The Ebonstryfe man was getting either frustrated or drunk--it was hard to tell. "Look kid," he slurred, waving his mug about dramatically, "a crosshbowsh not gonna do you any good if ya hafta fight up closhe, shee? Ya hafta hit folksh too..." Some of the swings came dangerously close to whacking Giph in the face, though fortunately the drunk man was not difficult to dodge. He looked like he was about to continue speaking, but abruptly his jaw went slack as his eyes focused with some trepidation on something behind Giph.
The tavern had quieted down, not to complete silence, but voices were lowered. The Ebonstryfe man stood up hastily, knocking over his chair in the process. "C-Commander! I-I was jusht..."
A cold, quiet voice cut him off. "It disturbs me that one of my apprentices has been behaving so badly that I must be repeatedly hear of his misdeeds from a tavern wench. I would not normally begrudge my apprentice his...leisure activities, but when messengers come requesting that I deal with you, it reflects badly on me and on the honor of the Ebonstryfe. Furthermore, if I am not mistaken, you were due to begin patrols over a bell ago. Have you anything to say in your defense, Denger, or shall I deal with your punishment immediately?"
The drunk had gone white as a sheet, and he began spluttering excuses and stammering lies in a desperate attempt to save his own skin. "It's n-not my fault! This kid was pestering me! I woulda started my rounds on time, but he kept sayin' as how he wanted to get into the Ebonstryfe, and uh... I uh... I didn't want rifraff like him gettin' any ideas, see? and ruining the glorioius name of the Ebonstryfe and whatnot." Everyone in the tavern who bothered to pay attention knew full well that the boy had only just arrived, and even his commander seemed unimpressed with his excuses.
The commander was a tall, thin man whose black armor contrasted eerily with his pale skin. His face seemed unused to expressing emotion of any kind, except possibly disappointment, and his gaze gave the impression that he was literally staring daggers. He glanced sharply at Giph, studying him for a moment before telling Denger in clipped tones, "Begin your patrols." Denger leaped to obey, eager to get out from under the gaze of his commander. "Oh, and Denger, I advise you not to disappoint me again." When the drunk apprentice had gone, the Ebonstryfe returned his attention to Giph, raiosing a sardonic eyebrow. "So, you wish to join the Ebonstryfe, do you? I hope your choice to approach Denger was an accident and not because he exemplified your ideas of what the Ebonstryfe is about."
Conversation in the tavern had begun to return to normal levels, but nearby eyes were still on the Ebonstryfe and Giph. Seeming to notice this, the man pursed his lips and said, "Walk with me. I dislike taverns." With a sweeping motion, he turned on his heel and strode elegantly out of the tavern, seeming not to notice or care whether Giph was following or not. WOnce he was away from the noise of the Sliver, he began speaking, not bothering to look down at Giph. "No doubt Denger gave the impression that an Ebonstryfe is little more than a privileged thug. I cannot seem to rid him of the notion that brute strength is the scale on which worth is measured. Ability in combat is, of course, essential, for it is our duty to spread the word of Rhysol by force if necessary. But what Denger fails to understand is that fighting ability can be trained, while certain other qualities are inherent." Abruptly, he stopped walking and looked straight at Giph. "Tell me boy, why do you want to join the Ebonstryfe?"
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