At the Blue Shadow

“What's the to-do?” Shar nodded in the direction of the group at the corner table, where a lot of cheering and tankard-hoisting was going on.

Chas, huge arms folded, grinned at the smaller man from behind the polished but pitted stone of the counter. “Not sure. They came in maybe a half-glass ago, probably some band celebrating a small victory or just celebrating to be alive. It's been too busy since for me to ask. What brings you in tonight?”

“Between jobs,” replied Shar, sighing. “Where's the gnome?”

“Eh,” said Chas, but he got delayed by a shouting pair of armor-clad men almost as big as he was. After getting them some beer, he moved back to Shar. “... on a job. Gimble got hired on as a trapcatch for a trip south... don't know where, though. He said it was good pay, a good group.”

“Good for him,” said Shar blithely and then leaned slightly as Tirga the broad-shouldered barmaid pushed into the counter.

“Another round for the mob in the corner, Chas!”

“Do you mind? I'm having a drink here,” drawled Shar, peering at the dwarven woman, who arched her thick eyebrows and grinned without humor back at him.

“I don't mind you drinking long as you don't spit it back out on the floor,” she replied, rapping one hard knuckle on the counter while Chas rapidly filled tankards, mugs, cups and bowls.

“Are all dwarves this rude?”

“Do all humans ask questions they already think they know the answers to?”

Shar scowled at the broad-faced woman, who simply grinned back at him until her tray was full.

“Eh, Tirga, what's going on over there, anyway,” Chas leaned his huge frame on the counter, and the barmaid glanced up at him.

“It's a bunch of Avabrondans,” she sighed. “First time at the Tower, and there's some new fellows on the crew. The way they're drinking, I figure they'll hit the Tower in a couple of days.”

With that, she braced the tray on her shoulder, and sauntered back through the common room.

“That explains that,” said Chas, giving the bar a quick glance to see if anyone was raising their glass.

“Avabrondans are insane,” muttered Shar, draining the last of his beer.

“Nah, just enthusiastic. THE Avabrondan was insane, and he inspired a lot of his countrymen.”

The Avabrondan was well-known as the man who went running into nearly every forbidding ruin, tower, dungeon, abandoned mine or monster lair he could find and somehow came out of every one of them a little wealthier and a little wiser, and not horribly wounded or just plain dead. His career as an adventurer was considered a mingling of incredible luck and (grudgingly admitted) incredible skill. He disappeared not long ago, assumed to have finally run out of luck, but some believed that he finally retired. No one ever seemed to recall his actual name, so he was just named for his home nation.

“Pour me another.”

Chas did. “You'll like this; it's a dwarf-make stout. Tirga's family brews it, so I get it for a good price. Not fond of Avabrondans?”

Shar looked blandly at Chas. “It's not really something I understand. People call us 'adventurers', and that sounds daring and glamorous, but the truth of it all...” He paused, sipping at his new drink. “...say, this is pretty good.... um, the truth of it all is sleeping in cold, damp places, wading through slimy water, jumping at shadows because you've been ambushed a few too many times, and so much pain. It's dirty, terrible work, and all Gods forbid you are doing something like chasing down a corpse-eating necromancer or killing off the local evil cult. Oh yes, fine, wonderful, everybody applauds and you get some rewards, but for the rest of your life you end up wondering whether someone's going to creep up and stab you for revenge. Even enemies have friends. All the Avabrondan proved was that obsession can apparently keep you alive even when you are constantly throwing yourself at death.”

“All good points,” rumbled Chas, folding his arms again. “So why do you do it?”

Taking another long drink, Shar sat back a bit and was still pulling an answer together in his dark eyes when a brooding man approached and sat down next to him.

“Two fingers of the Imblad cognac,” said the brooding man, and Chas pulled a small black glass bottle from the back shelf, pouring into a small glass.

“...wait, don't tell me. Slayer's Brotherhood, second class? Weren't you haring off to Yhelm to get hired by Lady Angharad?”

The man waited until he had his drink, then sampled the scent of the cognac in a cultured way utterly incongruous with his battlefield-brusque exterior. “Yeah. Never there when I come by. I end up talking to some hawk-faced fellow named Sharif, tells me I'll 'get a letter' if she's interested in hiring.”

He had a sip of the cognac and smiled a little. “What's news?”

Shar peered at the man. “Slayer's Brotherhood... how long have you been doing that?”

“Hmm, four years in. Woodsman work before that, usual background. Part time brigand, street sellsword, that kind of thing. Looking for a hire?”

“No, no. We were just discussing why people get into 'adventuring', and far as I can tell, you Brotherhood fellows are paid to die.”

“Paid to kill,” corrected the brooding man blandly, and Chas chuckled as the brooding man continued. “Survive jobs, get promoted. I do it because the perks of membership are great, and because this is what I'm good at.”

“Like the Avabrondan, I suppose,” thought Shar aloud.

“Maniac,” stated the brooding man, sipping cognac. “No, not so much. I don't take risks, I just get rid of them. Pay is good. Feels a lot better than making boots for a living; you get to appreciate life more. You have more reason to.”

“Ah,” said Chas. “Now, that's a good explanation for the Avabrondan and why he did what he did.”

Shar did more thinking and drinking, and then nodded. “All right, I admit, I keep coming back to it because it's just so... fun, after the fact. My hands shake, I can't sleep some nights at all, and I'll be piked if I can keep a decent romantic relationship going. But I keep taking jobs.”

The brooding man grinned, but said nothing.

“That gets better if you retire,” laughed Chas, and then glanced over to the Avabrondans. One of them was standing on a chair, one-legged, while chugging his drink. The others were applauding and cheering him on. “...and they certainly have a good time of it without retirement.”

“We'll see how they are in a week, when the Tower's chewed half of them up,” muttered Shar.

“Feeling bad about your vocation?” The brooding man glanced at Shar. “I'm always up for a Tower run, just say the word. Best way in the world to stop worrying about everything else.”

Shar looked at the fellow with humor and horror. “And you call the Avabrondan insane.”

The brooding man just shrugged. “Nah, just looking for work while I wait for my letter.”