Vendetta Chapter 5
By Jonathan Priest
Death. That is what his life had become. A fiery pit of vengeance that drove him to the very brink of madness. His life had become nothing, if not for the quenching release of revenge, and so, he fully embraced the hate that had scorched his soul, for if he did not have his hate, he had nothing.
And so, hidden in the dark, secluded corner of this dimly lit tavern, lost in his own, volatile, tormented thoughts, Pesmerga again centered his mind on the focus of his undying obsession, Yuber. He could feel the bial and disgust rising from the very depths of his being, begging, demanding for release, yet Pesmerga merely shoved the hatred deep into the recesses of his soul. The time would come when he would release his rage on his victim, and he knew, when that time came, the gods themselves would cower in fear.
Pesmerga absentmindedly took another consuming gulp of the drink that sat before him. Dwarven Ale, the strongest drink in this providence, guaranteed to curl you teeth, yet Pesmerga drank it as if it were water, his hatred making him immune to such intoxications.
So lost was he in his won thoughts that he did not notice the three young men who came to stand at his table.
Yes, Pesmerga thought to himself, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Yuber, when I find you, may whatever twisted god you pray to be merciful, for I will send you straight to Hell!
Hey! Screamed one of the young men, slamming his hands on the table and shattering Pesmerga from his thoughts. You deaf or something freak?! I said youre in my chair. The young man said, much to the amusement of his friends.
Go away boy, I wish to be left alone.
Look you tired old man, isnt it past your bedtime? The youth remarked, his friends brought to tears with laughter.
Perhaps, you said this is your chair?
Yeah, you stupid old goat, thats MY chair. Yet this comment brought his two friends into a near fit of hysterics.
Rising to his feet, Pesmerga graciously took the chair, and hit the young man over the head with it, shattering it into fragments. The laughing friends had ceased their joke as they watched their disrespectful friend fall to the ground, unconscious.
Pesmerga leaned over, taking the chair to his left. And placed it where the other chair had been. The tow friends gathered their unconscious companion and hurried out the door as Pesmerga sat down.
Damn. Said one of the friends. Im just glad he didnt tell that guy that was our table.
The bar was now aware of this dark, violent man in the corner, as many of the patrons had settled their tabs and hurried out the door. In only a few minutes, a new figure entered the tavern, his blue and white uniform, neatly pressed. Though he was not a man of distinguishable power, he did stress the air of loyalty and respect. He also marshaled five solders as he entered.
Walking to the back of the bar, carefully walking around the broken fragments of what was once a chair and surveying the area, this man stopped to address Pesmerga.
I understand we had a disturbance here. The man in the tightly pressed uniform spoke.
Ah, yes, well I am Freed, emissary to his lordship Granmeyer and leader of the military forces of south Window.
I see, Pesmerga stated, overly unimpressed. And I suppose you will tell me I am sitting in your chair.
Freed took a moment to survey the broken fragments of wood, then turned back to Pesmerga, readjusting his glasses. Not as such, sir. Freed continued. I am, however, here to inform you, that by the law of Lord Granmeyer and by the honor of South Window, I must request that you leave at once sir.
I suppose it wouldnt do any good to remind you Lord Granmeyer is dead.
The words were cold and struck Freed like an icy knife. It was true, Lord Granmeyer had surrendered to General Solon Jhee, his desire to spare lives over causing needless pain and suffering for his people was the blessing of a kind man, yet kindness was a sin in this cruel world, and Lord Granmeyer payed the ultimate price for that sin. Pesmerga had read the thoughts on Freeds face and almost regretted his words, almost.
It is true, that Lord Granmeyer is deceased. But as his military attaché, and second commander of South Window, the duty falls to me to protect this town. We are in the middle of a war, and the people of this town do not need to be bullied. Peace of mind is a rare commodity in this day and age. Your presence is disrupting that precious peace, no matter how small the hope of peace, it still exists. So I will ask you again. Please leave our town.
Pesmerga stood to his full height, towering above Freed, but he would do as he was asked. He had grown tired of his wandering. I had been nice to be in one place, even for a few days, as he was, but like always he would be dismissed from a town. He realized he didnt belong anywhere. His anger, his obsession with dealing death to Yuber, would not allow him to belong. And it was only the realization of killing Yuber, and maybe, having a normal life, that strengthened his resolve to end this tiring conflict.
As he stepped from the tavern, Pesmerga witnessed the fearful happiness of this town. And again he was reminded of the price his life had cost him, for he could see these people laughing, and sheltering hope, despite the murderous war.
Walking toward the exit, followed by the solders, Pesmerga overheard two young boys, plotting their mischief.
Im telling you, I heard it. Said the first boy.
Nuh-uh. Was the seconds response.
Im not lying, I walked right by the entrance and heard it.
You heard it? The second boys disbelief all too apparent in his manner of speech.
Yeah, as plain as I hear you right now, this spooky voice, saying he awaited someone, so he could kill him. It creaped me out I tell you.
Where?! Pesmerga inquired, his urgency startling the young boys. Yet the solders were all too eager to keep this man causing any more of a disturbance.
Uh The first youth stuttered.
I must know, please.
It it was in the Cave of the Wind. Its just west of here.
At last Pesmerga thought. It was Yuber it had to be. He would not keep Yuber waiting. For everyone, even the devil himself, would at one time feel the cold grip of death.
With quickened paces, Pesmerga departed this town, and set out for the road which destiny had laid for him.
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