The worst part about The Tipsy Boar, the ginger Halfling mused, was the anticipation.

Not that Zach usually minded spending his time in pubs, but ‘The Tipsy Boar’ was no ‘Plagued Rat’. His favorite bar was safe and familiar, whereas ‘The Boar’ was a simple facade for a much more sinister reality. As he sat in the shadowed nook of the raucous tavern, he did his best to ignore the noises and activity around him.

It was a standard enough scene. Plenty of the patrons were gambling, playing card or dice games, and arguing about cheating and whose turn it was. There were a few working girls circulating the tables or hanging off the arm of one of the gamblers. The serving wenches were kept busy with demands for more ale and mead and, of course, there were a couple of low-lives trying to get one over on each other, seeing who could pickpocket the most coin. Or at least, they all appeared to be.

To an outsider, it would look like your usual tavern in The Slums. Zach remembered when he’d been that outsider, happening upon ‘The Boar’ and not realizing just how rotten its core truly was. Each patron was armed with at least a knife. Some had more sophisticated weaponry hidden away, but to Zach’s well-practiced eyes, they may as well have been advertising the location and size of their weapons. While each of them played the role of the drunken fool, they made sure to keep a side-eye on Zach and the entrances. Hardly the most subtle of affairs, but the diminutive rogue had been expecting the attention.

The pub was a legitimate front for one of the more notorious crimelords of the Slums, an overly arrogant Elven prick named Sykes. It was his base of sorts, and thus, it was also where he liked to conduct his business. The patrons? Hired goons and merciless killers, all more than happy to slice and dice at the drop of a hat. The serving wenches were all discreetly carrying poison, ready to be slipped into a tankard at a moment’s notice. The working girls were violent women who were more than capable of taking on Winnie in a fight, with the advantage of numbers on their side...

No, normally Zach would be in his element. Sure, the waiting around was a bit of a pisser but at least he’d be able to con some coin in a card game or two and help himself to a couple of ales as he waited for Sykes. Hells, he might even toss a few coins to one of the lovely things working hard this evening, life was too short to spend it by himself after all.

The sting of his recent failure, however, was far too intense to ignore. He never considered himself someone who wallowed in regrets. It was a waste of time, after all. You couldn’t change the past so just live with it and move on… but the whole thing with Rodyr’s mansion? It had been a shit show, one mistake piled onto the next. The food tokens were bad enough but the hit on Rodyr himself had gone completely south.

Zach hadn’t bothered to share that part of the plan with Squeakers or Winnie. The side plot of grabbing some gold coin was more of a distraction really, an extra cherry on the cake. The main goal Zach had been tasked with was a mission to kill the fat Minotaur. The plan was simple enough, just poison the vast plates of meat the oversized cow ate at nearly every meal, then wait out the night before the Lordling had a heart attack during his sleep. A simple job that required some basic sleight of hand. He could’ve done it in his sleep.

Hells, everything had been going swimmingly until the fucking Ratling had crashed through the ceiling with those Ghouls…

Now instead of a subtle, dare he say it, graceful assassination, the whole of Dray’Mel was aware of the Undead attack on the Residential District. Thankfully, there hadn’t been that many survivors which had certainly limited the number of witnesses. Despite that upside, there was no way in Hells that Sykes didn’t know about it. Already there were rumors circulating about who could’ve coordinated the attack.

Luckily, no one seemed to believe that an Iskrin had let them loose. Everyone knew that a simple rat wasn’t smart enough on its own to achieve such a task. Some people had heard that it was a Ratling, but that it was simply acting upon its Master’s orders.

Ultimately though, it didn’t matter. The assassination was botched, and Sykes wasn’t the kind of Elf to let that sort of thing slide. Zach had seen the psychopath smiling as he shoved his knife into the belly of one of his minions, the cocky prick barely needing a reason to gut someone. He had witnessed Sykes murdering more than one member of his own payroll for ‘unforgivable crimes’, ranging from talking shit about him to simply ‘looking at him wrong’.

“Alright, Zacharias?” Zach rolled his eyes as Finch or Butch -Zach had never been bothered to learn the guy’s name, he was so inconsequential- approached him. The fat Dwarf had his typical supercilious smile plastered onto his face. He was Sykes’ right-hand man. His little errand boy. Most of Skyes’ men grudgingly accepted him but privately agreed that he was a loathsome toad of a man. In fact, a lot of them said that his beard was brown because…well…he really liked his boss. “Mr. Sykes will be right out, perhaps you’d like to wait for him at the bar?” Finch/Butch/Whatever continued with a smug tone when Zach didn’t reply.

Zach stood up from his seat, having expected something like this. The gathered group of hired patrons stared at him as he trudged towards the bar. The room was fairly small as pubs went but the walk from one end of it to the other felt like it was miles. Miles of trudging through treacle, with all eyes on him knowing that he’d fucked up. Sykes only wanted to meet at the bar when he had public humiliation in mind, all the better to remind his men what happened if they too made a mistake. Zach slid himself onto one of the stools and stared down at the stained and filthy bartop, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes boring into his back.

Minutes later, the Elven crimelord finally deigned to arrive. Larger than one would expect from an Elf, Sykes was a broad creature, with wide shoulders. Taller than Zacharias by half, the Elf loomed over him, wearing his signature swagger coat. Worse yet, in the Halfling’s mind, was the colour of the jacket; a dark purple that clashed with Sykes’ pale skin, but Zach was hardly about to point that out.

Like most of his kind, Sykes had long, graceful ears, each adorned in dozens of glittering piercings, most made of solid gold. The older Elf had a thick beard, black and wiry, tied with all sorts of various clinking trinkets. A heavy pipe poked its way through, lit up and smelling sickly sweet of Rotbloom. All in all, the Elf commanded attention with a heavy presence, with dark hazelnut eyes glaring at everyone around him, while his smile was smug and self-satisfied.

“Zacharias!” Sykes clapped him on the back as the Elf took a seat next to him. The rowdy chatter and noise of the pub had settled to barely audible whispers, as everyone turned towards the upcoming spectacle. Sykes had become near famous for his little public acts of remonstrations, Hells, he’d even given them a title of sorts.

A “Punishing” was always a sight to behold and Sykes liked to keep people guessing how he was going to carry it out. No two “Punishings” were the same and Sykes liked to approach them with the air of a showman, playing up to his audience who would hang on his every word.

“Alright Sykes,” Zach replied quietly with a nod. Why couldn’t the blasted old fool just get on with it? Zach had enjoyed his fair share of a good old “Punishing” but it turned out being on the receiving end wasn’t quite as entertaining. Still, Sykes liked to see his victim scared and Zach was determined not to give the man what he wanted.

“I hear you got into a bit of trouble up in the Residential District,” Sykes continued conversationally. He nodded at the barman who slid a tankard of ale his way. Sykes had his own personal set of tankards, each inscribed with the letter ‘S’. Woe betide anyone caught drinking from one…it was a lot harder to sip your ale with a broken jaw.

“Well, Rodyr got what was coming to him didn’t he?” Zach answered. He wasn’t about to back down and show himself up to the watching crowd. “It wasn’t the poison that killed him but since the fat bastard is rotting away in the ground now, what’s the harm?” He continued with a shrug.

A couple of people let out a small gasp. Zach didn’t have to see them to know they were probably on the edge of their seats. Not many people had the bollocks to answer back to Sykes once he got going.

“The harm?” Sykes chuckled and shook his head as though he was merely dealing with a naughty child. “The harm, my dear Zacharias, is that I wanted him taken care of discreetly. You see, Rodyr was a good friend to me until he got it into his head that he could take some of my business. Hosting his own pit fights and not paying his protection tax? That’s the sort of thing that spreads and gets people talking about how I can’t manage my own business. You know better than most that I always handle my business.”

