Field of Death: The Third

"Cripes, man! What're ya doin'?!"

"I was playin' cards, is what! You was cheatin'."

Tuckian stands and leans toward the other man, "Was nae and donnae be callin' me a cheat when YOU was found with aces up yer sleeve."

The man smiles and holds up his hands, "Now now. No need fer anger, friend. Let me buy ya a drink."

Tuckian narrows his eyes at him then looks at the others sitting around the table and grins, "A drink it is, laddy. Who am I t turn down such a offer? B'sides, I'm done wi' card playin' fer th' night. Makes me eyes hurt almost as bad as me purse." The group laughs loudly and continues with their game, Tuckian leaning back to watch as the others play.

Unknown to them is a man at the window, watching their revelry. Tall with a graying beard, he wears a long brown scarf around his neck and a tattered cloak wrapped tightly over his shoulders. He turns and walks away, knowing that any attempt to enter the tavern might be met with argument, as the locals may not welcome one who is less fortunate than themselves.

He rounds a corner and opens a old wooden door, stepping through to the room within. It's a warm place, more for the fact that it's home than for the temperature in the room. It's mostly dark, with the rounded windows lit dimly by the moonlight beyond. He steps to the kitchen and fumbles in the darkness to light a candle then moves to the hearth to poke at the embers until they flame.

"Anthone! I'm home!" he calls out over his shoulder, "I don't know why you let it get so cold in here. We can afford to stay warm, at least." He moves from this small main room to an even smaller bedroom where sits a pair of beds set against opposite walls. "Anthone. Wake up and tell me about your day," he speaks toward the nearest bed where a form lies beneath a heavy blanket.

He takes a cloth from a hook by the door and dips it into a basin of water set on the dresser, "Mine was not without profit." He runs the cloth over his face as he looks in the mirror on the wall, "I convinced a merchant at the marketplace to buy some of the buttons I've collected. I told you that would come to provide for us one day."

He drapes the cloth over the side of the basin then turns again and frowns at the lump in the bed. "Anthone!" he says harshly, "Wake up, brother! Good Lord, man, you're going to sleep yourself to death." With that, he pulls the blanket away and instantly recoils at the sight of the injuries to is brother's body.

Anthone, it would seem, had a visitor tonight.