost invisible scars that told of a time when this tavern served many.

"So magic makes your head hurt, while hearing Elves make your ears bleed. Am I following?" I asked, half serious.

The halfling gave me a quick thumbs up, "Sums it up. Yah."

"What happened?" I asked, not caring whether it was an appropriate time to interview a drunken, wallowing halfling.

"To what?" He raised a brow.

"To this place," I said, pointing at the empty tables, "Nothing here is new. There are marks everywhere. Signs of a once lively place."

"How sure are ya about this?" A smirk was forming across the halfling's face.

"Quite." I answered, smiling softly.

To my surprise, the halfling chuckled. "Ya ain't here to kill me, that's for sure."

That took me aback. I was never planning on killing him, or even hurting him.

"Why would you even think of that?" I asked.

"I don't know, money? Grudge? Or maybe ya want to make some quick coin and rob me." He said as he sniffled the snot from his nose.

I sighed. Apparently the halfling was very mistrustful to the point of mild paranoia. Understandable, in a way.

"Again, I'm a hermit." I said.

"Even more reason to rob me then!" The halfling raised his mug and smiled, "But ya haven't. Still not trusting that gold bar ya gave me."

I couldn't help but palm my face as the halfling poured himself more beer. Although a few more tears rolled down his eyes as he drank and poured, he still managed to maintain a little smile.

"Have some juice, at least?" I asked. If he was going to drink himself to sleep, then I might as well drink something too. Preferably something flavorful.

"Nah. No juice. Hard to keep," He turned his back and wobbled away, grabbing a stool that was sitting on a corner, "I do have some cider, want?"

Cider was flavorful enough.

"Cider will do." I nodded.

I watched as the halfling struggled with the stool, standing on creaking wood in an attempt to reach further up the shelves of drinks behind the counter. His height really wasn't helping.

No matter how tempted I was to help, I refrained. The halfling was successful anyway, retrieving three bottles of cider from one of the top shelves.

"The best around these parts." The bottles of cider were old, to the say the least. But the liquid inside was as fresh as the day it reached perfection. It would serve my taste well.

Unscrewing the corks, I offered the halfling a toast to which he obliged. The cider tasted better than expected. It was sweet and... memorable.

Memories coursed through my mind as the flavors greeted my tongue. How long had it been since I tasted cider? Not even my helpers served me the drink. Well, it didn't help that I never asked for them to.

I had forgotten why I was content to sip on wine, while ignoring the rest of what could be drunk. Cider and beer were best served with people around you. With friends and family.

And I had lost both.

As it seemed like I was about to join the halfling in wallowing in grief unspoken, we were rudely interrupted.

The door chimed loudly and heavy boots stepped through. A cold wind followed as a group of gray-skinned individuals walked inside, forming a line across the dining room and blocking the only entrance of the tavern.

They had long ears, fierce red eyes, sharp nails, and sharp fangs. The air felt prickly as it began to tingle against my skin. A sign of concentrated magic. They were magic users, and they were not afraid to show it. In fact, they seemed keen on projecting their power.

"Fucking." The halfling grabbed his head, reeling from his new magic-induced headache.

I frowned. Our unwelcome guests were no ordinary elves. They reeked of blood and rot.

They were vampires. A demonic offshoot of the perfectionist, arrogant elves. Though these creatures kept their arrogance, their perfectionist demeanor had been replaced by a lust and need for blood.

And they were supposed to be extinct.