Snippet #123

Aylward stopped running when the guards were out of sight. He ducked into a tavern where a crowd was already gathering, mostly men thirsting for a drink after a hard day's work. Social stealth, the most important thing to a rebel in Russataia. The men here did not put up with the guards, and they knew more than enough to leave these men alone. While the guards could easily take any of them on, the whole tavern of them, patience reduced by ale, and with the numbers on their side, would no doubt give them a run for their money even if they had managed to take some of them down. Aylward knew the guards would not chase him all the way here.

He spotted a familiar poster on the tavern walls. The king had begun recruiting men for the games once again. Every year, fools signed up hoping to fulfil their dreams, every year they failed. Genox had become a legend - the undisputed champion of the gladiators. Yet Aylward was certain that "champion" was no human. The king was after all, a werebeast. Aylward had a strong suspicion all along that the king's champion was some sort of... revenant, or wraith. Aylward wasn't sure, but he knew no human could last so many years in the arena and not have been bested. Time wore down all men and their fighting skill, but Genox was the exception. Aylward had watched him fight over the years, he was still fighting at his peak at his age. The man named Genox might've existed once, but now in his place was most certainly a monster... a new devil of some kind.

Aylward sighed as he saw some men contemplate responding to the call for gladiators. Fools ready to waste to waste their lives away for those temporal rewards. He merely gave the barkeeper a gruff nod as he headed for his usual refuge in the tavern. A quiet room in the back. He had an arrangement with the barkeeper - Aylward ensured the barfights were contained and the offenders thrown outside if need be, and he got food and lodging for his stay. The barkeeper was discreet about Aylward's real identity, and the elf was thankful for the man's trust, especially in a land where darkness walked even in the day.