Chapter Text
The small iron sconces holding well-used candles offer low lighting along the walls of the tavern, throwing flittering shadows across the walls as the flames dance on the tips of the dripping while wax. Though the low light was of little concern to the many patrons that litter the stuffy room, if not preferred. John looks around, eyeing his next target as he lifts mead to his lips, tasting the slightly sweet, and overpowering sourness of the local drew. He doesn’t mind it, though he still sucks air through his teeth, his brows pulling together at the buzzing sensation on his tongue and the back of his throat.
His expression was not much better as the taste subdues, as he is in the middle of a dry-spell of information regarding his quest. There was little word of demons lately, and nothing regarding attacks in Kohbách, his homeland. He thinks of his Clan land, Mehtahvé, where his people has dwelled for over 700 years. His descendants had travelled down like all berserkers, slowly moving south through the ice planes of Thúle. This was when the berserkers were plentiful, and they fought demons and Giants without breaking a sweat. A long time ago…
Now, after hundreds of years and as the blood lines thinned and their traditions and teaching got lost, the berserkers grew weaker and their powers lay dormant and inaccessible for most. It lead to much tragedy over the last century. As it did for his clan 12 years ago.
John stares over his tankard, eyes glossing over as memories take him.
Screaming filling the air, smoke seeming to have transported their village to another plain, one filled with pain and fear and death, one they can’t escape, no matter where the people ran. Fire throws angry light and searing heat at homes and people, annihilating everything in it’s path. A cruelly ironic death for a clan that comes from a lineage of fire-berserkers…
John, only halfway through his teens, watches his father, a blacksmith with a kind heart and kinder soul, stand up with fear and dread clear on his leathery face, one forged by a life of hard work for his family and his people. He moved to kiss his wife, then Annie, Lackey, then John. Youngest to eldest child... “I love you all…Stay hidden, run when you can.” He looked at John. “Protect them, son. You are a protector…warrior, like those of old...I can feel it.” Those words meant more to his people, the people who used to be the most fearsome warriors known, now the strong men and women were nothing more than muscled brutes or hired mercenaries.
Johns father smiled before he left them crying on the floor of their little stone walled home. They never saw him again.
“Hello?” A deep, soft voice cuts into his painful memories and John jolts, hand moving to his dagger on his thigh on instinct. His heart is still in his throat, aching and bleeding form the past. His eyes fall on the owner of the voice, and his fingers flex, moving away from his weapon.
The voice belongs to a small Elf, definitely shorter than his 6’3, which is quite short for an Elf. He realises that they were asking about his plate, food eaten long ago.
“Oh, sorry. Thank ye…” John nods, moving so the Elf could take it, completing their job without his moody arse in the road. As they move to leave but as he stops them with a quick call, smiling when they turn to face him again.
“Sorry, but do you know anything about demons being in the area? Or…anywhere…”
The Elf pushes long hair behind their pointed ear as they frown slightly. John stares into their striking blue eyes before noticing the little nibble they were giving their thin lips.
“No, sorry… Though I did hear those three on the other side of the bar talk about demons…” The Elf shrugs, their thin shoulders rising as they look back from the direction of the mentioned three. “They don’t seem overly friendly though, mind yourself if you join them…” The Elf smiles kindly. “Safe travels…” They leave, bowing their head slightly. John thanks them as they leave, his eyes trailing back to the small group the Elf spoke about.
One was clearly an Elf, likely from the Southern lands, judging by their beautiful skin tone and their clothing, coloured in light browns, oranges and tans, less fabric than most Elvish people and hair cropped short. The second person, possibly a human, though that was just a guess based on the curved ear that was much like Johns own. The man sports facial hair, light leather armour and weapons, as well as a strange hat that John is sure serves no other purpose other than the personal preference for it, the brim is far too short to offer much sun protection. The man looked strong, and John makes a mental note to keep his eyes on him if he is to approach him.
The third, and the most disconcerting, was a large person, taller than both of the others, despite one being an Elf, was covered from head to toe in black. Hood, mask and black leather armour surrounds the massive form, the only skin visible was around their eyes, and even that was coated in a fading black paint.
John will be keeping him in his sights without question.
