Last Theft - An Ending

[KoolestLoser]

"Hey Gene," the frequent patron greeted as he took his usual seat at the bar, the rusty hinges on the gateway to the seediest tavern in the city still creaking. The fat, balding middle-aged bartender grunted in reply, then yelled over his shoulder, "hey Drek! I thought I told you to oil that door!" A stifled "yeah, yeah," was the only hint someone was hidden in the gloom that was supposed to be the kitchen.

Customers assumed it was so they didn't see what they were ordering, no one ever asked any questions. As long as it tasted decent.

"Will it be the usual tonight?" the bartender asked, already pouring some dubious contents into the mug he was cleaning seconds earlier. "Yah," the man replied, "hard day at the market." He picked up the glass that was slid over to him, gulping down half the drink before slamming it on the worn bar and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. This was the usual for both of them.

"Some crazy rumors floatin' about tonight, yah." the patron said making conversation, trying to peak the bartender's interest. "Oh yeah?" Gene said, not even bothering to look up from cleaning a glass that didn't need cleaning. "Yah," the man said. "I hear the emperor himself destroyed Canas, last night. Defeated the undead bastich himself, as I hear. Took all his undead horde with him too," the man couldn't help but grin, this was the bomb he was waiting to drop. And a big one he did, the bartender knew Garsh long enough to know what he said was true. Garsh may have been a large, stupid-looking farmer with log-sized arms, but he suprisingly never said a word unless he knew it was the truth.

"Really now? So our lands are free of those plague-ridden deaders, eh? Finally. That Marcus is something else." Gene glanced around the bar and frowned, "Shouldn't people be celebrating? Parading in the steets and makin' me some coin?" Garsh stupidly bit his lip and screwed up his face in thought, before he could get an answer out, a voice called out from beneath the bar. "No one's gonna come to your run-down tavern ya' sod, all them biggers are off celebratin' somewhere more prestigous."

Gene snapped his head down like a viper and barked, "Hurry up and fix that door ye' sorry halfling!" Garsh bellowed a laugh, his large frame shaking the stool he sat on. A tired looking halfling with black hair sprinkled with some light gray emerged from around the bar, he headed to the door with a can full of oil while shaking his head back and forth. "You still got that Drek fellow on yer' staff? Glad to see he's talkin' again." Gene shook his head and resumed cleaning the mug with a dirty rag, "Talkin' is better then breakin' my wares every other minute. Damn fool was clumsier then a drunken orc for a good few years...only kept'em hired cause he used ta' be a helluva thief-catcher way back when."

Garsh snorted, "yah, takes one to know one," he said and finished the rest of his drink. The bartender refilled his mug and nodded, "Maybe, but I made sure his thieving days were over when he got a job here." Gene accepted the newly filled mug and raised an eyebrow, "How so?" he asked.

"Hah, just asked the fellow. Last thing he said he ever stole was a name. Odd, but somethin' made me believe'em." Garsh glanced over his shoulder to study the halfing and shrugged. "Yah, very odd."

Drek oiled the hinges with ease and jumped back a second before the door swung open, revealing an elf shrouded in black cloth. The bartender muttered a, 'Hail' but the elf paid no attention. He merely stood in the doorway and studied the halfling for a few seconds before entering. He made his way to the bar limping, and with the aid of a plain wooden staff. It made a loud empty thunk! on the sawdust floors with every step.

Drek shrugged and oiled the last hinge before returning to the gloom of the kitchen. He had a few dishes to clean, and enjoyed doing so. It took his mind off a miserable past, and an even sadder dishonor long forgotten.

"What can I getcha'?" Gene asked as the elf took a seat. The elf adjusted the black cowl to cover his mouth and nose, his eyes took in the bartender with a very bored expression. "I'll have a..." he said dully and let his words hang in the air. Garsh glanced at the elf sideways every so often and continued sipping his drink. The elf wore Varanite colors, odd for an elf. He had to be a wizard.

"I'm finished," came the call from the kitchen, Drek slapped a towel on the bar to which Gene merely grunted. Drek knew he hated having that dirty towel on his not-so-clean bar. That's why he did it. But Gene didn't bother to trouble his poor help tonight, it was routine. The old halfling went to a corner to clean a pair of masterwork Kukri's, and was left alone as he wanted to be.

Gene shook his head, "Good help is so hard to find these days." Garsh was to busy staring at the elf to hear him. "Gene...I think the elf is asleep." The bartender shook his head and studied the elf. "What the...eh, I think your right. Best not to bother him if he wants to dose off. Might be enlisted."

Garsh nodded. "Say...what'd Drek say was the last thing he ever stole?"
Gene went back to cleaning his mug with a dirty rag.

"A name."

"A name?"

"Yeah. His name--Drekkan."

Thus the day passed in Cear, just another black night in a run-down seedy bar.

[Will]

Didn't know who the bartender was talking to until about halfway through, but then the ending definately clears things up.

[KoolestLoser]

Ehehehe, I don't think many people got the story--but it made sense in my head!

I find it as the perfect ending for him, so I am happy.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

[Grayle]

You have a gift for dialogue.