The sun was setting, bathing the harbor of Adeluna with orange and mauve light. Sounds of seagulls echoed, and winds compelled the sails of ships to flap about. Brennus had spent the day traveling about the city, asking wealthy merchants for any work that a hired sword could handle. Yet again, it was to no avail, and with his silver coin pouch becoming lighter and lighter, it was turning his mood sour.
As a result of his failures for the day, the red-bearded man returned to the Winking Mermaid, where he had been encountered by a dark-haired Highlander the day before. It had been a rather shameful occurrence, and this time around, his green cloak was pulled down over his brow, and he entered solemnly, his heavy boots creating thuds against the wooden floor. He took a seat near the rear of the tavern, not wanting to draw the eyes of the barkeep that Brennus had treated poorly the day before. The sellsword was never the same individual when he had alcohol coursing through his veins, but then again, he needed the drug to distract him from things that desired to creep into his mind and plunge him head-first into melancholy.
Verdant eyes observed the establishment. Men gambled, ate, drank, and laughed, as the regular wenches served meals and helped the bartender clean glassware, silverware, and dishware. One of the waitresses approached him eventually, her light brown hair tied back into a bun, and her apron relatively clean besides a grease stain on her lower left side. “What’ll it be sir?” She asked, her Adeluna accent standing out as clearly as her hazel eyes.
“Slab o’ mutton ‘nd a glass o’ rum,” Brennus ordered. The serving girl gave him a nod, a small smile, and hurried back to the swinging door of the kitchen stationed behind the bar. As he waited for his food and drink, the red-haired man began examining the patrons once more. His gaze settled upon two blonde girls, both in their adolescent years. Two men were speaking with them, and as Brennus listened closely, he could hear their gruff voices. Something about their fine figures, their hands nearly touching the dresses the girls wore. It seemed that no matter where Brennus went in the world, there would always be scumbags, and always be men that preyed on women and children.
Standing slowly, he was ready to sort out the upstarts when a brute of a woman smashed their heads together from behind. He watched their bodies wobble and crumble to the floor, the girls sighing in relief and giggling. The blondes exchanged words with the red-haired woman, and before he knew it, the girls fled from the tavern and the woman took a seat at the bar, her battle-axe strapped to her back and telling a tale of her might that Brennus more than respected.
All in all, he had been staring, and the other patrons looked at him incredulously as he stood imposingly before his table. Clearing his throat, Brennus took his seat again and attempted to act as if he had not reacted whatsoever. As he sat there, he couldn’t help but have his eyes glued to the long, lustrous, red hair that settled about the woman’s shoulders. He had not seen her face yet, nor would he approach her to do so. The hair color and the strength that she garnered to incapacitate two men was noteworthy, and it reminded him of the Highlands.
Snapping out of his daze, a plate clanked against the table as the wench delivered his mutton. A glass of rum soon followed, along with eating utensils. Brennus began to cut the piece of meat when the sound of the tavern door being thrown open influenced his eyes to ascend. Laughs and toothy grins personified the trio of men that entered the Winking Mermaid. Brennus had no right to judge, but they looked rugged and weathered. Perhaps they were sailors, but it looked to be as if the better guess was that they were pirates. Their eyes searched about the tavern for seats, and they settled upon Brennus and his table. All of the other places were taken, and with those sly smirks showing their blackened gums and teeth, they approached the sellsword and apathetically took their seats around him.
Brennus continued to eat, acting like they did not exist, but their stares did not waver. “You a Highlander?” One of them inquired. The man was on Brennus’s left-hand side, and out of the corner of his eye, Brennus saw the repulsive man smooth out his black, greasy hair. The red-bearded warrior ignored him entirely, stabbing a piece of mutton with his fork and putting it into his mouth. The grin on the man’s face vanished slowly, and the man’s hand slapped Brennus’s left shoulder. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, mate.”
“I’ll show ye ‘at I’m a Highlander if ye touch me again, mate,” Brennus mocked and warned, scowling as he chewed his food.
“Aye, aye! Did’it mean no trouble, big man,” the sailor said, smiling wide and making his cronies chuckle. “Just wondering if the tales I’ve heard from the Highlands were true.” The seaman paused, his expression going blank. “I hear people are tribal up there. Livin’ in tents. Kill any man that enters their lands and ain’t their kind. Fuck any beast to wet their cock,” the sailor said, his smirk returning and his friends joining in on the mockery they meant to make of Brennus.
The red-haired sellsword boiled inside. His frustration became clear as he ate his mutton vigorously, his chewing loud and obnoxious. “See! He even eats like an animal. So, are the tales true? That the men of the Highlands don’t even have wives or families and they just fuck wild boars?”
It was the final straw. Brennus swallowed the last piece of mutton in his mouth, and his tenacious left hand grabbed hold of the seaman’s collar, his grip tightening as he slammed the sailor’s face into the wooden surface of the table. A small crack revealed itself as a result, and the glass that held Brennus’s rum shook and spilled. The red-haired Highlander stood up quickly, smashing the sailor’s face into the table two more times before one of the sailor’s friends tackled Brennus to the ground.