The tavern worker was right, they don’t look very friendly and even without approaching, keeping your wits about you with them in town should just be the smart thing to do. He wonders is many dare approach a group such as theirs? They invoke a little fear, apprehension. Definitely not any peacefulness... Though John wasn’t easily scared. He downs the last of his mead, his tastebuds almost stinging at the taste as he watches them stand at the end of the bar, talking amongst themselves. He decides then that he will approach them after another drink.
Price laughs as he watches Gaz down another ale in no time at all. He reaches out, gloved hand coming to rest at the back of their head, brushing his thumb against the cropped hair behind their ear.
“Gaz, you are going to feel like shit tomorrow, you know that, right?” Price speaks, voice deep and rough, but kind as he watches the Elf whom he feels deep adoration for.
Gaz snorts out a laugh, a sound that seems a little comedic coming from such a beautiful creature. “And I feel brilliant now, Cap.” They lean into the touch and smile, their eyes letting out that soft glow as the alcohol takes a hold on them. “Join me…” As Gaz grins, Price’s eye flick to the sharp little canines in Gaz’s mouth that jut out that little bit more than their otherwise straight and perfect teeth
Price shakes his head slowly, a smile stretching his lips now. He never can say no to Gaz. “You’ll pay for this…”
“Gladly.” Gaz breathes the word out as he watches Price take a long draw of his drink. Gaz leaning back against the wall behind him as their eyes fall on Ghost. “You having another one, Ghost?”
Price turns his eyes on their third, waiting for the reply. They never know with Ghost. Sometime he won’t touch a glass, others he will down enough to sink an entire tavern, sometimes just a few. After a couple of seconds, the man nods. Gaz stands straight again, clearly liking that answer.
“Excellent! We will all suffer together!” Price calls out as he turns around to order another round.
The little Elf with their long hair and eyes so blue that would seem to glow even without the Elvish trait, is already pouring drinks out. Price grins, thanking them.
“You have a friend….the end of the bar. Cute one. Mohawk.” The Elf speaks, their deep voice sounding a little off as they show a smile to the person watching them. Price watches the man hold his own drink up, nodding in greeting.
“Looks like we have someone onto us…” Gaz comments, their hands resting on Prices shoulders softly as they comes to stand close behind him.
Price feels Ghost step forward as well. With a nod back, Price lifts his drink and sips it, watching the man take a sip as well. “Should we invite him over then?”
Gaz’s fingers tighten and they leans close, lips nearing Price’s ear. “He is cute…” agreeing with the bartender. “Let’s bring him over, hmm?”
Price rolls his eyes before kicking his head over his shoulder softly, an invitation for the drink-buyer. The man takes the hint and starts to move over. Price isn’t sure what this guys wants. He is clearly a strong person, got some armour on, a few weapons visible. Doesn’t looks like a normal traveller. Curious… Though before Price can speak, the man is in front of them and he is asking questions.
“Enjoy those…” He nods with a smile before he drops it quickly and clenches his jaw. “I heard you are after demons?”
The three of them tense up, one more so than the others. Price clears his throat and puts the drink back on the bar, hoping to school is expression quickly. He wants to look at his two companions, but doesn’t want to look suspicious. “Sorry?”
“Heard you were talkin’ about demons.” The man tries again, and when no one speaks, he frowns slightly. “I need information, I’ll pay.”
Price gives the man a look over now that he is closer and the light allows his eyes to take in more details. He is clearly young. Human most likely. Though those tattoos and piercings… “You’re…from Kohbách?”
It was the new-comers time to freeze up, go silent. Price smiles, getting his answer without a word spoken. He hasn’t met many from Kohbách. It’s not common to see them venture far from their lands… what is left of them, anyway. A dying people…
“Yes.” Is all that is said.
Price nods. “Long way from home, little one.”
The pet name obviously struck a cord, because the mans brows pinch together harshly, before relaxing, though only slightly. “Yes…” He sighs loudly. “I’ve been tracking a demon horde… It’s gone cold…” The disappointment and frustrations are clear on the mans face. “I need information.” He says again.
Price nods. “Well... How about we take a moment to introduce ourselves, and we can have a chat then?”
