Emmerling Haust was a fat man. Around him was always a musk of liquor and beer from the stains that covered his clothing. Grease trickled through the straggle of beard on his chin as he tore apart helpings of sausages with savage abandon. Around him was a crowd of rabble rousers and woodsmen. A motley sort who loved to lie and tell tall tales.
“I’ll tell ya, that wolf wouldn’ve stood no chance if ole’ Emmerling was awake,” he pounded a flagon of beer on the table before him and pointed at the men around him. “Four flagons of beer! Ya’ll remember that! Four flagons an’ I still was able to put Thomas through the table!” The men around Emmerling roared with laughter.
“Yeah! You’re twice my weight!” A young man yelled back. He held himself as if he could not push his shoulders back and sit with an assertive posture, “When that beast showed up you were asleep on the dock!”
“Hah!” Emmerling roared as he tilted his head back pouring the beer down his throat and down his dark red pourpoint jacket before he placed it lightly back on the table. He adjusted his felt cap carefully and then wiped his hands across the breast of his overcoat. “I like ya Thomas, you’ve got spirit. Maybe ya could be like me one day.”
“No one wants two Emmerlings!” Another man shouted over the raucous din of the conversation which warranted a laugh from all.
“Hah! There is already two!” He shouted in return as he slapped his hand against his belly. “Any of you lot want to know how I’d’ve killed tha’ beast?”
“We already know you scared it off because you pissed yourself,” Andrew of Methalous jabbed his elbow into Emmerling’s side playfully which summoned another spirited laugh from the fat man who swung his palm into Andrew’s back and struggled to regain his composure.
“Aye! Ya’ll should be . . .” Emmerling stopped amount trying to catch his breath, “. . . Ya’ll should . . .” He began to cough rapturously and wetly and his face began to glow bright red from the force. After a moment of coughing Emmerling poured more beer down his throat before a smaller cough sent beer spraying over his plate and he was left gasping. “ . . . As I was sayin’, ya’ll should be happy I scared that wolf off. One whiff of my piss an’ that wolf knew tha’ it was in the turf of a real pack leader.”
“You’re a fat drunk, not a mighty warrior!” Thomas said.
“I’m a carpenter! We’re the mightiest warriors in these parts.” Emmerling shoved a handful of sausage into his mouth, and suddenly the room went quiet.
Cliver had entered the hall, but not alone. A motley band entered with him. They seemed to be all sorts. A girl with wings, a strange wolf, a Halfling, two young looking girls, and a short young man. None among them really looked like warriors, and by the reactions the men in the hall collectively had, they had never seen such a band before.
“Make way for the conquering beast slayers!” Cliver yelled over the quiet, and the men cheered and shouted. Emmerling joined in heartily, but he looked to the others with marked incredulity.
“That is the guild that Mundy called for?” Emmerling asked the others.
“It appears so.” Andrew replied over a mug of honeyed almond milk.
“They don’t seem too guild-like,” Thomas said pointing over at Emmerling, “You said Cliver died.”
“Of course! I thought he had!” Emmerling raises his hands up in faux defense, “Listen, giant wolf attacks, Cliver goin’ missin’ in the night an’ not returnin’. Why do ya think I drank so much last night?”
“Because you’re a drunk.” The men said in unison.
“No.” Emmerling pounded his palm onto the table, “Out of respect! If I die I want ya’ll to get drunk for me, and I suspect Cliver would want it too!”
“I’d probably want ya’ll to look for me before getting drunk,” Another man chimed in.
The men laughed, and breakfast continued on. They feasted longer than usual because of the news, and the men traded tales and jokes with the adventurers. Before long most of the hall had finished their food, but they had gathered in large clumps around the guild members to listen to their stories. Except Emmerling. He had removed himself from the table after finishing his meal, and he now lugged around a heavy wooden box on his back that contained all of the tools of his trade.
With a huff, Emmerling sauntered to Mundy’s office and pounded on the door with a meaty fist, “Oi, Mundy. Should we keep workin’ on fixin’ the wall now that the beast is dead?”