Grudges

The rain whipped against the tavern, and lighting rent the sky as thunder shook Cormyr. Inside, a group of men sat at a table gambling. A couple was kissing passionately in a secluded corner. A feral, pale-skinned woman watched everything from a table against the far wall. The bartender left her alone, for good reason.

The door shook on its hinges to admit a red-haired man, hardly older than a boy, with an empty scabbard at his belt. He sat across from the woman, clothes dripping. His face was twisted in fury.

“I’m here, now tell me where she is,” he growled. She smiled, twirling a piece of ordinary-looking wood in her hands.

“Is she so precious to you?”

He exhaled impatiently. “Look, this isn’t pleasant for me, either. Tell me where Jaheira is, or I’ll . . .”

Her sneer widened. “You’ll what? Cut me to pieces?” she mocked, glancing at his scabbard. “I’m so scared.”

“I’m here for Jaheira. Do not toy with me.”

In response, the vampire stood, pressed the catch on the wood block, and slid it into his belly as he rose.

“Those who hold grudges do so forever, Khalid.”

He slid to the floor as she left.

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Notes: This piece was written for Quiz 89: Little Things, hosted by Sandalwood.