The man drops the frown completely and mutters something in his native tongue, Price is still smiling. “Ah, I’m sorry…I’m in the drink and feelin’ bloody frustrated right now…” The man nods. “Sure. Let’s do that then…”
“Good. I’m Price, this is Gaz, and this is Ghost…”
John feels like a right fucking bastard. He wanted to have this go smoothly, not up in flames. He takes note of the names. Price, The man with the facial hair and weird hat. Gaz, the beautiful Elf with warm glowing eyes. And Ghost. Seemed a fitting name since John can’t see a single fucking part of him bar his dark brown eyes which are shrouded in darkness from his low hanging hood.
“Ah, nice to meet ye all…” John clears his throat. “I’m John MacTavish…” He just manages to stop himself from tacking on the end, ‘at your service’. That was behind him now. He hates that he still forgets that sometimes, that the habit is not yet broken…
Gaz leans closer, over Prices shoulder and rests thier gorgeous face where the armour left a little skin visible where Prices neck meets his shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, John MacTavish.” They smile and John feels his own lips stretching into a smile. They are fucking gorgeous…
Gaz turns their face into Prices neck, not touching him, but close to it. “Another John, hmm?” John frowns, not getting it.
Price sighs. “Never mind them, lad.” Price claps a hand on Johns shoulder. “Come on, lets get a table and we can have a talk…”
John explains that he was looking for a horde that attacked his clan, though he doesn’t go into detail, deciding that there was no need for them to know everything.
Price spoke the most, explaining to John that they too were tracking Demons, for their own reasons. Reasons of which they did not tell him, John notes. He doesn’t push it, though he makes sure to keep his wits about him, even drunk, he knows when someone is acting shifty. These three are definitely not being completely honest.
Though either is John, though the fact remains that his leads are drying up and his hope for the chance to avenge his people fading with every day he is left with no new information.
This is the first hopeful sign he’s had in weeks, better than anything he’s gotten in months. He can risk a little secrecy for the chance to further his searches.
“What are yer plans, then? Weapons? Ye’re all prepared for a fight with the filth?” John asks, his voice growling on the last word, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. He runs his tongue along the front of his teeth, sucking as his eyes flick from Prices eyes to his down-turned lips, half hidden under hair.
John asks only because he has clocked their equipment, and from what he can sense, none of it is hexed, no enchantments or spells on them, and likely wouldn’t do much damage to higher demons. Lesser, maybe…
Gaz’s voice chimes up, gaining John’s attention, eyes bright in the dim tavern. John had quickly realised that he enjoys looking into them, enjoying the darker eye colour more than others. Something deep and warm about brown eyes, comforting, unlike his bright, icy blue ones. The gold inflections only making them more beautiful. “I assure you, we know what to expect. Though enchantments may come in handy…for some.” Gaz watches him, their face giving off the idea that they knows more, but just isn’t speaking it.
John looks away, and without meaning to, his eyes meet another set of brown. They are darker, and they are surrounded by dark, which is surrounded by black cloth. In the shadows, the man is barely visible. John is suddenly struck with a little panic as he reliases that he forgot the man was there as he had all but sunk into the shadows. As if he could remove himself from their plain.
The two stare, and before it goes on for too long, John clears his throat and reaches for his drink, favouring the taste of sour mead over the anxiety that was brewing the longer he kept eye contact with Ghost.
“The Demons we are tracking are a small group, we believe no more than ten.” Price adds before he finishes the fourth ale he had ordered since John had bought the group a round to get himself here with them.
John nods. “I dinnae ken if that’s the group I’m after, though it’s better than none at all.” John nods once, giving them each a look, even Ghost, before holding his hand out to Price. “I offer my sword, if you’ll have me.”
Price is smiling again, Gaz leaning into his side with their own grin that is flashing perfect teeth, with slightly sharper canines, and are almost as bright as his glowing eyes. Ghost doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. John can feel his eyes on him though and he suppresses a shiver.
Price reaches over and shakes Johns hand suddenly, the touch warm and strong. “Welcome to the 141, John…” John frowns as they shake. 141?
Before he can question it, Gaz speaks. “You need a call sign.” Their clear, melodic voice sounding beautiful no matter what they said.
A what? “What?” John gives Gaz a questioning look. These people keep speaking weird shit… 141, call signs…
“We keep our names under wraps usually…”
John snorts. “What are ye, criminals?”
Silence.
Ghost is still staring.
