The earth shook below Borden’s feet for the third time this week. It was a strange new occurrence in Riverine. And another reason… another good reason he was leaving. Two hours ago, Borden was decommissioned from the city guard for the exact reason he was celebrating at the Monarch Inn – the drink. The honey mead was his chosen drink for today’s celebration. A cold evening after a rather uneventful guard shift prompted his visit to the Monarch Inn. He became such a frequent patron, the landing of a gold piece on the table’s wood signified his need for another round. Samkee, the bar owner, resented Borden’s presence. Borden was a quiet drunk who remained in his own reflective headspace. For Samkee, Borden’s coin was welcomed during the slow weeknights, if only for the patronage, not the patron itself.

With the earth’s rumble, the coin on the table rattled and Samkee brought over a pitcher of the Dyson’s Brew, a strong ale. He was tired of the frequent trips from bar to table, especially for such a man who refused to be friendly on such a lonely night. Samkee brought the full pitcher and set it down in front of Borden.

The frustrated man looked up at Samkee and said, “This isn’t what I wanted.”

Samkee remarked, “You didn’t say anything to tell me otherwise.”

Borden was already tired of the verbal exchange, “How much?”

“Three gold pieces,” Samkee said.

Borden took out nine gold pieces, “Get me two more pitchers so you’ll leave me in peace.”

Samkee toyed with Borden, “Just let me know when you want them.”

Borden scowled at Samkee, annoyed even further. If only this tavern owner knew whom he was dealing with, he wouldn’t be so testy, Borden thought.

If this man wanted to be a pain in the ass, so will I, Samkee thought. At least he found some entertainment for himself in hassling the man. If he could, Samkee could politely tell Borden to leave since the man was about to close up, but he knew Borden knew that the Monarch Inn was a 24/7 establishment with few people coming and going. In fact, aside from the city guard, it was the town’s only late night distraction. If only other, amicable customers graced his hospitality, then maybe this night wouldn’t drag as slowly as it did.

Borden found relief in the pitcher. Although it wasn’t what he ordered, at least his time would be uninterrupted for much longer now. The vengeful bite from the Dyson’s Brew proved to be a welcome change of pace. He drank directly from the pitcher. The amount of liquid inside comforted him—a liquid companion.

And it was a good thing he was leaving this place. In three days, the next merchant ship would arrive in port where he booked passage south to Telamunen where he would find more exciting work. Luckily, the distance between towns would keep his current reputation in Riverine. He could start fresh. Telamunen was a well-traveled port of call and more action took place there. More people, more crime, more excitement, and for Borden, more fun. All he needed was to wait out the next few days and drink enough to make the passing of the time enjoyable.

Halfway through the pitcher, his memories from the Battle of Huntingford revealed themselves once again. Comforting blankets to keep his snarls at bay. During his nightlong drinking binges or numbing foot patrols, these memories resolved his compulsion to feel adequate and useful. Borden was a section leader for the Green Stripe Guards, an all-volunteer fighting corps that filled its ranks with the best swordsmen, archers, and brawlers in the land. The Battle of Huntingford was a 4-day blood ritual between the Green Stripe Guards and the Aziri Tribe who sought to take over the Great Bridge, a vital trade route for The Kingdom. Borden was fond of remembering the 3^rd day – the bloodiest. His section fought hard for 36 hours straight and they carried on in a solid, steady rhythm. The Aziri Tribe employed its entire reserves on Borden’s section. At his side, were his good friends Leden, Horris, and Knob.

Borden remembered the desperate horde that slid over the hill towards his position. He remembered his men’s labored breathing, tired and beaten up. Despite their fatigue, they stood tall and strong, ready as ever to continue the fight. It was the comfort in knowing that each man would never run. Each man would honor the warrior spirit and defend their brothers.

When the Aziris made contact, their rage manifested into vicious action. Borden remembered going on the offensive, walking forward as he cut limbs, severed heads, and smashed chest plates. Each slash was tiring, but each kill fueled him to drive forward. In his bloodlust, he broke from the section, but his men stayed close, sharing in the rage. Each time his daily routine tired him, he recalled this precious moment.

He finished his drink and the subsequent pitchers and rose up from the table. Samkee begged the heavens that this man would leave today. Borden lumbered over to the bar but changed course and diverted away towards the entrance. There was no need to confront the barkeep.

Samkee breathed easy. He endured enough of this man’s poisonous presence.

Part 2

Artwork by Jeff Ward (stungeonstudios.com)