There was an odiously loud chatter among the guests that sat in a roadside tavern.
The clicking of glasses, slamming of mugs against the table and drunken blabbing filled the establishment.
The bartender, a middle aged Ork, watched his guests with a smile. Today had been quite a profitable day, the power games were bringing in even more business than he had expected.
Click!
He placed a glass he had finished cleaning on the table and picked up another one to clean when someone slid onto the stool in front of him.
It was an old man with long white hair, a bushy beard and cracked eyelids. The man had been so quiet that he had not even noticed him at first.
The old man looked at the bartender's chest where his tag was located before speaking. "Lashley, rum please… with ice."
Lashley gave the man a nod and skillfully picked up a glass cup with his left hand.
Tossing the glass to his right hand, Lashley rotated the cup in his fingers while his left hand moved over to the ice bucket.
Click!
Flicking a hexagonal ice cube into the glass cup, he finally settled it down and reached for the bottle of rum with the name "UndeadCaptain" written on its bottle.
Bartenders prided themselves in their art and a good show was what he considered the best part of a drink.
The old man seemed to think the same because he smiled, watching his art with unbidden curiosity.
Pop!
The cork of the bottle exploded into the air and Lashley brought its tip to the glass, the liquid making a plopping sound as it clashed against the crystalline ice.
With a gentle slide, Lashley pushed the glass towards the old man and nodded. "Your drink, sir."
The old man placed both hands on the glass and then his fingers moved above it in a strange manner, one that was unnatural to Lashley.
The drink erupted in flames and Lashley quickly took a step back, watching it suspiciously.
The old man smiled. "That is quality rum."
Ring!
The door to the tavern opened and a cold wind blew into the room just before it was shut. A person draped in a long black cloak stumbled forward with drunken steps as they made their way to the bartender.
When Lashley looked back at the old man, all he saw was the empty glass— the ice cube still mostly intact and a few coins enough to cover the price of the drink.
"What a strange man…"
The cloaked figure finally arrived at the counter, basically crashing into it before sitting down.
"I-I'm t-thirsty…" The unknown person's voice was rough, as though they had been deprived of drink for quite some time.
A slight tremor ran through the cloak every now and then and it was as though the person was hunched over in pain.
Lashley felt sorry for the strange individual, but at the same time he knew that his generosity would only lead to loss…
'Damn it Lashley, you need to save money for your education!'
He had long wished to gather money to further his schooling in an institution, he could not afford to make any losses, and yet—
Lashley reached for a glass cup and placed it on the table. "What do you want?"
The person was silent for a few seconds before sucking in a sharp breath. "I-I don't… money."
'Like as if that wasn't obvious…'
"It's on the house."
More silence…
"Wine, r-red wine."
Since the person looked quite parched, Lashley wasted no time with his display.
Instead, he placed the glass cup on the table, tossed in the ice and poured a full glass of wine.
For the first time since the person arrived, they lifted their head and stared at the glass cup longingly.
Lashley could not see the individual's face properly, only a lock of hair that fell out from
underneath the cloak.
The strange visitor grabbed the drink and hungrily gulped down the entire thing, but that didn't seem to help—
Click!!!
The glass cup suddenly shattered in their grip, sending shards of glass flying across the table.
The person fell backward, clutching onto their chest with both hands and coughing raggedly.
"No, no, no." Came their rough panicked voice.
"Shit, are you okay?!" Lashley hurried over and knelt to inspect the individual's condition.
The person's body spasmed, their muscles locking and contracting.
Another forceful spasm caused them to kick a stool to the side.
This had been the stranger's fate for the past week. An insidious thirst that would not disappear no matter how much they drank, and now, that thirst was consuming them.
It was like a fire had been lit in their very chest, one so violent that it brought a degree of madness with it.
Their muscles were tearing and reforming, their heart was pounding as though they had run a marathon and each breath was like inhaling fire.
The person's vision turned blurry due to unwilling tears and their fingers dug into their sides, drawing blood.
They coughed only to spit out blood.
Their hands began to shake violently just before their fingers darkened.
Lashley jumped atop the individual, trying to stop them from getting injured from the spasms, but he was pushed to the side as though he weighed as little as a feather.
"What the hell?"
Whoosh!
A dark wing suddenly erupted from the mysterious person's back, a large black structure with a leathery texture.
The wing began to twist and turn like that of a bat that had been knocked down.
Lashley took a step back…
"W-what are you?"
He heard one final squeal before silence enveloped the room. Everyone in the tavern stared at the unmoving body for some time, their hearts gripped by fear.
And then it moved.
"Well fuck me…" Lashley whispered sharply as the figure came upon him.
The last thing he saw was a pair of glowing red eyes, one that dug out a level of fear he did not know he had from the depths of his soul.
And the last thing he heard was a whisper, but he could not make out the words.