Chapter 4: The Tavern (1/2)

The tavern noise scrambled all over me as soon as I opened the door. Some of my latest crewmates were already celebrating with tankards in hand, yelling my name when they saw me. They pounded on the bar and told the barkeep I was one of them tonight. He nodded; he knew what that meant. Captain Coe had a policy that the night after a long expedition he’d set up a tab at a tavern and all his crew could drink to their hearts content. It came out of the ship’s profits, and not his personal funds, so it was like another advance on our payroll. The crew didn’t see it that way, however. They loved him for it.

A few of the arithmetically minded ones understood that the tab came from the payroll for the whole crew, so their bill was averaged with the next man’s. If one guy begged off and went home early, he was essentially paying for his fellows’ drinks. It became a race to see who put down the most and so get the better economical deal than the rest of the crew.

I ordered a meal first. I hadn’t eaten all day and getting drunk on an empty stomach never felt good the next morning. It was early in the evening; things hadn’t gotten wild yet. A pair of elves who had been sitting in the corner still got up and left as they realized the tavern was going to turn into a party they weren’t a part of. This wasn’t a humans-only tavern, but some businesses tended to segregate themselves. Most elves who went to sea wanted to spend time with other elves on their return, and I knew of a tavern on the other side of the wharf that specialized in cuisine from Elessar. The food there was interesting, but I could never get used to drinking wine in a tavern.

The food here satiated me but didn’t get me any buffs. Why would good food go to a group on a tab? I belched and brought my tankard over to where a few others were playing poker for coppers. We’d play poker on the Essential, but the stakes were trading watches if anything. Even playing cheap made the game feel more intense.

I watched a round before joining, mindful that a handful of coppers was all I had in my purse. We could settle debts when we received the rest of our pay, but it was poor form to gamble with money you didn’t have yet.

When I took my cards, I knew I was in trouble and folded immediately. Bad start to the night, but it turned out to be the right decision. Joel had a better-than-average hand, but then he had made a skill of gambling. I couldn’t remember what level he was at, but it gave him bonuses to luck and bluff chance. My own observation skill helped me out. I was at level 9, and just a short bit of progression away from making 10 and getting the extra bonuses that came with it. I wouldn’t tell my shipmates if I got it tonight though. It was poker, after all!

The thing about poker is it’s not usually a matter of lying or bluffing. Most of the gameplay passes quickly. The question is how confident people are in their hands. More confidence could mean a better hand, or they might just be comfortable in the odds no one has anything better. My observation skill wasn’t a game-winner, just an edge. The other guys had their edges too. That’s what made it interesting.

I made enough in the third hand to keep playing. We celebrated whenever one of the crew entered the tavern, drank like there would always be as much beer as we wanted, and yelled at each other to keep the tankards off the cards. It was shaping up to be a great night when the adventurers came in.

Their gear gave them away, that and their stats displayed for the whole world to see. I’d swear you could identify them by their swagger alone. They wore well-crafted gear as a minimum and had plenty of it. At least one had an enchanted bag that had way more space inside it than it should, the crowning tool of the trade for adventurers and scavengers. They didn’t take professions, or if they did it was combative and not until they had plenty of levels under their belt.

None of these four had professions, but they had the levels. Their leader was a 21 and wore a sword and plenty of knives. The man in heavy armor was a 20, the female archer was also a 20, and the last girl was 17. She had her level and HP’s visible, but obscured the rest. Probably a stealth fighter, by her dress. Ending a fight quickly and brutally from a hidden position was a mindset I could get behind – but I didn’t like it when opponents shared that thought.

They didn’t make themselves obnoxious at first, we were simply leery of them. It proved to be well founded. The leader was the instigator, moving about the tavern laughing at people, trying different ways to pick a fight. Most of us just ignored him. Those that didn’t were cowed by his equipment and his backup. I knew that not everyone would be, though. It was only a matter of time before he picked a fight with someone who wouldn’t back down, and the adventurers didn’t seem to realize that nearly everyone in the tavern was part of a group.

When the leader came by our table he laughed. I decided to call him Braggart. “Coppers? What kind of game is this?” He threw a handful of silver onto the table. “Where can a man get a real game?”

Joel was the soul who spoke. “You can buy in, but you’ll have to wait ‘till the hand’s over.”

If Braggart had taken him up on it, we would never have forgiven Joel. Luckily, his bluff won out.

“You peasants probably couldn’t scrape a gold together between the lot of you.” When we ignored him, he drew a dagger and slammed it into the wood of the table, gouging a copper. “What do you weak-spined whores think you’re doing?”

That we were ignoring him because the fact he was a brat looking for trouble should have been obvious but saying so wasn’t wise. Types like this group cropped up every so often. They took local contracts for nuisances – whether they be monster or outlaw. They farmed XP from their objectives the same way a man farms wheat. If they were too good and grew too fast, the power that came with their growth often went to their head before it could be tempered by experience and senior Adventure Society people. Sometimes they returned from their hunts and didn’t really care if their next source of XP came from killing people in a tavern brawl instead of slaying monsters.

I took the heat of Braggart’s attention this time, continuing our group effort to dissuade his eagerness for a fight. Unhinged he might be, but if he didn’t even have a plausible excuse for violence then the city would label him an outlaw himself. But if some sailors died in a tavern fight on the docks … the city saw that often enough.

“You’ll have to speak to the barkeep about the table damage.”

It took a moment for him to understand what I meant, then he deliberately stabbed the cheap table repeatedly. I hoped the barkeep was watching.

“Are you sailors on leave or what? I’ve never seen a more cowardly batch of whisker biscuits in all my life!”

He was getting people angry, but I kept his attention. “We’re here to get drunk and carouse, because we haven’t had a full tankard and room to move in months. We’re efficient about it because we’re going to turn around tomorrow and restart. Next tavern on the wharf might bring you better luck.”

He sneered and moved on, leaving his coins in the pile. He didn’t care to force the issue – thankfully – and risk being so overt he earned himself criminal status. He needed someone who would square up with him and accept a fight.

Unfortunately, he picked his next target well … Fink.