Evil is evil.
The tavern grew quiet as each man stood furiously, brandishing their best glares against one another. Their wooden chairs rocked and slid into tables around them which in turn caused the once resting mugs atop the furniture to rattle and crash into the ground. Patrons abruptly ended their conversations and most eyes, in a grand subversion of expectation, averted the origin of the escalating argument - most people understood that it was simply safer to let the situation unfold naturally, without interruption. The three, angry men stood in an almost perfect triangle leaving only a small distance between themselves. They were similarly hefty though their heavy leathers weaved between worn pieces of hastily put together armor plates hid their bodily shapes. They were also of similar height in that they were all just about average for men with a few inches here or there either taller or shorter. The distinguishing factor between the trio was their style of dress; each man clearly belonged to a different corner of the land though it was just as clear they had known one another for some duration of time.
"You bastard!" One in black shouted.
"What'dja call me?!" A shorter one in brown yelled back in reply.
"He called ya a bastard, can ya not only cheat, but claim deaf as well?!" The third man said, a particularly intricate scar curving around his face. The man in black furrowed his brow before spitting on the ground behind him.
"Who cheated who, damn you?! I told this one to bring the woman back to me as proof and all he does is give me his filthy word!" The shorter man flashed an accusatory finger at the man in black as he spoke. The man in black's eyes widened, filling with heat.
"You sayin' I ain't trustworthy?!"
"Who would trust the word of a man who only thinks of coin?!"
The scarred man stepped back and folded his arms, letting a chuckle loose into the air. "Both of you ain't worthy of any trust. Because the deal fell through, I had to dirty my own hands when our client called me a liar. Said I'd not deliver the goods. Now my reputation is sullied. Which one of you is gonna repay me for that, huh?"
Lesser, greater, middling, it makes no difference.
The man in black and the shorter man in brown both turned their attention to the man with the scarred face. They paused for a second as if to see if he would retract any of what he had said and they both grunted in disbelief after the realization of confident words set upon them.
"Of course your reputation is gonna be tarnished if you kill the damned clients!" The shorter one in brown yelled angrily. His voice held noticeably more fury than before. He suddenly turned back to the man in black. "This is all your fault, damnit! If you'd only brought back the whore to me, we could have all had enough coin to eat and drink all day and night!"
"You think my job is worth the pittance you pay me?! Gettin' women ain't easy so you owe me a bigger share of the pot this time!"
"Now there is no pot you ploughin' idiot!"
"You sayin' I'm stupid?!"
The man with the scarred face cleared his throat in a purposefully exaggerated manner before speaking. "I think yer both a couple of idiots, but this can be remedied. I'll simply cut both of ya down and recoup a bit of my costs," He said, placing a hand on the waist-worn hilt of his blade.
At the sight of a clear sign of coming violence, the tavern's owner came rushing from his corner where he cowered. He was not a man who usually inserted himself into conflicts of this magnitude, but he needed to protect his own reputation if he ever hoped to regain any regular customers after this incident.
The degree is arbitrary, the definition is blurred,
"Please sirs," The tavern owner began, his head bowed and hands clasped together pleading. "Could you at least settle this outdoors? I can't afford another incident like this, I'll lose everything."
The arguing men stopped and collectively looked on the tavern owner. The man with the scarred face spoke up first. "Well look at this disrespect. You think you're better than me? Huh?!"
"N-no, sir, I just..."
The shorter man in brown spoke next. "Seems like he's makin' light of our own situation. Y'know, I've passed by this place and it seems to be full all day..."
The man in black folded his arms and grinned, baring gnarled and cavity ridden teeth. "He's got a point. Maybe instead of turnin' on each other, we should just start collectin' a tax from this guy. Call it an investment in our interests."
The tavern owner dropped to his knees and cowered once more. He knew there was nothing he could say and if he refused or said anything at all that the men did not like, his financial stability would be the least of his problems. While the previously angry men were slowly coming to the same conclusion and finally agreeing on something, a hooded man in another far corner of the tavern was finishing a mug of his own strong drink. He wore a maroon tunic with a black linen hood pulled up and over his head and black sleeves under the shorter sleeves of the tunic. He set his mug gently on the table as a sigh of exasperation escaped his lips. It had already been a trying day as it were.
