//------------------------------// // Grogel's Tavern // Story: Friendship Is Over // by MartiantheGray //------------------------------// ‘Twas a cool, quiet night in the mountainous planes of Gryphonia, nary a sound made except for that of the chilling winter wind. Under the star-riddled sky rested a lonely tavern, seemingly sleeping with the rest of the world from afar, with lights dimmed and noisiness muted by the howling of the breeze. If one were to approach the ostensibly silent establishment however, they would be proven to be quite wrong in the assumptions they had made from a distance, as upon closer inspection a rather loud commotion could be heard from just past the entrance. A fist slammed into a table, the owner of said fist letting out a fierce snarl as he glared at a figure across the room. “That is it! My patience has worn thin; I am going to walk over there and demand that that fugitive surrenders himself to the Crown!” said the gryphon as he stood, sending the chair he sat upon skidding backwards across the wooden planks of the floor. “Calm yourself, Yuri!” commanded a second gryphon in a harsh whisper, reaching out to grab his impassioned partner’s arm. “You will make all of the time and effort we have put into finding this creature pointless if you accost him now. For Yahin’s sake, just wait until he is either suitably drunk or out of the prying eyes of civilians before you make your move!” Yuri looked back at the gryphon holding him back, barely contained rage filling his green eyes. Before he could respond, his attention was stolen by that of his second comrade. “I suggest you listen to Hagfrey, Yuri. You know the reputation of this creature: a fierce combatant, a sailor-mouthed adventurer, a smooth criminal. There is a reason we three have been selected to carry out the arduous task of capturing him for the King.” Yuri calmed slightly at his companions’ explanations, but still refused to back down. He pulled his arm out of the grasp of Hagfrey, not a hard task since the older gryphon was not actively attempting to restrain him, looking at the two of them with annoyance still lining his face. “You don’t understand, Geralt,” he spoke in a quieter tone, his fervency still present despite the change in volume. “This criminal must be brought to justice as soon as possible! For all of his facades in the guise of a friendly tradesman who sells hats for ‘two refined’, and his exploits across the Highland Fields, I have seen what a monster he truly is! Not only does he stand accused of murder, but he is an eldritch being that does not belong here. We must capture him and bring him to King Yahin so that he may be swiftly escorted to Tartarus by the executioner’s axe!” The gryphon’s tone grew hysterical as he spoke, Yuri turning around again and moving toward the object of his obsession. “Wait, Yuri!” “What are you doing!?” these questions went largely ignored as the gryphon closed the distance between himself and the criminal, who sat idly at the bar, beer in hand and a hood over his head. “I will bring him to justice. I will reveal to the world what lies beneath his charade. The King will see what I have seen underneath that eyepatch of his, and when he takes his head I will finally be able to rest easy,” muttered the gryphon as he strode up to the hooded figure. --- It had been a long, harrowing journey to Grogel’s Tavern. From witches to ghouls to dragons and various other creatures straight out of myths and legends, the weary traveler could finally settle down and have a drink for once after being pulled into this world by some crazy wizard at a cosplay convention. What had started out as an average day was warped into something horrific when he was suddenly sucked into a portal that had opened up in a bathroom stall that he walked into to relieve himself during the convention. Portals serving as doorways to otherworldly dimensions do not belong at the bottom of toilets last he checked. As he thought longingly of his time back on Earth, he whiled his night away swilling his bottle of ale, abolishing his frail sobriety in hopes of curing himself of the sadness that came with the somber musings. As he pulled the bottle away from his mouth, his brooding was interrupted by the sharp loudness of a chair scraping against the wooden floorboards, another birdie taking the empty seat before ordering a mug of cider. The weary traveler did not even offer the gryphon sitting next to him a glance, his attention set solely on the nearly empty bottle in front of him as his senses were dulled by the alcohol he had imbibed. The gryphons made some of the strongest stuff out there, and with the fact that there were five more bottles surrounding the traveler, it was no wonder he was nearly dead to the world around him. The only reason he knew there was a gryphon sitting next to him was because they were the only species that frequented this particular establishment. When the bartender handed the other gryphon his mug of cider, he downed it in but one swig before slamming the mug back down onto the bar. “DeGroot,” hissed a familiar voice. The weary traveler cussed beneath his breath as he recognized who spoke in such a spite-filled tone. “Yuri,” he responded