John sits back heavily, an incredulous smile stretching his lips as he nods slowly, things making a little more sense suddenly. “Did I just ask to join a bunch of criminals?”
Gaz is chuckling softly, their head falling softly to Prices shoulder as they stare at John. The look was a little unnerving suddenly, like eyes of a predator. With both Gaz and Ghost staring, John starts to shift in the seat, wondering if he was getting himself into trouble here.
Price sighs heavily, for the umpteenth time tonight, then speaks in hushed Elvish. John isn’t fluent by any means, especially in rushed whisperings, but he caught ‘Stop it’ and ‘strong’.
“They get…mischievous when they drink, don’t mind them.” Price says, his hand coming to tap softly on the slender hand John hadn’t even noticed was resting on Price’s chest. John wonders if the two were married or just together… He saw no bands around fingers to signify the human tradition. Elves don’t use material means to signify marriage, so maybe they followed Gaz’s ways?
John nods. “So, not criminals?”
Gaz laughs again, turning their head into Prices shoulder. Price shakes them off, frowning. “No, not criminals… mercenaries…I suppose…” He offers, as if unsure himself. “We serve our own needs, sometimes pick up jobs here and there…though usually just work to keep people safe… wander. Adventure.” Price trails off, Gaz settling in again as he speaks.
“Price and I have been doing it for a few centuries now…”
“Centuries?” John asks, eyes widening. So Price wasn’t human? He looks over the man, trying to find something to give him away.
“You won’t find it.” Gaz says, as if reading his mind.
Price stands. “Another round. John, we will work out a name for you, lad.” He nods at them. “We sort out the details tomorrow, tonight, lets drink!”
Ghost watches the man stand, his balance off now and his cheeks stained with a pink colour from the alcohol. Ghost briefly wonders if his skin goes pink when drunk. He can’t recall the last time he looked at himself, let alone while drunk. He’d rather not subject himself to that kind of torture.
“Ano-other round?” John asks, his words interrupted by the chair, which he apparently forgot was there. The hit his hip took looked like it hurt. Ghost looks down at him rub it sloppily, his bare hand lifting his shirt enough to catch a glimpse of some kind of tradition tattoos, tan skin and little hair trailing down form his navel to his pants.
“If you’re paying!” Gaz says, shooting another of their beautiful smiles at the man. Ghost feels a little bad for John. Practically all Elves are devastatingly gorgeous, easily wooing people into doing their bidding when they put their minds (and bodies) to it. Gaz is no exception, they are easily one of the most beautiful masculine-presenting Elves Ghost has ever seen personally.
So as John smiles, his cheeks reddening deeper, before he makes his way to the bar, Ghost rolls his eyes back to Gaz and kicks them under the table. “Stop flirting so much with him.”
Gaz only directs his smile to Ghost. Lucky for him, he is used to seeing them like this, the effects far less potent on Ghost. “Jealous?”
“Unlikely.” Ghost shoots back, sighing as he watches the new addition to their unconventional group. One he feels could be a regret.
Ghost is feeling a strong sense of apprehension at the idea of the man joining them. They have secrets, things that John wouldn’t like. At all. Ghost doesn’t like them, either. If he could change it, he would. In a heartbeat. Though the dark though that maybe, if the man stuck around until Ghosts goal was completed, he could ask John to do what he knows Price and Gaz would never do for him…
“Ghost? You good, lad?” Price asks, his hand covering his clenched fist on the table, another reminder that Price was too nice, too good, to do what Ghost needs. Ghost pulls back from the touch, nodding at Price before turning his eyes back on John. Maybe this would work out…if Ghost is careful.
With his eyes now trained on the accented man, Ghost manages to catch him get an ale tipped over him, soaking through his pale tan shirt. Ghost frowns slightly, glad he wasn’t over there. He was already in a bad mood, and if he had caught that drink, the man would likely have been on his back and bleeding by now.
Ghost’s eyes narrow as he watches. John is clearly upset, evident at even this distance. Ghost watches the man size up to the offender who had knocked the drink on him. The man squared up, too. Before Ghost could get Price and Gaz’s attention, John had swung.
Ghost watches the man punch the other, what was left of the drink now flying through the air as he drops backwards. How fucking hard did John just hit him…? Ghost snorts out a soft laugh. John had laid the man out just how Ghost imagined he would have.
