Downtown Druid

Dantes sat at his exclusive table in the Viridian Vixen, sipping hot tea and looking out over it from his elevated position. He’d only rarely seen it empty, and he found himself enjoying the quiet of it, and noting with satisfaction that he still liked the aesthetics of it. The work he and Vera had put into it had been substantial, so it was nice that he could still appreciate it.

There were no knocks when Gavain and Pacha arrived. The door simply went from being on its hinges to being off of them and across the room, shattering against the wall. Dantes had predicted something like that may happen, and so the floor was already cleared of tables and chairs.

Dantes sipped his tea, enjoying the warmth of it as it traveled down his throat. He felt rested. His sleep the previous night, he’d dreamed of gods as he often did, but this time the god of justice had moved back several steps, and his axe no longer rested so near Dantes’s throat, but rather resting against the ground. He thought he’d won, but of course, Dantes was going to be the victor.

Young guards poured through the open door, looking for skulls to crush, but instead finding an empty club and milling about confused. There weren’t even any bottles of booze on the wall that they could break, or tables to cleave in two with their swords. Not that many of them would’ve managed it, Dantes had them made of high quality thick wood. It took four orcs and a halfling to move the largest of them.

Behind the young guards strode Pacha and Gavain. Pacha’s eyes were alight with something, his breastplate had been polished to a mirror like sheen, and his beard trimmed to perfection. He looked around and quickly sized up the situation.

“They must’ve had a heads up. Fan out, find Dantes. If he resists, cut him down.”

A few of the guards exchanged looks, and started searching a bit slower than they had been before.

Dantes suppressed a chuckle at that. He’d considered the possibilities of resisting, or even hiding, but discounted them both. He had no clear idea of Gavain’s true strength, every fight he’d seen him in he had not suffered a single blow, or even seemed winded. Dantes thought he could beat him, especially if he had enough time to prepare, but the risk was great. Hiding would’ve been easy. Hard to find one rat or roach among millions, but he didn’t want to hide anymore. Besides, he had plans for the Pit.

He looked at Gavain. He was much the same, long brown hair, a massive magical spear in his hands, wearing strange segmented armor that covered his body. His expression was different though, harsher. He had a small scar over his right eye, one that hadn’t been there before. It looked out of place on an otherwise unblemished face. Seeing a mark of vulnerability on someone who seemed untouchable, was disconcerting, even to Dantes.