Prologue.
A man clad in used armor pushed open the creaky wooden door of The Broken Mast Tavern, a cloud of dust and stale air billowing out to greet him. The place reeked of sour ale, unwashed bodies, and desperation. Dim lanterns flickered against the dark soot-stained walls, casting eerie shadows across the scarred floorboards.
The tavern was nearly empty, save for a few weathered men slumped over their drinks in the far corners. A scrawny serving girl with tired eyes glanced up from polishing mugs behind the bar before returning to her task without a word.
Tavern was dirty, but cheap, and this was all that he could afford. Cheap. Graig made his way to an isolated table near the back, its surface sticky with spilled drink and crumbs. He sank into the rickety chair with a heavy sigh, the worn leather creaking beneath him. The place fit his mood – dark, gloomy, and forgotten by the world outside.
The former royal knight reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins and slapped them onto the table. The serving girl appeared almost instantly, snatching up the money with practiced efficiency.
– Wine, – Graig grunted, his voice rough from exhaustion: – And keep it coming.
As she nodded and retreated to fetch his drink, Graig leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of his failures. He knew this tavern would be just another pit stop on a journey that seemed to have no end, but for now, it was as good a place as any to drown his sorrows.
The serving girl returned with a mug of wine, its deep red hue catching the flickering candlelight as she placed it before Graig. He stared at the drink for a moment, his mind drifting back to simpler times when such pleasures were not marred by the bitter taste of failure. He used to be an archduke’s son, but now he lost it all. Declared a traitor in his homeland he became an errand boy for hero Ronan. A man who in Graig’s opinion deserved that title far less than him. Graig sighed and took another sip.
As evening crept closer, shadows lengthened across The Broken Mast Tavern’s worn interior. A chill breeze wafted through cracked windows, causing candles to gutter and dance erratically against gloom. A figure cloaked in black approached Graig’s table. Movements measured purposeful amid din drunks filling room. With deliberate grace, stranger pulled out chair opposite former knight before settling into its embrace with silent ease.
– Good evening, – he murmured softly, his voice muffled by the hood that covered his face in shadow: – Mind if I buy you a drink?
Graig glanced up from mug, half-empty already – his eyes narrowing as he took measure of a newcomer. There was something familiar about posture…a hint of recognition dancing just beyond grasp.
The cloaked figure reached out then – long fingers brushing aside folds garment to reveal glimpses of skin, smooth and pale beneath.
– Show me your face! – ordered Graig.
Stranger nodded and removed his hood. Graig’s eyes narrowed, as the hood fell back, revealing a face that seemed more sculpture than flesh. The stranger’s skin was unnaturally pale, stretched taut over angular cheekbones and sharp jawline. Their features appeared frozen – full lips curled into a faint smile that never reached their eyes. Those eyes were the most unsettling aspect; they glowed with an eerie, almost luminescent quality beneath long lashes, dark as midnight.
The stranger tilted his head slightly to the side, studying Graig with an intensity that bordered on predatory. Graig swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the mug of wine before him. A sense of unease crept up his spine like a spider’s web – something about this individual felt deeply wrong.
– Who are you? – he asked at last, voice barely above a whisper amid din tavern: – And what business could possibly bring you here, to my table?
– I am here to offer you an opportunity, – whispered the stranger, eyes gleaming beneath dark lashes: – A chance to regain what has been lost.
Graig stared at the stranger before him, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. The figure’s voice was smooth as honey – each word dripping with promise and allure. Graig leaned forward slowly, his curiosity piqued despite unease still lingering within breast.
– What do you mean? – he asked carefully: – How could someone like me possibly be of use?
The stranger smiled then – lips curving as he reached into cloak and produced small pouch, heavy with coin.
– There are those who would pay handsomely for introduction to one such as Ronan, – he murmured softly, setting bag upon table between them: – And I believe you could provide just that.
Graig’s eyes widened at implications, mind racing through possibilities.
– Why me? – he asked at last, voice barely above whisper amidst din tavern: – Surely there are others, better suited for task at hand.
The stranger leaned in closer – his breath warm against Graig’s cheek as he replied with deadly sincerity:
– Because I have seen what lies within your heart and I know that you will do whatever it takes to reclaim honor, which was stolen away from you.
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