Another man is behind John now, and he swings, aiming for the back of his head. Ghost straightens in his chair. John dodges it, face full of drunk furry now as another man comes join the fight. Ghost stands, ready to fight, though not sure why. He ignores Price and Gaz, and rushes the man behind John before he can throw another hit.
Once Ghost joins, all hell breaks loose. People start fighting in all corners, drinks slipping, the yelling drowning out the now nervous singer, cutting off the loot and drums, drowning out the tavern workers protests.
Ghost briefly takes note of Price rolling his eyes, shoving people away from him each time someone tries to fight him. Then Gaz, barely bothering to move as they easily fight off the drunks, looking just as impressed as Price.
With anger rising, Ghost moves close to John. “Why did you have to hit him?” He growls out, eyes flicking between the men who dare get closer, and John, who almost looks like he was smiling…
John stares at Ghost after knocking another man to the floor in one hit. John swears as a man rushes him suddenly, tearing his eyes off Ghost to dodge the punch before he quickly delivers one to the mans gut that sent him crashing into two other men, then to the floor. He didn’t get back up, instead groans and rolls on the floor, holding his belly.
“Are ye blaming me?” John asks, pulling his shirt up , shaking it at Ghost, as if Ghost couldn’t see the soaked fabric sticking to the mans body. “The fucker drenched me!”
“And that meant you needed to kill everyone in the place?” Ghost asks through clenched teeth, his own fist breaking another nose as he strikes out at a new attacker.
John suddenly takes a swing at Ghost, who catches his fist easily. This only angers John more. “Get fucked, ye giant bawbag!”
Ghost only frowns at him, pushing him back by the fist in time to get John out of the way as a man kicks out at them. Ghost turns and takes the attacker out for him, only to hear John speak harshly in his mother tongue. 'This idiot is fucking dangerous when he's drunk...' Ghost thinks to himself and as he watches the man fight, he wonders who dangerous he'd be then sober...
It doesn’t take much longer than a few minutes for the fighting to stop. Most of the tavern was either on the floor, groaning and bleeding, or they had scurried off before skin broke.
That left the four of them, to take the fury of the Tavern owner, as most others still inside were groaning on the floor and looking for too victimised to be of much blame.
“Get the fuck out of here, fucking bastards!” An old Dwarf, no taller than 3’5ft, waddles out, angered enough to have even Ghost cringing from behind his mask.
“Come on, lads. Now.” Price calls as he reaches into his pockets. Ghost knows he is reaching for his coin purse. Though he doesn’t stop to see how much the man was going to give the tavern keeper, knowing it will be well enough, with some spare, as usual.
Ghost doesn’t wait for the others to move before he is out the tavern door and into the chilly night air, long breath pushing out from behind his mask.
John stomps out of the building, his body feeling sticky and foul from the foaming ale that covers him, the blood sprays and sweat. He wants a fucking shower.
Before anyone can speak, John rips his shirt off and starts ringing it out into the grass, arms and chest flexing with each angered turn of the fabric. “Fucking numpty…” He mutters under his breath, then looks up to see Ghost staring at him again. The guy has a fucking staring problem…
So John stares back.
“Stop glaring at each other.” Price bites out. He pulls his hat off, rubbing his short hair until it sticks up in wild directions before he groans loudly. “Did you have to hit the guy, John?”
John gives up on his shirt and shoots a harsh look at the man questioning him. “Not a fucking fan of getting’ covered in some fuckwits drink, so excuse me.”
Price sighs again as he puts his hat back on before reaching up to grip the top of his chest plate. “Look, kid. We could use your help, and you seem like you need help, too. Though I am not going to run around and clean your messes. You either clean up your act, or forget we met. Up to you.”
John nods, brushing a hand down his chest and feeling warm ale flick off his skin, he hates it. He can feel all their eyes on him. “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my mess up, thanks…” When no one speaks, he nods again. “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning. Then Benntin inn, right?”
Price flicks his eyes over to Ghost, then Gaz, before turning them back on John. “See you there, lad.”
John throws his shirt over a shoulder as he nods once more, before giving Ghost a long look. He is wondering once more if this was the right move, if joining this weird little group with a beautiful Elf, a gruff Druid and a dark and honestly spooky man was very smart. Before he can take back his words, he is turning on his heels and walking off.