Zach opened his mouth to reply, hoping that some ready quip would come out, anything to avoid betraying how nervous he really was. Before he had a chance to say anything however, Sykes’ snapped his fingers and a dozen runes began to glow in the air, shimmering with power and frost both. Before Zach could react, the runes activated and ice blossomed on the bartop and covered his hands, swiftly spreading as the frigid ice welded his hands in place.

The blistering cold hit him straight away, sending a jolt of pain through his body, his hands screaming from the sudden drop below freezing temperature. Zacharias bit down on his lip and tried his best not to show it, having no intention of giving the dagger-eared prick the satisfaction. He could feel beads of sweat start to gather on his forehead from the effort of keeping quiet.

“A breakout of Ghouls…” Sykes continued as though nothing had happened. “Good, paying customers getting devoured? The Tomb-Makers questioning the survivors, getting more information about MY operations?” He sighed heavily, fingers rubbing his temple. “The Undead in charge don’t care about my work and I pay heavily for that privilege. But when it starts to create waves? Now that is an entirely different matter…”

Sykes reached into Zach’s pocket and pulled out one of the Halfing's throwing daggers. The crimelord started to spin it idly in his hands, not caring that the tip of the blade dug into the pad of his index finger. A small bead of blood welled up and Zach tried to focus on it to give him something, anything to distract him from the pain.

“You see, my dear boy, your little stunt back at Rodyr’s mansion happened to create a wave. A large wave of shit that is still raining down on me as we speak. Surely you understand where I’m coming from?” Sykes inquired smoothly, his calm tone belying the rage Zach could see simmering below the surface.

“Listen, Sykes, I fucked up alright? But it’s the first time. How about I bring you the Ratling? I’m sure he’ll make a good plaything for ya.” Zach replied, hoping that he didn’t sound as desperate as he was beginning to feel. The Halfling had begun trickling some Mana from his Core to his hands, hoping to reinforce the flesh as much as he could and fight back some of the frost.

“Oh how I wish I could make an exception for you Zacharias,” Sykes answered with mock sympathy. “But you of all people know the rules here. I don’t give second chances. You’ve made too big a splash. One thing you get to learn when you reach my level is that everyone is replaceable,” He shook his head, putting on a show as though he were struggling with some internal battle. “I never thought you would be on the receiving end of a “Punishing” and yet here we are…”

Sykes suddenly grabbed hold of Zach’s chin, squeezing his cheeks hard enough to bruise as he pulled the Halfling closer. Zach saw the glimmer of his own dagger’s blade as Sykes held it up to his face. He felt another burst of pain as the blade sliced into the skin of his left cheek.

“I knew it was going to end this way,” Sykes chattered idly as he carved into Zach’s face. “The moment I heard you were running wild with a loose cannon of an Iskrin and some Dragon’s Blood addict you picked up off the streets,” Sykes leaned back as if he were an artist viewing his own work and trying to decide if he’d used the right color. “You know, when I took you in you were nothing. Just a kid with a knife. Dead parents. A chip on his shoulder…” He slid the dagger back into Zach’s pocket. “But nothing gets in the way of business,” He continued, his tone steely. “And now the whole of Dray’Mel is going to recognize you for what you are. A marked man.”

Sykes pushed Zach away and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He calmly wiped away some of the blood that had dripped on his hand. “You’re dismissed. Get out of my pub.”

Zach glanced at his reflection in the filthy mirror above the bar. Carved into his left cheek, still steadily oozing blood was a large letter ‘S’. For a moment, the enraged Halfling struggled to hold back his emotions, but as he looked back at Sykes, Zach felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Turning to leave the bar, he took a moment to remember each and every face in ‘The Tipsy Boar’, from the guffawing hired thugs to the tittering serving girls. Grinning widely, Zach left the bar behind him while a thrill ran through him.

For the first time in years, he didn’t have a crew behind him, or a mission to fulfill but his own. Gently touching his new wound, Zach knew deep down in his heart what he needed to do.