“See you in the morning, Stacia. Sleep well and feel better.” Breaker closed the bedroom door and paced silently out of the plush suite. He and his friend Anastacia Alliendra had come to Scara Brae for a ball that would be held in the queen's honor the next day. They'd planned to take a tour of the city walls beneath starlight but Stacia had come down with a paralyzing headache, and so they'd returned to their rooms at the Peaceful Promenade.
Joshua “Breaker” Cronen stepped into the hall and locked the door with a large brass key. He hoped Stacia would be well enough to attend the party. He felt awkward attending such events alone, or at all really. Even so, he knew the ball would be a perfect place to sew the seeds of his ideas for a tourny in the minds of the social elite. He descended several flights of stairs to the inn's noisy common room.
Humans, elves, dwarfs, and a small group of goblins filled the tavern. They sat around tables drinking ales and wines, some laughing boisterously, others conversing in hushed tones. One couple danced to the plucking of an off-tune guitar while another huddled in the corner, faces hidden in their hoods. The smell of sawdust and cheap alcohol saturated the place, providing a comfort Breaker found he needed every so often.
The demigod paced to the bar, long legs flowing, trim waist whispering, black sifan shirt hanging squarely on broad shoulders. Patrons packed the long counter but a smile and a nod saw space open up for the stranger with Y-shaped scars on his cheeks.
“Scotch,” Josh ordered when the bartender found time to serve him, “Yurik's Firewhisky,” he specified a favored brand, pointing at the top shelf. The tender nodded and wiped sweat from his brow with a greasy rag. He reached the bottle down and poured a double shot into a tumbler glass, exchanging it for some of Breaker's coin.
Cronen wound his way through the occupied tables and booths. Only one remained empty, a small table with two chairs near the back of the room. One of the chairs was strangely oversized. Josh sat with his back to the wall and sipped his scotch, savoring the smoky sensations of the aged liquor. He leaned against the wooden wall and stacked his black metal boots on top of the empty oversized chair. His spine popped from tailbone to skull as he arched his back and allowed his hazel eyes to sweep the common room.
With Stacia sick, he considered, I've really nothing to do but drink.
Fortunately, the Peaceful Promenade stocked the good stuff.