Page 6Mature

    "Call! Bloody bastard!" Horian chuckled out, rubbing the hairless skin atop his head, giving Darius a grin.

    A moment passed just then, where Darius felt unsure about his own move. The drunk was spitting out coin like a Baron’s wife, hardly a way to play a game. Or maybe it was his game? Darius stewed for a moment, drawing the attention of the other three.

    "I am set." Darius finally spoke, and with his words, all four of the men flipped their cards over, showing their faces. All eyes searched over the table in examination of the others cards. Darius was immediately drawn to Rowe’s hand, considering the rather large sum being played. Nothing?! This Rowe had nothing in his hand. A weak hand that not even beginner would bat an eye at. Skirting over the others at the table, they had all been looking to him. Darius had nothing as well, worse than nothing though. Worse than Rowe.

    "Your friend has a bit of gold on him, I see. No wonder the Mercer's decided to corral you sand farmers up," Darius off handedly spoke, the bitterness of seeing the pile vanish away from him, giving a bit more edge than he was generally comfortable with sharing. Gegash and Rowe both paused their actions in response. Even Horian, well on his way to blacking out, gave a glance to Darius.

    "What did you say, just then?" Gegash spat, looking over the table, “Sand farmers? Sand farmers you say?" his voice raised, Darius' words taking the desired effect on him, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the patrons in the establishment. Two rather large men, who had been quietly conversing over their ale at the bar, found much more interest in the card players now. Setting down their steins, they watched from their places upon their stools.

    "Aye now, boys. It pro'ly came out of 'is mouth wrong, Ain't that so, Darius?" Attempting to take a hold of the situation before it became more than just harsh words,  Horian offered a wary smile to the slight frame of Darius, catching sight of the attention being given to their little group. Years of running a tavern such as this, he knew well enough how and when to intervene, if not only to prevent the customary inquest by the State on murders occurring in the tavern. Last thing he needed was someone getting stabbed to death, again.

The End

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