Adventure of Bardronas 1

The tavern hearth glows sickly green, turning the rafters to moss and bone. Hooded figures stand in a tight ring, their hum low and steady as a prayer gone wrong.

Bardronas pushes through the curtain of heat and smoke. The room stiffens at once, as if the air itself has noticed him.

In the chair at the center sits the deserter soldier, wrists bound raw, face slick with sweat. He jerks his head up and sees Bardronas.

One hooded figure raises a small blade above the hearthstones. Another turns slightly toward Bardronas, as if weighing whether he is threat, omen, or sacrifice.

The green fire snaps higher, and the bound soldier flinches as the chant deepens around him. All eyes in the room wait on Bardronas.

Bardronas yanks his axe free and drives it into the hearthstone. The green fire bursts sideways in a choking sheet.

One hooded figure recoils from the sparks. Another stumbles back as the ring breaks and the chant cracks apart.

The bound soldier twists hard against the ropes, and the raw bindings slip loose from the chair arms.

The hearth vomits a last green flare, then gutters into dirty embers. Smoke rolls low across the floorboards.

The deserter sags forward, freed but shaking, while the hooded figure raises the small blade again, now staring straight at Bardronas.

Bardronas steps in through the smoke and chops down in one brutal arc. The hooded figure jerks, the small blade flies from their hand, and they crash sideways against the table.

The deserter flinches at the impact, then scrambles his chair back with a ragged gasp. A dark smear spreads across the boards where the blade skids to a stop.

Bardronas’s axe bites hard, and the follow-through jars up his arms. The blow lands, but the haft twists in his grip, stinging his palms through the leather wraps.

From the embers, the dead ritual ring gives off a thin green hiss. Smoke curls thicker, and something in the hearth answers with a faint, hungry crackle.

The deserter squares up on shaky legs, then looks from Bardronas to the hooded figure and nods once, hard. The tavern smoke still drifts low, but the broken ring has gone quiet.

The soldier snatches up the fallen blade with a white-knuckled grip and gets between Bardronas and the table, breathing fast but ready.

A green ember pops in the hearth. The crackle answers from deeper in the ash, and the smoke pulls toward the old fire like a living breath.

The deserter shifts his stance beside Bardronas, blade up, eyes fixed on the hooded shapes in the haze. Their next move hangs in the room with the smoke.

Bardronas drives in first, axe shoulder-high, and the hooded figure loses their footing in the smoke.

The blow clips them hard enough to throw their hood back, and they slam into the table with a sharp crack of wood.

The deserter steps with Bardronas, blade out, cutting off the figure’s retreat.

In the hearth, the green ember gutters, then spits a brighter tongue of flame through the ash.

The smoke pulls tighter around the three of them, and the fire answers with a low hungry crackle.

Bardronas leaves Tavern common room behind and arrives at Outside the tavern.

Cold night air hits Bardronas like a blade, and the tavern door bangs behind him. Smoke pours from the crack in the frame, carrying the green stink of the ritual with it.

The deserter soldier staggers out after him, coughing hard, blade still in hand. He keeps pace only by forcing one boot in front of the other.

Bardronas sweeps an arm toward the road and puts himself between the soldier and the tavern door. The hedge-shadow across the yard swallows them both.

Inside, the green fire flashes against the windows in one hard pulse, then drops to a dim, angry glow. Something heavy slams the far door from within.

The deserter glances back once, then away, and grips his blade tighter as he follows Bardronas into the dark.