FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 19 - The Darkhorn Tavern

6th Day of Lumine

128 I.E.

"We don't usually get ursar in here," the barkeep said as he brought Bart another mug of ale. "And even then, they don't ever drink."

Bart regarded the minotaur with only a passing glance, but did a double-take when he realized that the barkeep wasn't some stylus-thin beastman or some old coot. When the bullman set the mug down, tiny movements of his arms muscles could be seen as he pulled one of his thick, meaty hands back. The round gut that was cupped by his apron told Bart that he drank just as much booze as he served. He had a mane of brown hair around his face that reminded him of a lion. It wasn't the first time that Bart had seen a minotaur in person, but every time he saw one, he was reminded that he liked what he saw.

Minotaur were all about brute strength, and that was something Bart could respect.

"I ain't like other ursar," Bart replied before he took a swig from the ale. It took some effort for him not to trip over the Common Tongue while he had alcohol coursing through his veins, but somehow he managed to pull through. "Took us three weeks ta get here an' damned if I ain't gonna drink somethin' good for a change."

The minotaur laughed at him. "I like you, cub. Interesting accent you got there." He leaned on the counter, and his long tail swished idly from side to side. "Dwarvish right?"

"Aye. What's it ta ye?"

"Let's just say I'm a people person. Name's Tolan Darkhorn."

"Bartholomew."

"Pleasure to meet you. Or rather, it's good to finally know your name. Seen you here plenty of times now."

"Ye noticed?" Bart had been to the Darkhorn Tavern several times before, but this was the first time he'd spoken to the barkeep. Usually he sat in a dark corner and waited to be served by one of the bar wenches roaming about the place. Tonight was the first time he sat up at the bar, as most every other seat was occupied.

"It's my tavern. I watch everyone who enters those doors," Tolan replied. As he spoke, Bart could feel the minotaurs gaze on him, but something felt different. He felt bare before the barkeep, and he wasn't sure why. "You've looked troubled all night, and I know it ain't because you went and gambled away your gold on some card game. And I don't think a soldier would be this far from his base if he wasn't trying to hide from something. Mind if I ask why?"

Bart thought on it for a moment, then said, "Naw, I'd rather keep ta myself, thanks." It wasn't really any of his business why he was there. He'd been spending almost every evening in the tavern since arriving in Sanctuary. It was a good excuse to get away from the base, as he knew that one day Arion and the others would arrive and he would have to deal with him again. Every time he thought of Arion, flashes of the murders he had committed danced in his mind, making it all the more difficult to avoid the thinking about them. With the psychic around, his thoughts were akin to a big sign with an arrow pointing down to his head, with the worlds "I murdered Stoutmantle" in big bold letters.

The best course of action from Bart's point of view was to avoid the cramped confines of the military barracks on the southern end of the city. The Olaraan District was full of refugees, but most importantly, it was small. He had no way of hiding down there. He was grateful when a night of exploring had brought him to the Darkhorn Tavern, where he could escape for a while to the bottom of a well worn cup.

"Well, alright. I won't pry. I suspect that whatever's bugging you, it isn't for my ears." Tolan began to move away to tend to some other patrons. His tail flicked back and forth as he walked.

"Wait," Bart called out and waited until Tolan looked back at him. "One question?"

"Shoot."

"Ye hear anythin' 'bout them psychics?" Bart asked. "Ye know, the one's who do funny things wit' yer head. Ye must've heard something if ye own this place and listen ta th' gossip."

Tolan chuckled, a deep rumble emanating from his chest. "Oh, I listen alright. A fellow deserves to know what's being said within his house, and trust me, I hear about many different things."

The minotaur sauntered a little closer to where Bart was sitting and began to wipe up a mess of spilled ale next to the ursar's arm. "Psychics a rare breed of folk, that much is certain. I've not heard much about them, and never seen one either. What I do know suggests that you should stay away from their kind if you ever run into one. As far away as you can possibly get, if you catch my drift. They're both powerful and unpredictable, and that makes for a nasty combination."

Tolan moved to serve another patron, drawing some of the deep, brown liquid from a keg behind him and sliding the mug down the length of the counter. It came to a stop right in front of the other minotaur sitting there.

