Jeremiah sighed heavily, the plethora of empty barstools becoming an all too familiar sight. Despite the depressing atmosphere, he reached down and started to polish one of the many glass mugs that he kept below the bar. Being a half-orc bartender serving mostly humanoid patrons made getting into the tiny crevasses difficult, but he had always been the type to do a job the right way even if it felt like there was no reason to. The events of the last 2 months had essentially ground every business in town to a halt, but he felt the need to at least pretend to be productive as he put down the sparkling clean tankard. Doing a quick double take at the collar of his shirt, he flicked a speck of dust off of the otherwise clean button-down, and began to once again look for something productive to do to occupy his time. The hours in Mori Town had begun to pass slowly for him, but he was just thankful at this point that he could at least still work inside considering the current state of his various neighbors.
Right as he felt the boredom start to weigh down his eyelids, the sounds of shouting from outside startled him awake. Despite it being the only noise that he'd heard outside of the squeak of his towel on glass or his own heavy breathing in the last 2 hours, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. None of the people that actually lived in Mori Town would be out and about during prime work hours, and they especially wouldn't be loudly approaching a tavern. He sighed as the footsteps continued to come closer, and he ensured that the club he kept underneath the counter was within reach. The Red Knuckles usually just drank excessively and didn't pay, but it was impossible to tell when a gang like them would suddenly turn violent. Jeremiah gulped as the raucous chatter grew closer, and he stared at the creaky wooden front door while he awaited his rowdy guests.
With every second that passed, he could feel the anxiety rising in his chest, and the nervous sweat started to clam up his palm. However, they were taking much longer than Jeremiah expected, and he began to feel uncomfortable simply standing there. Just before he could finish reaching for another tankard, three metallic clangs rang out in succession, each one followed by a large thud that sounded like a sack of flour that was tossed from a high shelf and slammed onto the floor.
Jeremiah immediately moved his hand from the mug back to the club, not taking his eyes off of the door as he felt the scar on his side begin to twitch. He hadn't been in a proper fight since he retired from being a Jifu rider 10 years before, though his sheer size alone was usually enough to deter most thoughts of violence toward him. The creak of the door opening made him jump, and the firm grip that he kept on the club turned his knuckles from red to white. Though as the door opened, Jeremiah stared in surprise at the unusually quiet entrance.
Illuminated by the paper lanterns that hung above the door were not multiple thugs like he had expected, but instead just one rather short man. He lowered his hood, revealing black hair that was tied in a ponytail, his pointed ears indicating at least a partially elven bloodline. The cloak he wore was a bright yellow color that clashed violently with the otherwise drab appearance of the tavern he stood in, and he wore a pair of brown tapered work pants that came up just past his ankles. The sudden surge of color in the otherwise depressing tavern strained Jeremiah's eyes, and while the stranger's outfit was startling, the half orc found himself more concerned with the pair of hammers that the young elf was holding in each hand.
Before Jeremiah could react, the elf dropped his hammers, both of the tools hitting the wooden floor with a loud clang. He then reached his hands up, seemingly declaring no intent to fight, and Jeremiah looked the young stranger up and down as he continued to hover his hand over his bat.
"Hey man, so I would like to be the first to explain the little situation outside to you before anyone else can come in and muddy the details. First of all, they started it," he said as he pointed to the door with his thumb.
"Ok, umm...who's they…and what did they start?" Jeremiah asked.
"Oh thank God, you actually seem reasonable," the elf said as he breathed a sigh of relief. "My name's Jordan, a humble and innocent traveler, and those hooligans started harassing me for no good reason," he said dramatically while he picked his hammers up off the floor and flicked what appeared to Jeremiah to be a substantial amount of blood.
He re-tightened the grip on his club as Jordan approached, but the small half elf simply plopped into one of the barstools with a sigh. "Are you...ordering something?" Jeremiah asked, returning to work mode as he attempted to decide how old this elf was.
"Yeah, do you guys have any soup?" Jordan asked. Jeremiah tilted his head like a confused dog, having never been asked that question the entire time that he had been working behind that bar.
"No, we don't have...look man, you seem nice, I think," Jeremiah said hesitantly. "But you have to go. I can't have the Red Knuckles thinking that I had anything to do with their goons getting knocked out...They're only knocked out right?" He asked as he inched away from Jordan, who was now picking at his teeth with his fingernail.
"Oh yeah, they'll be fine," Jordan said as he flicked a seed from his nail. "Are these complimentary?" He asked as he pointed to the bowl of nuts on the counter. Jeremiah chuckled before confirming that they were, and the peppy half elf eagerly started munching. "Don't worry barkeep, I'll be out of your..." Jordan began to say with his mouth full as he looked at the half orc's shiny scalp. "Business establishment soon. I was just wondering if you knew where a guy could get an airship around here?" He asked as he continued to ravenously munch.
