Two years had come and gone.
Those same hollowed, amber eyes stared on as the barkeep poured another ale. Stalt listened to the sound of the liquid as it filled out the container, still far louder than the other patrons. Their eyes shifted uncomfortably and moved over the dark clad man. If he strained, Tobias could still taste the ashen fate that befell Archen some three years past. The rafters were charred and black, but they held the roof aloft somehow. Snow fell in patches through several large holes, though the area where it piled remained desolate. There was a single, blackened table there, a monument to ruination.
Murmurs cropped up from the silence as the brown haired mercenary lifted his drink, and Tobias let his eyes slide shut. A bitter flavor flooded his senses, the same Salvic ale he remembered. It tasted how their winter felt. "Word has it the Sway's abandoned Archen," one man murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "After that bonfire when everyone died, they lost their foothold. That's what the tradesman from Knife's Edge told me."
With a hard swallow, Tobias let out a quiet sigh. It was never that simple with the Church. "Shit," one of the others spat. "If that's the case, we may have cause for celebration." The man flourished in an overly dramatic gesture, indicating their surroundings. "They left us with so much to be thankful for."
All three of them grew quiet.
"Archen wasn't always this morose," the barkeep told his newest customer after several moments became dominated by booze and awkward quiet. "There was a time when the worst we saw was a Witch Hunter ever few months, and at best he'd have a drink and be on his way."
Tobias' eyes flickered open and found the graying man's kind, azure gaze. The wrinkled features split into a gentle smile as he topped off the mercenary's drink. "They're right, though. I barely make enough to keep this inn open, and I'll never be able to afford the repairs. I apologize for the cold."
Stalt took his drink and sipped it. "You should have seen her then," the elderly fellow spoke wistfully, his thoughts far away. "It's always been remote, so we never got much business from foreigners. It's nice to see we've attracted the attention of an adventurer." When he placed the drink down again, Tobias reached into his pocket and produced a gilded coin.
"Meat," he drawled. "Don't care what kind."
The old man's eyes grew wide. "Oh, right away, sir!" He accepted the small fortune and hurried toward the back. "I'll have something ready for you in short order," he called.
"That was a mighty nice thing you did," one of the patrons spoke, and Tobias turned his head slightly. He made out the features of a tough customer, someone he might have feared to pick a fight with, once. "T'ain't too many folks make it out this way what have gold to flash around like that. Maybe you have some more to spread around?"
Tobias let his gaze linger on the man for a moment, then turned back to his drink. "Maybe you didn't hear me," a chair skidded across the wooden floor and clattered. Several quick footsteps approached. Tobias took another sip. "I asked if you wouldn't mind sharing the love, little man."
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Tobias' lips drew a flat line. "Money won't buy you happiness," the mercenary replied. "It's a long, lonely road you're walking down."
"Listen here, you little cunt-" Forcibly whipped around, the golden eyed man stared blandly into his aggressor's soul. There was less than nothing in those eyes, and the larger man saw it. "...what the hell is wrong with you?" the brute asked. "I'm about to rob you blind, you understand that, don't you?"
"You want my money?" Stalt asked. "My life?"
He was raised from his seat by a tight sensation that restricted his breath. Tobias did not emote. "There's people in this town," the marauder seethed, "struggling to survive, stealing and killing just to exist. I gave up my wife and daughter to get them well away from this hell, and you're looking at me like none of this is worth anything. You really piss me off, asshole."
"Are you finished?" Stalt reached up and wiped flecks of spittle from his face where the man had graciously plastered them.
The blow took him in the jaw. His blank gaze persisted. "I don't give a damn about your money," the bandit growled. "Scream! Cry! This life means something, don't you understand that?" The man's features twisted, as if he were about to break down.
Tobias tilted his head. "You still believe that?" the mercenary asked. "After all you've seen?"
Saltwater streamed down his cheeks as the assailant shook Tobias. "Come on," he sobbed weakly. "We're trying to hang on to our reason for living. We're doing all we can right now, and you ask me that?"
Tobias' mouth twisted into an unfeeling smile. "So you don't believe it," he confirmed. The man stared at him in disbelief, his mouth agape. Dryness struck him as he dropped Stalt and fumbled dumbly for his drink. He tried to sate the thirst, and even grabbed his friend's drink in the effort.
His eyes had grown wild and desperate. "There is meaning to it all," he muttered fanatically. "There has to be a meaning, or why would we even be alive?"
"Come on, Petrov," one of his friends grabbed him by both arms. "Calm down, buddy. It's not that serious. Calm down..."
Tobias shook his head and turned back to his drink, his eyes shut once more as he reeled back in the malign energies that had afflicted the man. "Ahhh, soups on," the old man chimed happily as he brought a stew from the back to offer to his best and favorite customer. "I hope you weren't waiting too long!"
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