Greyback By Carraig Craun
Cathan sat down at a table and ordered two pints. He wasn’t sure when Pol would show, but until then he would do what he could to enjoy the local drinks. Although, looking around, he noticed the state of the tavern they agreed to meet in wasn’t the most pleasant. Damp wood and the smell of mold made the place seem as run-down as Pol mentioned it’d be. Cobwebs and candles decorated the dining area, the dried wax-like icicles on the candles’ sconces. It seemed cleanliness wasn’t of the highest importance in the establishment. Nonetheless, the place was a lively one. Nightfall was still an hour off, and the place was already packed with people looking for relief from the working day. It seemed Pol was right about it being the perfect place to blend in with likely sympathizers. As one of the bartenders dropped his two ales off, Cathan looked over the people in the tavern, making sure no obvious loyalist littered the place. All locals it seemed. Good. It’d be nice to be able to drink without watchful eyes for a change. As he continued to scan the room, he noticed a few young men near the entrance who seemed to be searching the room for spare seats. Watching their eyes reach the empty seats of his table, Cathan wondered if they’d be bold enough to sit with him. Being a Dragonborn as giant as himself had a way of dissuading even the more confident common folk from sharing his table. And, judging by the fearful glances he was now receiving, it seemed this instance was no different. Laughing to himself, he leaned back into the ancient chair beneath him, the awkward piece of wood creaking dangerously at the weight it held. His eyes closed as he breathed in a few moments of peace. It wasn’t often he got the chance to relax nowadays, not with the rebellion growing daily and the Empire’s grip squeezing tighter with each day’s passing. More soldiers seemed to be flowing in each day, and with the arrival of Greyback, the tension had only escalated. That bastard was a monster in more than just one sense. A werewolf from the Lunar Swamps of the south, the man was known for how he favored his beastly side. The sadistic murderer possessed little in the way of mercy and justice. He simply killed and tortured his way into the minds of the people. That’s probably why the Empire chose him. Everywhere he went, submission followed. Just this morning Cathan had had to stand by as Greyback and his gang of guards raided one of the local shops. It seemed even selling bread to known sympathizers was an ‘act against the stability of the city’ now. Luckily, the family’s children were away at the time, but Cathan doubted the parents would make it to next week. Greyback had a knack for making people disappear without question. Greyback’s presence had the whole city on edge–sympathizers and loyalists alike. If Cathan didn’t take steps to handle the situation soon, the city would erupt in a state of full-scale revolt. Countless lives would be lost, most of them sympathizers. Greyback simply held too much power and influence over the city’s people for the ones who could afford to make a difference to stand against him. Too few would stand up and fight if rebellion were to break out prematurely. The desperate poor would be massacred, the merchants all the while blaming their weaker peers, while the nobles who shared the just cause would shrink back, once more, behind their titles. No, rebellion in this state would not be fruitful. The spark for rebellion would have to be clean and sure. The flame set ablaze by a swift and controlled strike. A fire where one side is clearly more burned than the other. And, above all else, Greyback did not survive. The thought of what must be done, and just how soon it would have to happen, clouded Cathan’s mind until Pol arrived. So deep in his thoughts was the Dragonborn that he didn’t notice her arrival until her hand reached for the chair opposite of him, pulling his attention back to the lively tavern around him. Smoothly sliding into a comfortable sitting position and leaning forward to sniff the ale Cathan had set aside for her, Pol’s nose scrunched in distaste. “I’m not much of a drinker, Cathan, you know this.” She ran one of her long fingers around the rim of the tankard. “At least, not of most human spirits…” She trailed this last statement as she glanced up into the eyes of Cathan, raising her brows at the blank stare the Dragonborn was giving her. 124
