There were always hidden spots for criminals of night to gather.
Pall was the owner of a certain bar in Arkef. He was a man who cherished his family and would do anything for them. He opened a bar in hopes that he would run a successful business and be able to gain income for his family. However, it wasn't smooth sailing and clear skies when he opened his bar. He had hoped to run a clean business, but his bar had became a place for bandits to gather. The stress had caused his head bald, but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed money for his family and he had no choice. His income was barely scraping by from the red, but that was better than nothing.
Standing in the bar counter, he appeared gallant and threatening because of his bulk muscles and classy mustache. Those were all a bluff however, as he had no experience whatsoever in fighting. If he were to fight with bandits, he was sure he would lose as they would have life and death experience from the streets. Pall used a cloth to wipe clean a glass mug.
The atmosphere was lively inside his bar. Not the liveliness he expected though. As, the rowdiness, was usually caused by disputes and fights. Pall couldn't stop the disputes not the fights, thus he turned a blind eye towards it and let it happen. Sometimes, there would be dead bodies, but that couldn't be helped.
'I'd like beer please,' a customer sat on one seat of the bar counter. His face was unfamiliar to Pall, but somehow he felt that he had seen that face somewhere. Perhaps in the news. Perhaps in a wanted poster. Whatever it was, that feeling of seeming to know his customer's face was not good news for him.
Pall went to the shelf and grabbed a beer mug, he then went to a barrel and opened the wood sink to let the beer flow into the glass. Without saying anything, he gave the drink to the customer with a smile on his face. The customer drank it but not all the way through, only halfway. His hair was ruffled and he seemed awfully relaxed despite being in a place where thieves gather.
'Sir, do you perhaps know of the source of the rumors?' The customer asked.
Ah, a struck of realization hit Pall, he's one of those people who comes for information. As the owner of a bar where thieves came, he heard many kinds of information; and more often than not, he would sell the information in secrecy to customer who demanded it. It was risky, but he needed the money.
'What rumors?' Pall asked. He could guess what the customer referred to when he spoke of rumors, but Pall wanted a confirmation.
'That there are group of thieves stealing books from libraries. I'm after them you see.'
'Lad, I can tell that you're still young,' Pall said. 'I advise you to stay away from them. They're-- different from other thieving groups. If you're here in hopes of capturing criminals for money, then I can recommend criminals other than the perpetrator of the recent incidents.'
'So you know of the perpetrator?' The customer eyed him. He was sharp, but it wasn't like he never dealt with sharp customers in his career.
'I'd not answer that,' Pall replied. A pouch then dropped on the bar counter as soon as he said that. 'Listen, no amount of money will loosen my tongue pal. So please go elsewhere for informati--' Pall caught a glimpse of what was inside the pouch. Gold coins were shining from the gap of the pouch. The sight of those riches paralysed him for a short while. With those amount of golds, he could run himself a new business. A new clean business to support his family. No more thieves, no more bandits, no more criminals. The stress would be over and his hair might grow back.
Pall looked at the customer as a confirmation and he nodded. The money was his if he told the customer of the culprit of the recent cases. He gulped looking at the pouch. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead. However...
'I can not accept this lad,' he pushed the pouch away, that action in itself took a considerable amount of willpower. 'As much as I would like those treasure, I can not possibly give you information which can possibly cause your death. These thieves-- are unlike any other. You'll die in an attempt to pursue them.'
'That's... surprising,' the customer smiled. 'To think that you would put my life above that pouch full of gold.'
'It doesn't matter, you need to quickly leave,' Pall advised. But it was too late. A man approached the customer from the back, hanging his arm around him.
'Buddy, I heard that you're asking of the thieves who burnt the library?' The man said in an intimidating tone. His eyes were red and he had so many piercings. 3 on each ear, 1 on his nose, one on his tongue.
'That is so,' the customer said. He was still relaxed, as if fear was an emotion he was missing.
'If you're a bandit wanting to join us, I doubt you'll pay the bar keeper such money. So I must assume that you're an enemy.'
'That is so.'
The man burst to laughter. 'Gu-ha! I like your stupidity. Unfortunately you can't leave this place alive.'
5 more men crowded the customer. Pall had predicted the possibility of such worst case scenario, but he didn't want it to happen. If only he could help the poor customer. However, any involvements from him would mean that his life would be threatened. Again, there was nothing he could do.
'Owner,' he said in a relaxed tone. 'If I beat these guys, will you accept the money and tell me the information I want? I'll prove to you that I won't die.'
What was it that made the customer so confident? Was he just stupid? To believe that he could win, that he could survive against such overwhelming odds. There was an air surrounding that man, that made Pall want to believe in his victory. Thus, he nodded.
'Your name ought to be remembered,' the man said as he pointed his knife to the customer. 'Tales of your stupidity will be a good one.'
'The people I'm with-- call me Ray.'
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Things happens, updates Freya at least once a week at EST Saturday 19:03. (If I don't get the timezone wrong)
Oh hey, speaking of which:
Some stuff arises during the holiday, things I need to deal with.