"When you've been alive as long as I have, cub, you learn a lot of different things about the world. You ever heard the saying 'The only sure things in life are Death and Taxes'? Human paupers are fond of it, but they got it wrong. There's at least one other sure thing that you can count on being a universal truth in this little crapsack world of ours."

"What's that?" Bart asked, leaning on his stool to get a little closer.

"You stay the hell away from anything more powerful than yourself. A skilled swordsman can lop of your head if you're unprepared. A mage can burn you to a crisp with little more than a word if you don't know how to counter their magics. And if you run into a psychic? You run. Don't even think, don't even try to look behind you as you do it, either. Just run." His eyes were narrowed as he stared hard at the ursar.

Tolan came back towards Bart and dropped a bowl of nuts in front of him. "Now these folk are rare, you got me?"

"Ya," Bart said, nodding his head to show that he was still listening. "Only ever met one. An' I ain't that young, pops."

"Younger than me, and that's all that counts." Tolan smirked at him. "All I'm saying is that if someone can mess with your head and make you think and see things that aren't real, you don't screw around with them. Who knows what they are capable of? I'd rather run headlong into one of those sorcerous bastards who could turn me into a heap of charred flesh than tangle with a psychic."

Bart picked through the bowl of nuts, looking for a good one to eat (though all of them looked nearly identical) and crushed the shell in his paw. Bits and pieces of it scattered across the counter, and he arranged the unshelled nuts on the table. He had never thought of Arion's powers on those kinds of terms. What else could the monk do that he didn't know about? Maybe he was already living through some nightmare concocted by his psychic powers. How could he possibly know otherwise? He'd been shot and punched and wounded since the war began, and had survived the long trek to Sanctuary, and the world was still just as awful as it had always been. If this wasn't reality, he would've woken up long ago.

"That help any?" Tolan asked.

"A bit, thanks," was all Bart muttered before returning to his drink. "Though, I think I be in too deep."

Tolan chuckled. "If that were the case, would you be sitting here having a brew?"

Bart stared at him for a moment and shrugged. "I suppose ye be havin' a point there."

The minotaur smirked at him. "That's odd," he mused out loud.

"What is?" Bart asked.

"Most males would never admit to being out of their element, much less conceding something so easily," he explained. "Their pride won't tolerate it."

The ursar blinked a few times, then shrugged helplessly. "Naw, I s'pose not. Guess I'm jus' feelin' intra - er, intor... damn, what's the word?"

"Introspective," Tolan said with a smile. "Don't use Common that often?"

Bart shook his head. "I know what I want ta say, but I rarely need ta use this language."

"If you folks from Olaraa end up staying here long, you'll pick it up quick enough."

As Tolan walked away to tend to other patrons, Bart's ears perked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. The gruff looking bouncer stared down at a man who wore the blue and white imperial tabard of the Rogarian military, the home of the human empire that dominated the western side of the continent, and Olaraa's neighbor.

What's a human doing here? Bart wondered. It was unusual to see humans outside of Sanctuary's Rogarian District, as they usually liked to keep to themselves. That was doubly true for a place like the Darkhorn Tavern, which was deep inside the Snowhoof District and tucked away in a corner street.

Though it wasn't often that Bart saw a human roaming around, he felt that he'd met enough to know that this man was young. His face was clean shaven and his brown hair was kept short. The man ended up taking a seat at the counter, just a few spots away from where Bart sat, and waited patiently for service from the barkeep.

Bart took a swig from his mug and got up from his stool. He was feeling bold, and he wanted something to take his mind off his problems. The human looked good enough, as far as his tastes went.

The ursar slid into the spot next to the man and leaned towards him. "Hey," he slurred, dragging the sound of the vowels out, "Mind if I buy ye a drink?"

The man seemed nonplussed by the come on. He gently pressed his hand to Bart's muzzle and pushed him back a bit. "I can buy my own drinks, thanks."

"Are ye sure? Ye don't have ta be polite, I don't mind," Bart insisted. Who would turn down free beer? He would have taken it in a heartbeat if someone was offering it to him. This human must be crazy to not want something for free, he reasoned.

