Dum Vivam

     Sergeant Caspian stood in the kitchen of Goldie’s Revenge arguing with the bar owner as blocked the doorway to the basement stairs. The woman stared up at him, shoving her forefinger into his chest. “I know what I heard. And, I’m telling you, it’s going to stop right here and now.” She shoved the point of her half-inch fingernail into his sternum. He grabbed her finger and held it in place. She struggled to pull it back, “let me go.”

     “Ma’am. You will stop,” he practically threw her hand away.

     “I don’t care who’s down there. This is my bar. Not a torture chamber. Either you go down and put an end to it or I will.”

     “My orders are clear. Back away from the door now, ma’am,” Sergeant Caspian ordered, his body tensed.

Manus Iniectio

     Spinning around a bit too quickly, Ensign Sebastian Balin wobbled on his feet. His eyes locked onto a hysterical Kent Wheelock and the ridiculous scene in the bed of the old militia truck. Tears rolled down Kent’s right cheek while he unseeingly stared beyond the gathering of onlookers and he absently petted a dead falcon. Hopping around in the truck bed next to Kent was a second falcon that occasionally used its beak to nudge the dead one’s head. Finally, a tuxedo cat with half-closed eyelids, lay sprawled out in the truck bed, watching the falcon’s grief dance. Though his mouth dropped open, Balin’s eyes narrowed. Approaching cautiously, Balin attempted to use his body to block the view of the truck bed. Even over Kent’s laughter, