A boisterous clamor of inebriated misconduct filled the lively tavern. Liquid spilled from mugs and heresy from lips. The intoxicating liquor a powerful poison flowing through veins and minds as an active advisor of rowdy delight. A long day having come to an appreciative end had loaded this small village tavern with tired patrons looking for a respite from work or cognitive responsibility.

A young man sat in one of the dark corners of the establishment with golden ichor sloppily dripping from his unkempt beard. The man’s short figure was partly obscured by a dark green mantle which was buckled together by an emblem depicting an upside-down pine tree shaped as a sword. The man was alone at his table only accompanied by two large maces, one black and one white.

The man held firmly to a large mug of tasteful liquor; he kept the mug close like a precious lover he refused to release. With his other hand the man was weakly trying to record his journey into a small journal before him. His writing was hardly legible and its contents even less trustworthy as his slipping conscious riddled the pages with hyperbole and undue extravagance. Frankly, it was impressive enough that he could even manage to keep hold of his pen in his current state.

The man’s already struggling concentration was broken when another patron sat at his table across from him. The drunk man looked to his unwanted guest taking in what details his muddled mind could muster. His guest was a tall well-built man, the guest’s rose cheeks implied he too had a few drinks but clearly had much more of his faculties still intact. What really annoyed the introverted drunkard was the mischievously punchable grin that the guest wore.

The guest spoke before the drunkard could shoo him away. “You know, my pa was once a merchant and he did take us ‘round the whole country for his work.” The guest took a sip of his own ale that he had brought with him before continuing. “I like to thinks me as a little more educated than yer average small town folk I do.”

The guest grabbed the journal turning it around so he could read but made very little progress as the drunkard quickly snapped the book back holding it close to his body. The guest continued speaking unperturbed. “I even know how to read believe it or not. Can even write meself though not so good I’ll admit. Though even if I do pride meself on my readin I will do say I cannot for the life of me read whatever in hell you been writin there.”

The drunkard gave his guest an unamused sneer forcing the guest to wave his hand in attempts to waft away the fowl alcoholic stench of his breath. The guest took another sip of his own drink and continued. “As an experienced travelin man as meself I got me the privilege of not only hearin ‘bout the world but to see it as well ya understand. So whereas many of the nice folk ‘round these parts had heard of the big spooky clotted forest mercenaries and hope never ta see the blokes, I get the privilege to see ya green cloak and emblem and know that they already have.”

The drunkard took a large gulp emptying his mug and readied to stand up when he was interrupted by the raised arm of his guest. The guest waved to a waitress to refill the drunkard’s mug and as she did he continued to talk. “Now a part of bein so worldly ya see means I ain’t goin to play part as some closed minded ignorant small-town kid ya hear? That ain’t me no sir. Ya see, I think people can be people and ya shouldn’t judge a book by its cover nor a man by his emblem. My pa taught me that, smart man he was. Though I ain’t gonna judge on no impression I do lean on to judge on an impression ya hear, and I’d feel a lot safer with a name friend. Of course, I don’t think it fair to take and not to give. My name’s Praetor.”

Praetor put his arm out in a gesture of waiting for his handshake to be reciprocated. The drunkard did not take Praetor’s hand. The drunkard tucked his journal away into an inner pocket of his leather armor. The drunkard finally replied, Praetor had to work diligently to understand anything beyond incoherent slurring and stuttering of words. “Ish shnot parr ah those shtphid clotted morons anshymo.”

Praetor tried to hide his laughter by taking another sip of his drink, this man was much further gone than he had expected. Just as Praetor suspected the man might not even be able to maintain consciousness in his state, he was already finishing up his new mug of drink and waving for another refill. Praetor replastered a massive grin on his face as he continued his not so subtle interrogation. “It’s good to hear that ya no killer no more but I’d still feel better with a name.”

The drunkard looked down at the liquid pouring down from the waitress’s jug into his own mug. The drunkard chuckled as he grabbed the mug and replied. “Chu ryly no hoawh to bribe ah mun. num Mulct.”

“Ya said yer name was Mulct?” It was quite the challenge to decipher the drunkard’s words so he had to check for confirmation. With an affirmative grunt Praetor now knew who he was interrogating. “So, what brings a mercenary, sorry, ex-mercenary to this here peaceful town?”

“In un nosh, mabe kansh find shumshpliche quiet to wrier mi buk.”

“Yer writin a book are ya? Is it about yer ‘ventures with the clotted forest mercenaries?” Mulct lost himself in the swirling dew within his cup. Praetor felt like he could practically see the man’s mind walk away from reality into its own little bubble. “Well Mulct, I can tell ya I’m glad to hear yer not here to cause no trouble ‘round here. We’d be happy to have an author in our little community we do, though ye wouldn’t be findin yerself many readers in this town.” Praetor chuckled at his own comment. A few patrons who had been listening in from a table over also caught themselves laughing from the joke.

Praetor finally stood up taking the final gulp to finish his mug of ale. “Well sorry for the interrogation ma friend but I just had to check that you weren’t another dirty savage ya know? But ya seem like a kind fellow, glad that yer able to come back to civilized society. I wish ya tha best, maybe ya can even find yerself a nice woman to settle down with now. I heard that since they’re next to no girls in mercenary groups that they all a bunch o’ disgustin fruits.”

Praetor began to walk away feeling fairly good about his encounter with the stranger. He made his way back towards his friends while waving to a waitress for a refill of his mug when he felt a slam into his back. Mulct had dove his entire body into the man tackling Praetor into the ground. “What the he-“Praetor’s shout was interrupted by a fist into his face. Mulct carried quite the punch for a relatively short man, and he didn’t stop at just one. Mulct waled onto the stunned man with heavy blows, only three strikes in and Praetor’s face was beyond recognition.

Praetor’s friends quickly rose from their seats and charged in to help. Mulct dodged out of the way of a tackle and swiped his leg into the man’s nose causing an audible crack that quieted the tavern. Mulct used the momentum of an incoming fist to flip the offender over his shoulder crashing them partly onto a table while the other half of their body continued to fall to the ground. The opponent’s body folded over itself not even allowing them to wheeze out a grunt before losing consciousness.

Mulct being too distracted by the satisfaction of his strike failed to notice a giant fist pound into his face spinning him off of his feet and into the air hurtling his body towards the chair he was previously sat at. His chin clipped against the chair as he made his way to the floor sending a rattling sting through his entire head.

The tavern had gone silent and approached the downed stranger. “What the hell was his problem?”

Mulct spat out a bloody tooth and reached forward grabbing onto his black mace and quickly span around launching the end of his weapon into the soft skull of the man who had hit him instantly killing him.

“What the-!” The entire crowd jumped back at the sudden aggression and Mulct took his chance to charge. He barreled his body into one man knocking him down and kicking into another’s chest cracking their ribs. A nearby patron picked up a wooden chair and swung it into Mulct’s back knocking Mulct to his knees. The patron swung again but this time Mulct met the chair with his own mace eviscerating it into a powder of shrapnel that was blown back into the man wielding it. The man released a carnal shriek of pain.

Another patron rushed to the rescue with his sword drawn just to be met with the butt of a mace to his teeth shattering them and knocking him to the ground. Mulct turned back to the man with the splintered chair impaled in his body and smashed the mace into his skull causing a sizable fold in the matter and having the skull’s owner flop lifelessly to the ground.

Mulct ducked down to evade a sword strike of a second fighter then swept his leg out to trip a third arrival. He then threw his weapon up to pound his mace into the second’s fighter chin and guided the fighter’s fall so that his sword pierced the third arrival. Mulct turned to the man covered in shrapnel lying on the floor and with a guttural howl he plunged his mace into the man’s head squashing it flat and sending viscera across the entire room.

Mulct grabbed a nearby table with his free hand and effortlessly threw it at the door knocking down some approaching guards before they could even fully enter the building. Mulct was about to lunge into his new enemies but hesitated when he saw a terrified patron reaching for Mulct’s white mace. Mulct twirled on the balls of his feet and dashed towards the stealthy patron, he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Donsh’t tusch him!”

Mulct swung his mace with both hands as hard as he could sending the now human projectile through the tavern wall tumbling into the alley outside and through the next wall over. Mulct picked up his white mace, its purity tainted with a few drops of blood. He ran into the next building over using the newly made entrances and smashed his black mace into the felled man not even checking if he was even still alive. He smashed and smashed again far past the point where his weapon even felt resistance, his own bloodlust only being interrupted by the terrified screeching of the family watching this slaughter occur in their own home.

The guards finally made their way over to the new battle arena only being briefly halted by the bloody sight in front of them. Mulct shifted sideways to dodge the first attack and struck his mace one last time into the lifeless puddle at his feet before turning towards the guards.

Mulct didn’t freeze like his opponents and dove headfirst into the fray of spears and swords. He kept his one arm folded behind his back protecting the white mace while using the black mace as a flurry of death and destruction. Flesh and bone whirled like butter around his blunt demolition. The rustic and ill-kept weapons of the guards could do little more than shatter in defense of the incredible stress of the mace.

The fight had made its way to the main street where a much larger congregation of soldiers could surround the frenzied drunkard. A barrage of spears pierced forward striking air as Mulct leaped impossibly high over the attacks and landing into the center of the battalion carving his own space through frantic strikes of unbridled aggression.

The reinforcement flooding in still could not keep pace with the carnage running empty to the last few bodies. No soldier could run away, this was their home, if they had run, they would leave this madman to their families and children. Their courage and dedication were only matched by their aggressor’s ferocity which had left only one soldier left breathing.

The soldier laid unarmed on the ground drenched in his own concoction of liquid fear. Mulct raised his mace over his head when he suddenly felt a pressure against his legs. Mulct looked down to see a small child, too small to even properly lift a weapon it had chosen to hurl its body ineffectively into Mulct. The child was firing off a stream of tears and curses while his feet dug into the ground as he tried to find the support to push back his enemy “NOOOOOOO! Stay away from daddy! Stay away from here you monster!”

Mulct’s grip on his black mace weakened as he scanned around to see the town. The tavern had been rendered to rubble and the house next to it didn’t fair much better. A blockade of corpses covered the street which had transformed to a red river that pooled up to his ankles. Mulct could identify that not all of these corpses had belonged to soldiers, some noble peasants who challenged fate in defense of their town were scattered among the bodies.

Mulct stared down at the child bearing his entire weight onto Mulct’s legs motivated only by pure rage and desperation. Mulct’s mace fell out of his hand and tears began to well up in his eyes. Mulct’s attention was stolen away from the child by the delighted laughter of a new guest to his side.

Mulct turned to see a strange woman not quite human who was accompanied by a short girl with a yellow bandanna. The strange woman was bathed in a pure white from her clothes, to skin, to hair, to impossibly wide brimmed hat. The only part of her that was not white was her disgusting clouded red eye. Mulct couldn’t help but be grateful that at least her other eye was obscured by a white eyepatch.

The little girl accompanying the strange woman seemed mostly plain except for her brilliantly yellow bandanna and her equally repugnant blue eyes.

The little girl adjusted her headband but otherwise remained completely silent; it was the strange white woman who couldn’t contain herself holding her stomach as she laughed out almost hysterically. “Such and unstoppable beast defeated by the heart of a child-“The woman had to stop speaking to catch a few breaths of air between laughing. “I never thought I’d see the sight. Are you seeing this Pen?”

Both Mulct and the child clinging to him were stunned still by the sudden intruders. The white woman approached the two, Mulct propped his white mace before him ready for a fight, but the woman completely ignored his actions.

The white woman knelt next to the child and used her unnervingly long fingers to wipe a few rogue tears that still remained on the child’s face. “Don’t cry dear child, there’s no need to be sad for those who have not died.” The white woman grew an unfitting smile for the scene surrounding her. “And lucky for you.” The woman tapped her index against the child’s small nose. “No one has died today.” The woman stood back up swiping her clothes in a pointless attempt to wipe off the dust and blood which now stained it. “In fact, no one was even born today if you think of it. But…”

The white woman’s face turned stern as she faced Mulct. She gently karate chopped Mulct on the head hard enough to still portray her dissatisfaction. “What were you thinking!? Just because they’re not real doesn’t mean you should just go around willy nilly like some uncontrollable psychopath! If you’re so uninterested in the preservations of these bodies then why are you even so angry about losing Filch?”

The white woman shook her head while combing through the confused man’s hair picking out any remaining loose giblets. “I mean look at you, you smell awful, you look awful, you sound awful, you should be ashamed. I’m sure that your precious Filch of yours would not be very impressed with your behavior if he saw it.”

Mulct finally found it within himself to interject the stranger, his words no longer slurred from all the adrenaline pumping through him. “What are you talking about? Not real? Who even are you?”

The woman balled her hand in front of her mouth as if to catch her giggle before it could escape and responded. “Wow, I thought with how you were acting you already knew everything. How about instead of wandering around aimlessly moping around pretending that you can ruin peoples’ days as much as yours was, how about you come join me and make an actual difference? Wouldn’t you like to actually make a difference, to stop complaining and take the initiative to make the world a better place? While you’re at it maybe you can even see Filch born for the first time.”

“What?”

“It shouldn’t take long; I think we can get the whole ordeal done at The Tournament in twelve years.”

Mulct had no idea how to respond, the intermingling of alcohol and adrenaline in his body caused him to be at a complete loss to take in anything being said to him. “Who are you?”

“Oh, how rude, I forgot to introduce us.” The white woman pointed to the little girl with the yellow bandanna. “This is my very dear family, Pen. And I…” She moved her disturbingly long fingers to now point at herself. “I, well most people like to call me the White Witch.”