Lore of a RugOn vary rare occasion did Tyr ever wake up with a sense of determination to start the day. His mornings were usually spent curled up in a ball, under a fortress of blankets and pillows to protect him from the outside world as he now knew it. Even after waking, it was normal for him to lay around and loath the mess that was now his life, refusing to get up and face it head on.
He was tired. He didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t worth his time. All mediocre excuses to avoid what was ultimately the inevitable. But today was different.
Today he had been abruptly awoken to a very loud commotion coming from the living room of his family estate. Gasps, cheers, shouts, doors opening and closing and things being moved about. It sounded like the house as being turned upside down or ransacked.
It made sleep impossible, and therefor, Tyr angry.
He threw back the covers from his bed and shot a glare at his bedroom door. Another uproar ensued from beyond it.
“What the hell are they doing now?” he growled to himself as he planted his bare feet on the floor and stalked over to the door to fling it open.
Just down the hall, the Black Rats Consortium greeted him in their entirety. Well, almost all of them, from what Tyr could tell. They were crowded around a Lalafell who stood atop one of the antique tea tables in the living room, giving a very dramatic rendition of what had apparently taken place just that night. That lalafell was Pravus Gryn, and he was splattered with blood and dripping it all over the place.
“And it leaped at me, with its demon red eyes and baring its ten inch long teeth and then Aby came out of nowhere!
Nowhere, I tell you! I had the whole situation in hand, mind you. But Aby just came in from nowhere with his sword and the bears head just goes flying! Fifty feet into the air, I tell you! It got impaled on a tree branch, it went so high! Then the body just crumpled. Next thing I know, Aby is lifting me up off the ground and he HURLED me into the tree! Told me to go get it, he said! That's how I got this black eye. Threw me right into a branch, he did! And then--”
Tyr couldn’t take it anymore.
“You better hope and pray to the Twelve that you’re not scratching that table right now, Pravus, or it’ll be your head that’s flying into a tree next.” he snarled angrily from across the living room.
Pravus’ audience parted like a wave then, leaving a clear path straight to the Lalafell dripping blood and dirt all over Tyr’s family heirloom. Pravus took one look at him and his eyes went wide. He very quickly jumped off the table and went scrambling out the front door, muck trailing in his wake. “I’m sorry!”
Tyr’s fists clenched as he watched the Lalafell go. He was about to turn around and go back to his room when he noticed a second trail of blood and muck leading from the front door, across the living room and heading down the stairs into the basement.
“What in hells is this?” he all but screeched and made for the stairs, descending them two at a time.
Downstairs, in what used to be the estate’s ballroom, was now a very rank tavern filled with some of the lowliest to be scum found in Ul Dah. Mousie Gridain stood behind the bar, chain smoking her cigars and pouring rounds for the gathering rabble. she looked up at him as he came bounding down the stairs and raised a glass at him.
“Tyr!” she said jubilantly, blowing a billow of smoke in his direction.” Care fer a drink?”
Tyr just scowled at her. She knew good and well he didn’t drink and that he detested her disgusting smoking habits within his house. She just smirked at him in return.
Tyr followed the blood trail and it lead him to the back of the tavern. Abyssal himself sat at one of the tables, Deathbringer laid across his lap, a pint of ale in his hand, and the bloody head of a bear coagulating at his feet.
He stared at it. Obviously Pravus had exaggerated a bit… the eyes of the bear were not demon red and it’s teeth were definitely not ten inches long.
Tyr opened his mouth to say something. Then closed it. Opened it again, but could not find the appropriate words to do his current state of rage justice.
“Tyr,” Abyssal grunted, lifting his ale in mock salute. “Come to join the festivities?”
“Is that what you call this?” Tyr asked in disgust, pointing at the rotting head. “You better have a damn good excuse for bringing that thing into my house.”
“Your boss wanted a trophy for the wall, I brought her one.” Abyssal said simply. “Take it up with her.”
“She is not my boss, and our current arrangement does not include bringing dead things into the house and staining my floor with blood.” Tyr hissed. “Get that thing out of here. Now.”
Abyssal snorted.
“I should tell you there’s also a carcass tanning on the lawn.” he said. “Be glad I didn’t bring
that inside.”
Tyr stared at him in horror. A bear carcass on the lawn?
Twelve forbid, his neighbors were going to have a field day with this. Tyr Leif, the mangy Keeper who had brought down the noble Leif household. Lodging criminals and mercenaries. Tanning hides in the front yard. Mounting dead animal heads on the walls. Hells, they probably wouldn’t let him forget about it. Ever.
Tyr rubbed furiously at his temples, fighting off the oncoming wave of pain that resonated there.
Abyssal let out a hearty laugh at his dispense. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it will make a lovely rug.”
Tyr turned and walked away from him, Abyssal's laughter continuing on. He went straight to the bar, pointed a finger in Mousie’s face and snarled.
“I’m going back to bed. when I get up, this house better be spotless. If I see one drop of blood. One speck of dirt on my floors. That rotten head on my wall. You’re all gone. All of you. You can find another place to set up shop. Hells, you can operate on the streets for all I care. I will be done with you. Understand?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He stalked up the stairs, feet stomping as he went. The slam of his bedroom door was the last thing the household heard from him.
In the end, the Leif household acquired a very lovely bear skin rug. The floors were scrubbed clean. And no one ever spoke of the event again.
