Nothing but trouble

“You’re nothing but trouble,” Mirno said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Moonhawk replied.

“Mercenaries like you could use you’re skills to help people, but all you care about is gold.”

“And ale,” Rebsla said.

“I like travelling, you get to meet so many interesting people,” Moonhawk said.

“Especially when you take shortcuts,” Ginfla said, ducking from Moonhawk’s playful backhand.

“If you have a problem sir, perhaps we can help. Despite your assumptions we are not mercenaries,” Sunhawk said.

“No problem, just used to your kind coming in here, tearing up my inn for fun,” Mirno said.

“We are, with the exception of our Dwarven friend Ironbeard, clerics not mercenaries,” Ginfla said.

Mirno scowled, “you don’t work for Lord Tavaz?”

“No,” Rebsla said, sharply, “we come to aid Trasmo.”

“They might be Tavaz’s,” Ironbeard said, indicating a heavily armed group just entering.

“If so they’re not very good,” Moonhawk said, “no room sweep and too many weapons on show. Why not just hang a sign with ‘hit me’ on it?”

“You’ve a problem elf?” one asked

Moonhawk and Sunhawk both looked at the speaker, an ugly enough fellow without the scar that marred his face.

“No, just making observations.” Sunhawk said, giving his twin sister a look.

“We need not check the room, our weapons are deterrent enough. We want the innkeep only, take my advice and stay out of it.”

“We cannot,” Ginfla said.

“Interfere and we’ll kill you.”

“Is that a challenge? If it is me and Moon here accept…Ironbeard?”

“Us three against them…hardly fair, still I don’t see why I should miss out.”

The fight was brief, yet decisive.

“Like I said, you’re nothing but trouble,” Mirno said to the clerics. “Thanks for that, stay as long as you want.”


(word count 295)