simply, still looking pointedly at the bottle in front of him. “What brings you of all people here?” “You know damn well why I am here!” snarled the gryphon, slamming a fist on the bar, cutting off all idle conversation in the room as everyone turned to see what the ruckus was about. “You, Tavish DeGroot, are wanted by King Yahin for the murder of a nobleman in the capital city of Beaksworth.” Tavish chuckled drunkenly at the absurd name of the city. “Not only that, but I have seen what goes on inside your head; your very existence here is disastrous!” Tavish ignored Yuri’s last sentence with another small chuckle. “Tavish DeGroot? You keep using that name, but I don’t think you understand that placing that name and the heinous crimes you accuse me of in the same sentence is a rather large insult not only to me, but to me mum ‘n’ pa. I don’t appreciate that. Please, call me Demoman instead.” Tavish brought the bottle back to his lips, going bottoms up as the gryphon in the seat next to him fumed. “What you wish to be called doesn’t matter. Or at least it will not matter when your neck is separated from your shoulders by the cold steel of the axe. You are going to pay for what you’ve done, and I am here to see that you do not evade your fate any longer.” “Aye, you can try, lad. You can try just like every other merc, pirate, and assassin has. But tryin’ is different from succeedin’. It’s bloody far from it, in fact. So ye can bring it if yer feelin’ so cocksure; I’ll be certain to show ye just how unimpressive the length of that goes when you do, though,” said Tavish as he finally turned to Yuri, showing him a white beard that contrasted quite heavily from his brown skin. What caught Yuri’s attention, however, was the sinister red glow that radiated from behind the eyepatch that rested over his left eye. “Ye’ve been quite persistent in yer endeavors, Yuri. Ye’ve nearly gotten me time an’ time again. This time, though, I just may take yer head,” said Tavish as he pushed aside a waist-high, white-trimmed red cape that looked to belong to royalty to rest a gloved hand on a battle-worn claymore that was sheathed by his side. The gryphon’s glare hardened as he scowled, reaching to pull out a dagger that rested by his armored hip, flaunting it in front of the weary traveler as he picked a tooth with the pointed tip of the blade. “You always were a jokester, weren’t you, Tavish? Even when I considered you a comrade, you knew just what to say to make me laugh.” Yuri pointed the dagger at Tavish, making stabbing motions as his cronies strode up to surround the man, though both had somewhat hesitant looks on their faces. “King Yahin did not clarify what condition he wanted you in upon your ‘safe’ return, did he? So he would not care overmuch, I do not think, if you were to be short another eye when you are dragged back to Beaksworth.” Two more daggers were drawn, yet the weary traveler either did not notice, or he did not care. Instead, he again lifted the ale to his lips, cussing when he realized there was none left. “Bloody hell! Where’s my ale gone? Would any of you happen to know?” he asked as he lifted the empty bottle to display it to everyone in the tavern, particularly the three gryphons with their weapons pointed at him. “No? Well ain’t that a shame. It’s not as good as scrumpy or rum, but I’d still like to share with me best mates.” “Enough of your games, DeGroot!” exclaimed Yuri, pressing the length of his blade across Tavish’s exposed throat. After a moment of utter silence throughout the establishment - the occupants watching with avid interest and the bartender leaving to go upstairs with a sigh after locking up as many cupboards filled with glassware as possible - Yuri continued speaking. “I am hoping that you do not go quietly just so I can have a valid reason for sticking you in the belly, you beast.” He leaned forward, his green eyes never once leaving the brown eyes of the Demoman. Tavish grabbed Yuri by the wrist, twisting it and causing the gryphon to scream out in pain before grabbing him by the head and slamming his face into the counter. He then stood up, sending his bar stool careening into Geralt, the unsuspecting gryphon catching the brunt of the impact right below his eye as he made to charge, knocking him off-balance and lacerating his cheek as he recoiled from the sudden and unseen attack. Tavish ducked forward, dodging a quick swipe from the remaining Hagfrey, who jumped to tackle him into the counter. Tavish smiled when he realized they weren’t going for the kill, opting to grab Hagfrey by his arms and fall back to the ground, winding the gryphon as he landed atop him with all his weight. Rolling off the reeling bird, Tavish ducked underneath the swing of a bar stool. He turned to the gryphon that held the makeshift weapon as Geralt used his wings to power his charge, flying toward him with the legs of the stool pointed at him in the same way a jouster would his lance, pushing him into one of the tables. Tavish grunted in pain as he hit the table's edge, grabbing two of the stool’s legs to keep himself from being completely pinned. He lifted both of his legs and placed them against the feathery chest of his opponent, pulling on the stool as