The back door was locked, but Varrick knew where Joren hid the key. He ran his hand along the wall, to the right of the door. [b][color=f7941d][i]One, two, three,[/i][/color] [/b]he counted over the boards. The fourth one popped out of place if you hit it right. He rapped the board with his knuckles and, sure enough, there was the key. [b][color=f7941d][i]Glad the old man hasn't decided to up his security,[/i][/color][/b] Varrick thought.

It didn't take long to unlock the door, replace the key, and find himself face to face with Joren Muttle. The rear door did open into the tavern keeper's office, after all. If 'office' was the correct word for a liquor store room that also happened to hold ledgers, one of which Muttle was presently poring over. The tavern keeper looked up in surprise, reaching for the butcher's knife he'd always kept at his desk. Then recognition hit him. He stood up, and shouted with arms raised, [b]"Varrick!"[/b] The waddling man crossed the room faster than Varrick thought possible, before enveloping him in a hug. [b]"It's been too long, son."[/b]

Muttle released the hug after a moment, leaving Varrick to hope that the breastplate had held up and the pain in his ribs was just bruising. [b][color=f7941d]"Joren! Good to see you too,"[/color][/b] Varrick said, a smile creeping onto a face that hadn't done so in weeks.

The smile on Muttle's face died, and he looked away. [b]"You heard about Brand?"[/b]

Varrick shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. [b][color=f7941d]"No. Is he still fighting?"[/color][/b]

Muttle sighed. [b]"He tried to stay out of it, Varrick."[/b] Muttle waddled back to his stool and sat down, suddenly looking very tired. [b]"The King's men got him last week. He put up a fight, but there were too many of them."[/b]

Varrick didn't want to ask. [b][color=f7941d]"Is he. . ?"[/color][/b] he trailed off.

[b]"The King doesn't take prisoners, Varrick."[/b] Muttle shook his head and looked at the floorboards. [b]"Not anymore."[/b]

Varrick slammed his fist into the wall, broken chips of plaster raining to the floor. [b][color=f7941d]"I'll kill him!"[/color][/b] Varrick shouted. Then he noticed Muttle shrink, his eyes darting around. 

[b]"I hope you do, Varrick."[/b] Muttle eyed the door leading to the common area. [b]"But the King's men are everywhere now. I'd keep the treasonous plotting quiet, if I were you."[/b]

Varrick sighed, lowering his voice. [b][color=f7941d]"Are any of my brothers and sisters here?"[/color][/b]

Muttle nodded. [b]"They've been streaming in. Strange that you all decided to show up today."[/b]

[b][color=f7941d]"Can you get them?"[/color][/b] Varrick asked, realizing that even if his siblings weren't yet fugitives, word of him killing three of the King's men - and maiming another - had likely traveled. [b][color=f7941d]"I'd like to talk to them, but I'd rather not be seen."[/color][/b]

[b]"Anything for you kids, Varrick."[/b] Muttle got up and made for the door, turning back before crossing into the other room. [b]"Brand raised you right, all of you,"[/b] he said, and then he was gone.

Varrick didn't know what he was going to say when he saw them, but he knew that there was only one way this was going to end. Either they all died on crosses, or they figured out how to kill King Harold. Varrick patted the pommel of his sword. [b][color=f7941d][i]Maybe you'll finally get your name,[/i][/color][/b] he thought. 

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