Chapter 2: The Nord Way of Greeting
A Nord. A familiar name. They were the people of the Elder Scrolls world, and their presence here, in this world of sword and magic, felt fitting.
This, then, must be his cheat the skill tree from the Elder Scrolls. As long as he practiced, he was destined to become a master.
He was curious about the extra 'Affinity' percentage. Would reaching 100 unlock some new surprise? Grrr… A loud protest from his stomach forced Arthur to shelve those thoughts. He pushed open the saloon door and stepped inside.
The inn clearly doubled as a tavern, with shelves packed full of bottles. Strangely, however, despite the number of hardworking villagers he had seen outside, the place was eerily empty, occupied only by the proprietress and a single drunkard a solitude that was unsettling.
Arthur lightly tapped his knuckles on the bar:
"A room, please. And horse feed with beans, soaked in water first before you serve it."
The landlady gave a low 'Mmm,' in reply, and pointed to an empty room. Her head was still bowed, her face hidden behind her hair.
Arthur figured she was afraid of waking the drunkard, so he abandoned the idea of pumping her for information and dropped a stack of ten-Oren copper shields on the table:
"Could you make some extra hardtack and bring it to the room? We'll need provisions for the road tomorrow…"
Before he could finish, a heavy hand clapped his shoulder. A rude voice, overriding the landlady's gasp, poured into his ear:
"Hey, where are you from, dressed like a bloody tramp?"
The man's tone was coarse, and the stench of stale alcohol blew right onto the back of Arthur's neck, stirring an irrational surge of anger.
Arthur suppressed his fury and turned around. It was the drunkard, as expected. The brute's ugly face was crisscrossed with several pinkish scars a vicious look that was edged with something repulsive.
The landlady lowered her head further, desperately battling imaginary stains with a rag.
Arthur felt the impulse to slap the drunkard senseless, but Kolgrim was waiting outside. Instead, he grabbed a bottle and smiled:
"Care for a drink, friend?"
Some ancient sage once said that the best way to fell a drunkard is to ply him with drink.
"Hic…"
Three cups of vodka later, the drunkard let out a satisfied belch and collapsed into a useless heap of flesh.
The landlady let out a heavy sigh, lifted her face, and smiled:
"Gods, I'm finally rid of that nuisance for a while. How can I possibly thank you?"
She looked completely different now. Her eyes curved sweetly, and she leaned across the table. The scent of chamomile filled Arthur's nostrils. To call her a great beauty was an exaggeration, but she was certainly pretty enough to be the village belle.
Arthur smiled: "No need to be so polite. I'm actually hoping to find some work here, so I need to stay on good terms with the locals."
The proprietress vigorously shook her head:
"Nonsense. I absolutely must thank you properly."
She shook her braids and ran into the kitchen, emerging with a stack of round flatbreads, each larger than his head:
"You look like a traveler going a long distance. I baked these a little too hard, but they'll be perfect as dried rations."
Arthur reached for his coin purse:
"Thank you. How much do I owe you?"
The landlady forced a small smile: "Don't be silly. I said it was my thanks. Besides, these particular loaves wouldn't sell anyway."
Arthur was curious:
"I see this is a sizable village. Why wouldn't they sell?"
At the question, the landlady's eyes immediately welled up. She gestured towards the unconscious drunkard:
"That man is Kory. He's a notorious thug in the village. Two weeks ago, he came into some ill-gotten coin, and he's been drinking here every day since.
"He stays here all day, and he's terrible when he's drunk he curses and tries to fight anyone he doesn't recognize. It's been so long that even our regulars are too scared to come in anymore."
As she spoke, she looked towards the ceiling, and a tear slid down her cheek:
"It might not be long before this place has a new owner…"
Arthur quickly drained the contents of his cup. It felt like swallowing a lump of coal.
Just then, Kolgrim finally settled the horses and stepped into the tavern. The landlady rushed over to greet him, but in her haste, she accidentally knocked over a candle stand. It hit the table with a heavy thud, shocking the drunkard awake.
Kory's poor temperament was immediately evident. He opened his bloodshot eyes and lunged to grab Arthur, the very man who had just bought him a drink:
"You tramp, why are you still loitering here? Looking for a beating…"
Bang!
Arthur had finally reached his limit. He swung the empty wine bottle with all his might, smashing it over Kory's head.
That same sage also likely said that the second best way to fell a drunkard is with a wine bottle!