he pushed with his lower body to send the gryphon airborne before his flight was suddenly halted when he collided into the wall on the other side of the room. The small crowd in the tavern cheered at the show of violence, some even seeming to make small bets as to who would triumph in the tussle before Geralt’s defeated form landed on one of their tables, sending both beer and bits in every direction. Working a small crick out of his neck as he walked over Hagfrey to the bar, Tavish kicked the downed gryphon across the face as he passed, knocking him out. As he neared the pained form of Yuri, the gryphon suddenly spun around, his knife following a wild path as he desperately lashed out at Tavish, his beak bleeding and his eyes crazed. Tavish stumbled backwards, his rounded beard getting trimmed slightly shorter as the knife shallowly slashed through the white hairs covering his chin. Yuri jumped out of his seat to continue attacking Tavish, attempting to pierce him anywhere he could with his sharp set of steel. Tavish grabbed the bottle he had emptied earlier, smacking the gryphon’s wrist as he made to spit him on his dagger. Yuri grunted angrily as he made to slash Tavish across the face, the man using his bottle to deflect the attack by again striking the gryphon in the arm. Before Yuri could recover, Tavish grabbed the infuriated bird by the throat and broke the bottle over his head, knocking him out cold. The Demoman looked at his broken bottle as he caught his breath, watching as some of the liquid that hadn’t been drank spilled to the floor. “What a shame, eh? Still, I did get to share with one o’ me best mates in the end, at the very least.” Tavish looked around the store, seeing several surprised eyes staring back at him. “Oi! Show’s over, lads ‘n’ lasses, so back to drinkin’ with ye!” With that said, the other bargoers quickly went back to their conversations, some who betted during the fight coming out a few bits richer while others wouldn’t be able to afford anymore alcoholic beverages for the night. Picking the stool he had knocked into Geralt earlier up, Tavish set it back down in its original spot before reaching under his cape and pulling out a cloth bag. He reached in to pull out the bits for the drinks he ordered before thinking and deciding to leave the entire bag on the counter to pay for the drinks of his assailants and anything that was possibly broken during the scuffle. Why did he pay for the drinks of gryphons who had attacked him? Well, he had no clue either; his drunk mind reasoned that they wouldn’t be able to make the payments themselves, what with being currently unconscious and bleeding, so their money would be better spent on their collective medical bill, he thought. Not only that, but somewhere deep down, he regretted what his relationship Yuri had devolved to. What had once been a blossoming friendship forged by fire had deteriorated into a series of conflicts that recently ended with a fight in a bar of all places. And he had more money on his person than that, so that helped with the decision to leave a single bag of bits to the owner of the tavern, Grogel, who would likely not be too pleased with finding three unconscious gryphons sprawled about his establishment. Shaking his head, the weary traveler shouted to the bargoers whom he had seen eyeing his pouch of bits. “Hear ye, hear ye! To all occupants of this fine pub, listen here!” he pointed to the bag he placed upon the table. “If that bag is so much as breathed on by anyone in here, I’ll ‘ave all yer heads! Do I make myself clear?” He looked around the room, challenging any ballsy individuals to try to take the bag. When there was no response and no one made any movements, his glare softened. “Good.” And with that, he walked to the entrance Grogel’s Tavern, content with the fact that one way or another, Grogel would get the bag of bits as a personal apology from him. Either the scum inside would heed his warning, or they would immediately set upon the money, meaning that they’d have to go over one another to get to it. They’d be too preoccupied with getting their faces kicked in by their ‘friends’ and giving the same treatment to others to ever lay a talon on the bits. Tavish pushed the front door open, the chilly air outside him hard even through his protective apparel as he left the relative warmth of the bar. He reached under his cape, this time producing a balaclava that he then tied around his head to keep his face warm. ‘Just another day in the Hyperborean Mountains…’ thought Tavish to himself as he made to trudge through the snow that seemed to stretch on forever. ‘My journey’s got to be nearing its end soon. The Eyelander says that I don’t need too many more heads before I can reopen the portal to go home. Not to mention the fact that the voices have been quieter than normal.' A small smile made its way to his face at the thought of returning to someplace familiar. He didn’t care how many people he had to kill so long as it got him back to where he rightfully belonged. And so it was with renewed determination that Tavish DeGroot, the Demoman and weary traveler, pushed onward to complete his morbid mission, the thought of home, not heroism, etched into his mind.