"An airship?" Jeremiah asked.
"Yep, it'll be hard to be a Jifu Rider without one," Jordan said casually in between bites.
"A Jifu Rider?" Jeremiah asked, his eyebrows raising with interest. "You seem a little young and… honestly tiny to be a Jifu Rider," He said with a small chuckle.
"I get that a lot, but I can hold my own," Jordan said, confidently returning the laugh. "I'm much more concerned with actually getting the airship than I am about actually sailing myself. I hate shopping, why fix what isn't broken?" He asked as he gestured down to his body.
"Well I don't know if you're going to have much luck around here. The closest manufacturers are up in Tenkumachi, so unless you can find a private seller, I imagine that you'll be out of luck," Jeremiah said with a shrug as he turned around and grabbed a blue glass bottle off of the middle shelf. He pulled the cork out, a satisfying pop echoing off the walls of the otherwise empty tavern, before the sound of liquid pouring into two glasses followed. "First one's on the house," he said as he slid one of the glasses over to Jordan.
"How generous of you, and I'm sure you totally did this out of pure altruism and no other reason," Jordan said with a smirk as Jeremiah greedily swigged down the neat glass he had poured himself.
"Shut up and drink," Jeremiah said as the last of the booze began to dribble down his chin.
"Aye aye," Jordan said with a salute before taking a sip. The notes of apple and bamboo made for a specific but interesting flavor profile, and Jordan legitimately could not tell if he liked it, though he continued to drink it to be polite. "So what's going on? Mori used to be way more active when I was a kid, but when I got into town, the only people on the streets were those idiots currently napping in the alley," Jordan asked while he hesitantly finished his beverage.
"Oh, that's actually because of those idiots, they're part of the Red Knuckle gang," Jeremiah said with disdain. "Those guys you beat up are just a small part, but there are dozens of them. They run one of the biggest cage fight events in the region, and they started hosting it in the town center last year," Jeremiah said, his tone and mood dampening as soon as he remembered that they existed.
"That seems kind of…barbaric for such a quaint and peaceful little town," Jordan said with a frown.
"Oh, it is," Jeremiah said adamantly. "There are no referees or rules, other than that the loser is whoever gets knocked out or killed first. They offer enough gold that poor, desperate people will throw away their health and safety," he said with disgust as he grabbed the towel off of his shoulder and began cleaning another glass forcefully enough that Jordan feared that it would shatter.
"That's awful," Jordan said in a somber tone. "I'm sorry though, I don't understand what that has to do with the town basically being empty."
"After the first 6 months of the tournament taking place in town, most of the able bodied fighters in Mori Town had substantial enough injuries that they needed multiple weeks of recovery before they would be able to fight agin," Jeremiah said with a sigh. "Once that happened, a group made up of the gang members and some reaver crew that they're allied with raided the town in the middle of the night and kidnapped all of the fighters right out of their homes," he said, the rising fury in his voice making his hand shake and rattling the mug that he held against his ring. "But that's not all of course, then they went around to each home and demanded what they called protection money, burning down the homes of each family that failed to pay. Since then, everyone in town been working in the forest for usually around 16 hours a day, harvesting lumber that the gang sells on the black market for dirt cheap. The leader of the Red Knuckles apparently promised the release of the fighters after enough of the lumber has been harvested, but I think they're just going to kill the fighters off if they haven't already," he said, his anger turning to sadness as he carelessly dropped the mug he had been wiping onto the counter. The tone in the tavern had shifted to be nearly mournful, and Jordan could tell how much the town's circumstances had affected the bartender.
"So what you're saying is…that this tournament pay a lot?" Jordan asked callously.
"Umm...yeah. It's at the town center and the 1st place prize is always pretty substantial," Jeremiah said, with a tone that was so offended it nearly sounded dumbfounded.
"Ok,I'll check it out. Thanks again for the drink, Jeremiah," Jordan said as he moved toward the door. "By the way, I'll clear the guys in a pile from outside your front door first. I can't imagine that that's good for businesses," he said while he opened the door before starting to close it behind him.
"Be careful, they have some of their own crew fighting, and they're way stronger than those guys," Jeremiah shouted at the scrawny half elf. He stopped just before the door was closed, and flashed a wide smile as he stood in the threshold.
"Oh don't worry. Derrick said that he's going to be a better captain than me, and I'd rather die in a cage match than let him be right. If I can't handle this, it was meant to be my end," Jordan said with a shrug as he shut the door. A deafening silence suddenly surrounded Jeremiah as the chattiest customer of his life abruptly left, and he began scratching his head in confusion.
"Am I supposed to know who Derrick is?"