Starter for @tryvyalsynnes
The Herald’s rest attracted all kinds of people. Basically everyone, who came to the Inquisition, be it in order to help, find work, or ask the Inquisition for support in personal endeavors will eventually try to find food and drink... and sometimes even company in the only tavern within the fortress. Race and religion didn’t matter, when you sat down at a table and ordered a pint of whatever was drinkable.
At least, it should be that way. Some people, however did not play by the rules. A group of former Orlaisian templars, that only recently have arrived where making quite a ruckus for a while already, hollering and laughing loudly, making crude comments at everyone, who came near. The rest of the patrons were trying to ignore them, most eyes turned away from them, focused on their own drinks.
Most eyes. A hooded mercenary, sitting in the back of the tavern had been silently watching them for most of the evening now. The people sitting close to him, had already moved further away, feeling uncomfortable in the air of tension, he was surrounded with.
When a white-haired elvhen-soldier with a big sword strapped to is back, entered the tavern, the mood tipped drastically. One of the templar’s sneered at the newcomer, saying to his comrades loud enough that everyone could hear it: “Look at that rabbit, trying to look like he’s someone! What a drag. With the Inquisitor inviting all kinds of peasants, now everyone thinks, they are born to lead. The Maker made the elfs to serve, not to-”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. The mercenary had somehow crossed the path from the far back of the tavern to the templar’s table and, grabbing the back of his head, slammed his face onto the wooden tabletop hard enough to cause he nasty cracking sound. In the movement, his hood slipped back and revealed that he was indeed an elf too, dark-skinned and covered in scars, one eye already blind.
“You will take that back!”, he yelled, raging fury burning in his good eye, “You will apologize to the Maker for your heresy and you will apologize to Andraste for defiling her name in such a despicable way!”
Every sentence was enunciated with another slam on the table, until the templars friends finally recovered from their shock and jumped to their feet, drawing their blades. Sensing the sudden danger, the mercenary jumped back, drawing a short-sword of his own. Yelling “VALOR ANDRASTE”, he charged and threw himself right into the fight, while the surrounding patrons, tried to get as far way from the scene, as possible.
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