If I'm to choose between one evil and another ...
The hooded man stood and made a scene of scooting his wooden chair back. The sound captured the attention of the angry men and the tavern owner as well as a good majority of the patrons who were still desperately trying to ignore the situation. The man adjusted the black belt around his waist before beginning a slow stroll towards the center of the tavern where the other men stood. Silence enveloped the establishment and the air grew tense. "I do not believe I know, or have heard of, any of you rabble. What I can tell immediately, however, is that you do not seem to understand the subtle difference between one's indoor voice and one's outdoor voice," The hooded man said as neared the group. The men raised a brow.
"What the hell is this garbage?!" The shorter man in brown said. The hooded man stopped just in front of the tavern owner who had still not risen from his previous position.
"It is an observation. And one that means to say that I've grown tired of hearing your voices shout obscenities back and forth. It is also an indecent conversation in truth, especially when considering that you are supposed to be part of the knights who protect this little village. Your plate may not be immaculate, but I see that you all bear the same unique crest."
The man in black chuckled and the man with the scarred face seemed to size this new individual up. It was the man with the scarred face who ultimately spoke. "Look at ya, with yer nose so high in the air and yer elegant speak. You must be wantin' to invest in our interests as well."
"I think I agree with him," The man in black chimed in, "Why don't you both start by giving us everything you have right now and we'll be generous and collect from you again in three days. If you do that, we won't hafta arrest and execute you on the spot!"
The hooded man sighed and looked over his shoulder at the tavern owner. "Let me apologize for this in advance, kind sir, but I have a splitting headache and these men have only made it worse. Your establishment is going to get a little messy, but rest assured that I will cover the damages," He said. The previously angry men, now fully in agreement with one another, nodded in each other's direction and slowly spread out to surround their hooded adversary. The tavern owner managed to get out of the growing circle right after he acknowledged the message he was given. The hooded man finally pulled down his head and ran a hand through his short hair. His piercing blue eyes only gazed straight ahead as his attackers circled him.
"It would be rude not to introduce myself before we take this time to get to know one another further," He said. The men stopped circling and began to unsheathe their weapons. The man with the scarred face pulled a worn-looking sword from an equally worn scabbard while the man in black brandished a makeshift club of some sort and the shorter man in brown unsheathed his own rusty, tattered blade. "Just try and remember what happens here today and how it feels afterwards. It will be a feeling that I will replicate as many times as necessary should I ever hear of you bothering this or any other honest establishment again."
... I'd rather not choose at all.
"My name is Ronan. And all who are unjust shall answer to me." Sir Ronan of Agaelya declared. At that, the three knights sworn to protect the small village of Tragaye charged.
------
The tavern door swung open and in walked a slender squire clearly out of breath. He panted heavily as he looked to and fro in search of the individual he was meant to give the letter he clutched in his hand. All he was met with the was the sight of broken chairs, busted tables, and three men who were badly beaten and bruised. Swords lay at their sides or scattered to the far wall on the left while the tavern owner spoke with a pair of knights behind the counter in the center. The squire rushed to owner and, disregarding his current conversation with the knights of Tragaye, gained his attention. "Sir! I'm seeking a man who is supposed to frequent this establishment! They say he is close to a giant in height and equally as large in width and--" The squire stopped as his wandering eye caught glimpse of a hooded man through a window. He immediately turned on his heel and rushed back outside to find Sir Ronan readying a large brown mare.
"What news do you bring, squire?" Ronan asked without looking back. He could feel the presence of the squire staring at his back as he filled his saddlebags and adjusted items hanging on either side of his steed.
"I bring you a letter from the Lord Regent!" The squire exclaimed. Ronan immediately stopped what he was doing and turned. A brow raised, he took the letter and opened it with a sense of urgency.
"Intriguing," He said simply. Without so much as another word, he mounted his steed and galloped off down the road. It would take no time to exit the village and be on the road towards Camelot. It had been a long time since Sir Lancelot had come calling and now that it had actually happened, Ronan found himself merely curious as to what could be so urgent and important as to send out a messenger. With these thoughts on his mind, Ronan rode hard and fast towards Camelot. It would be a day or two before he would arrive.