"I'm sure," the man said as he continued his wait for Tolan. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone right now. Thank you for your offer though." His voice was strained, suggesting that something else was going on.

After his experiences with Hilfa and Rejian, Bart knew when it was time to cut and run. The way the man spoke suggested he wasn't afraid to raise a hand against Bart if necessary. He didn't particularly want to get into a fight right then and there. If Tolan kicked him out, he doubted that he'd find any other tavern that was open, let alone one that would serve him.

Bart tipped his mug to the man and said, "I'll be over there if ye change yer mind." He gave a quick wink and scooted over to the far side of the counter.

After serving the human, Tolan swung back around to Bart's side of the counter to get him a refill. He had a large grin that encompassed his entire snout. "I was watching that. You got shot down pretty handily."

Bart shrugged. "I know when ta give up."

"Wise choice, cub." He beckoned Bart closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "That man there? Never caught his name, but I recognize the insignia on his uniform. He's a sorcerer, and a Lieutenant in his country's military."

"I'll consider meself lucky then," Bart said, polishing off his ale. He slid the mug over to Tolan and the minotaur got him a refill. "What's a human doin' out here anyways?"

"Same reason you're here, I reckon," Tolan responded. He wiped at a spill on the counter and returned the polished wood to its original glorious sheen. "He's running away from something."

Bart snorted. "What's one o' the magic elite have ta run from?" Already he could feel a sense of animosity building up towards the man. He had power at his disposal, and lots of it. Why would he be cowardly running away from something? He could have whatever he wanted. The man was special, and the populace knew it. That's why they always fawned over people like him and the gifts they had. Why would he be sulking in a bar so far from his own people's district? A snarl escaped Bart's lips before he could stop it, and he felt embarrassed that someone else might catch on to it.

"Not everyone runs from something stronger than themselves," Tolan said pointedly. "Some people drink to get away from reality. Others try to hide from their responsibilities because they aren't grown up enough to handle them. Others drink to forget. And that one there?" Tolan stealthily indicated the human sorcerer with a swift point of his thick finger. "I think he runs from his memories, to try and forget something that he wishes he could change."

"He's got the power ta change whatever he wants," Bart said darkly as he smashed a peanut shell beneath his paw. Mages could do what they wanted, when they wanted, and as often as they wanted. The ursar was constantly reminded of that growing up. He was one of the few magicless that grew up in Olaraa, and he was never allowed to forget it.

Tolan's expression changed, his brow furrowed, and his face seemed to darken as he spoke. "There isn't a power in the world that can change everything. Sometimes reality can be cruel."

Bart just nodded his head, as if trying to show that he understood, but he still couldn't grasp the concept fully.

"I get the feeling you'll be here for a while," Tolan said. "Just flag me down when you need more." The minotaur walked off to serve other patrons, giving Bart some time alone to think.

The evening flew by as the ursar emptied his coin purse and filled his gut with the bitter brew. He made small chat with Tolan whenever the minotaur had a moment, but otherwise kept to himself at the bar. His mind was on other things, and it was easier to drown his thoughts out with booze than to find some distraction.

Bart left Tolan's tavern late that night, long after he'd consumed nearly half a keg of ale. His coin purse felt much lighter, though by that point, he couldn't tell whether he even had it on his person. He stumbled around the deserted streets, pressing his paws against the walls of buildings to hold himself up and to feel his way back. He could scarcely feel the cold on his palms, but he did feel the chills running up his spine as a sharp wind cut through his clothing. It was quiet, but Bart couldn't care less about that fact. He was too drunk to care about much of anything. It had been a long time since he'd been so intoxicated, and he was grateful for it. He couldn't even remember what had been bothering him so much.

He eventually staggered back to the Olaraan District on the opposite side of the city. The barracks was tucked away near a defensive wall that divided the Rogarian and Olaraan Districts. He crashed noisily into walls and laughed about how clumsy he was. Someone yelled for him to shut up, but that did little to silence Bart. The harder he tried to be quiet, the louder he was. He found his bed only after someone from his unit woke up and escorted him there. As soon as Bart hit the mattress, he was asleep and snoring up a storm in seconds, much to the dismay of his bunkmates.