Unfortunately, the bottle had been drunk dry, and the force was insufficient. Kory merely shook his head, still able to swing his fists.
Arthur dodged the punch and effortlessly slammed the drunkard to the floor. Before Kory could get up, Arthur pinned him down. In his mind, the familiar information burst forth:
[Trigger Event: The Nord Way of Greeting]
[Affinity increased to 15] [You have acquired the Trait: Tavern Brawler] [When fighting in an indoor environment, you can effectively utilize objects in the surroundings]
A wave of warmth surged through Arthur's body. All his fatigue instantly vanished, replaced by a sudden feeling of familiarity, as if he had lived in this small tavern for over a decade.
If he had to do it over, he was certain he could knock Kory out without inflicting serious injury.
But when he reached for a new bottle, his hand grasped air.
The landlady was clutching every bottle on the bar counter, screaming: "No! You'll kill him! He's the Baron's man!"
Kolgrim sighed, lifting a hand to trace a Sign in the air, but he noticed Kory's struggles were rapidly diminishing. He quickly lowered his arm, the strange rhythm at his fingertips dissolving.
Arthur rested one hand on Kory's neck, soothing him in a low voice like a parent comforting a child:
"Don't worry, dizziness is normal…"
A few seconds later, Kory went completely limp again, sinking into a baby-like slumber.
The proprietress stood frozen behind the bar, her eyes wide with terror:
"Did you kill him?!"
"No, he just passed out."
Arthur explained, instinctively glancing at Kolgrim. This situation was definitely above his pay grade.
Kolgrim didn't hesitate for a moment. He picked up his pack and turned to leave: "You picked a fight with the local thug. We can't stay here."
"Wait!" the landlady shouted from where she stood.
Arthur turned back, full of apology: "I am truly sorry. If this bastard knows I stayed here, he'll definitely take it out on you…"
Before he could finish, the landlady's face hardened, and she began a curt accounting: "Thirty orens for the vodka, ten for the light beer, ten orens a bundle for the horse feed, and at three orens each for the six dried biscuits you took, I'll round it down to twenty. You only gave me sixty-seven orens. You still owe me three."
Arthur was so flustered he was speechless for a moment, suddenly finding the proprietress not beautiful at all:
"Six biscuits at three orens is eighteen orens. I only owe you one oren."
He tossed the copper coin down and headed out, leaving the landlady's complaints behind him.
Once they were out of the village, Kolgrim finally spoke, his tone closer to mockery than a post-mortem.
"That little wench was setting a trap for you from the start. She knew exactly who Kory was but waited until you'd struck him before saying anything."
Arthur didn't reply, walking under the moonlight for a few minutes before saying:
"I'm sorry, Master. Looks like we're camping out in the wild again tonight."
Kolgrim waved a hand dismissively: "Not necessarily."
Arthur looked up in surprise, noticing a small light flickering and moving slowly on the road ahead.
Which villager is brave enough to be traveling at night? He tried shouting, and the light immediately stopped moving.
As they approached, they saw it was Walker, the man they had met earlier:
"Well, little brother, we meet again. Looks like you ran into a spot of trouble."
His large wicker basket was loaded with iron farming tools, the straps pulled taut, yet he spoke without any apparent strain. He even managed to turn and grin at Arthur:
"What, did your smooth talk fail, and the landlady kick you out?"
Arthur gave a sheepish smile and recounted his encounter at the tavern. Walker looked thoughtful:
"I wondered where that scumbag got the coin to drink every day. So that's what happened."
He thumped his chest, making the farming tools in his basket clang:
"Don't worry about those irritations. You and your Witcher friend can stay at my place. It's not a tavern, but at least you'll have a bed and a hot meal."
He had casually exposed Kolgrim's identity as a Witcher, startling both of them.
"How did you know I was a Witcher?" Kolgrim asked.
Walker laughed heartily:
"The Baron never concerns himself with safety, and the monsters out here in the wilds are thick on the ground. Except for desperate folk like me, people rarely leave their doors at night.
"As for carrying a half-grown lad and walking the roads after dark I can't think of any other explanation than a Witcher."
Kolgrim nodded. Arthur asked: "We just antagonized the Baron's man. Are you sure you dare take us in?"
Walker gave a knowing smirk, puffing out his chest as he answered:
"Why wouldn't I dare? Hoffer Village was founded by free men. We answer to no Baron!"