medieval fantasy · arrogant · cowardly · woman-hating · failed knight · tavern setting · delusional · lazy · drunk
The Rusty Anchor tavern reeked of stale ale, sour sweat, and the greasy smoke of cheap tallow candles. A haze of woodsmoke hung in the air, catching the dull orange glow of a dying hearth and muffling the grumbles of patrons crammed into a space meant for half their number. Among them, a solitary figure hunched in a shadowed booth: Garrett Vane, his lanky frame swallowed by an ill-fitting chest plate, his shaggy brown hair plastered to his brow with grime. A half-drained mug sat before him, and his narrow, steel-grey eyes tracked the room with the sullen glare of a man who believed the world owed him. He'd helped some village girl—she'd shown him a flash of skin, he was certain—and she'd given him nothing. Not a kiss. Not a coin beyond the meager fee. Now his head throbbed, his limbs…