A Saviour in the Shadows
It was a dark night in a dark tavern. Only the flickering candle-light and a slowly-dying fire illuminated the dank room with orange light. A few men had lingered here on the moonless night, they remained barely-conscious and nursed their swill in a silence that was only broken by the occasional cough or a crackle from the stone-lined fireplace. Though the majority of the patrons sat at tables nearer the bar, one lone figure sat in the far corner of the room, face-first on the walnut that held his half-emptied mug. The barmaid had watched him enter and sit in the corner. She watched him through-out the night as he first sat impatiently tapping his foot and looking around, then as he started drinking but kept a watchful eye on the door. It was well-past midnight and he had already fallen asleep. Judging from the brownish stains on his clothes accompanied with a few tears in the fabric and a strong sweaty scent, the barmaid had assumed he was just another townsman out to meet with a friend who never arrived. Outside, the town watch bell rang out the time: one in the morning. "Alright," the waitress said upon hearing the ringing, "it's time for me to close up shop. It you wanna drink more, you'll have to to it in the horse toughs by the inn." She shooed the most-sober out the door and pushed out those more-reluctant to leave. One of the men remained behind with the barmaid and the man in the corner. "D'ya want me to help you with him?" He asked with slurred speech and a gesture toward the man in the corner who was still slumped over and lightly snoring. "No, thank you, Gerry. He's only had two pints, I can handle 'im," she replied. Truthfully, the 'helpful' patron had visited the tavern too often and she was growing suspicious of him. "But he could get angry...and hurt you!" he protested, with large arm movements that put him in danger of falling off-balance. "I'll be fine, Ger," she said as she shoved him out the door. "Get home to bed." She closed the door behind her with a sigh and eyed the sleeping man. She walked over to him purposefully and shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up, this isn't an inn. We're closing and I can't have you down here." The man sat upright slowly and blinked away the last vestiges of slumber and smacked his lips. "Alright," he answered in a tied voice, "just gimme a second." The barmaid smirked and turned to the dishes she'd do before she went to bed that night when the man grabbed her from behind. His strong arm hugged her arms to her sides as he pressed a blade to her throat. "You know what this is. Don't make a sound." The barmaid froze in place and stared straight in front of herself with wide eyes. "Good girl. Usually they just scream their heads off and bad things happen, but you've kept it together. I like that." She was confused by this sudden shift in tone and started to turn her head to get a better look at her assailant, who tightened his grip on her in response. "Don't look at me!" he hissed in her ear before relaxing his grip on her. "A curious one, too! You're full of surprises. Walk with me," he commanded and proceeded to move the two of them toward the bar. "What do you want?" She asked him with a shaking voice. "I-I don't have much money, but take whatever you want." "Oh, It's not money I want," he replied devilishly as he walked the two of them up the stairs. That wasn't what the barmaid had wanted to hear. As the man threw her onto the bed with an evil laugh, she knew she might not see the next morning.
From the closet adjacent to the bed, a thief watched the scene unfold. He had stolen into the tavern's second floor at midnight and had been working at a particularly-difficult lock on a modestly-sized chest. He smirked when the barmaid said she didn't have any money. That was an outright lie, if the size of the chest in her closet and the woolen mattress she had were any indication of her wealth. But as the man pressed the knife to her neck and started ripping at the barmaid's skirt, he drew his own dagger and made to open the closet door. He may be a thief, but his own loose standards couldn't abide rape. He heard her yelp and her skirt tore loudly. He drew a mask over the lower half of his face and sprang to his feet, opening the door, brandishing his dagger, and taking the most heroic pose he could muster. "Leave the woman be!" he yelled and held the dagger's tip to the man's neck. The man was startled by the thief's sudden appearance and made a blind slash at the latter with his kitchen cutlery. The thief jumped up and sucked in his stomach to avoid the swing, but his purse was cut free and several gold pieces were sent onto the floor. The woman had opened her eyes and was watching the scene unfold in alarm as her attacker attempted a feral stab at her savior. The black-clad thief dodged to the side and the knife embedded itself into the wood. The man took a moment to un-stick his weapon, which the thief used to his advantage and landed a blow to his opponent's nose. The rapist stumbled back and slipped on the spilled coins. His back landed on the still-open windowsill and he was taken by his own weight out of the house and head-first onto the ground below. The thief rushed to the window to see the bleeding wreck of his opponent staining the dirt below. "Oh, shit." He exclaimed and turned back into the room, where he found the woman staring at him in shock. He stopped and stared back for a moment before he heard town watchmen rushing toward the commotion. He winked at the woman, pocketed his half-empty purse, and rushed out of the room.