The Search for Redemption

She walked into the tavern, and looked through the gloom towards the voices. Edrick was easy enough to spot, especially as he was laughing at something. He was seated at a table with Mirav, their guild mate, and a human man, bearing the colors of the Crimson Knights. Bjorke knew him, although they had not been introduced. Edrick turned and grinned lopsidedly at her, having caught her scent as she walked in. She nodded at the troll half-breed, and took a seat next to Edrick.

The Knight looked up. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

Bjorke smiled politely at the absurd question. “I know you, but I have no way of knowing if you know me.”

He laughed, realizing what he had said, and introduced himself as Richord Welche. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, and told him her name. “I know many in your order, and I am pleased to meet you, as well.”

She signaled for an ale as Edrick began to talk again about his fighting matches that he and Mirav were participating in for the reward money. Bjorke frowned into her drink, and even in the dim light, Edrick noticed. He leaned over and whispered to her in Althorin.

“What is wrong, my love?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. I’m fine, “ was her unconvincing reply. She listened to the talk of the arena matches. Edrick was an amazing storyteller, even if Bjorke did not like the subject. She knew his reasons for pursuing this, but she didn’t like it. After another round of drinks, and more stories, the Knight excused himself, saying he had business to attend elsewhere. Bjorke nodded at him, looking very much as if she wished she could make the same excuse.

An elf staggered in, shivering from the cold. Bjorke recognized him, and motioned him to join them. “Jivundus! Good to see you!”

He looked up, startled. “Mi’lady Bjorke, it is good to see you again.”

“Join us, Jiv. And please, it’s just Bjorke.” She smiled at the old elf.

“Forgive me. Pleasantries such as that tend to keep me out of trouble. A welcome change these days.”

She chuckled, pleased that he joined them. And more pleased that his version of “pleasantries” was more pleasant than the hand-kisses other men had been foisting on her lately. What is it that makes men think she wants their lips on her hand? The group found common ground complaining about the ale, and lack of service.

Bjorke’s mood grew more melancholy as the night passed. Her answers to questions were one-syllable grunts if anything. Someone at the table mentioned they saw something move in the corner, and she pulled out her throwing knife and tossed it. “Rat,” was her only explanation.

Edrick stood and stretched. “The morning comes early for me. I am headed to bed.” He held out his hand to Bjorke, but she ignored it.

“I’m here for a bit more.” She turned to the elf and said, “Weather’s not bad thish time *hic* of year, ish it?”

Edrick frowned, and bent down to kiss her. “Don’t be too long, my love,” he said quietly in Althorin.

Jivundus watched the exchange, looking for all the world as if he wished he was anywhere but here, between the huge barbarian and his drunken woman. He heaved a great sigh of relief as Edrick left. Leaning over towards Bjorke, he whispered, “If you ever need to talk, I would be honored to listen.”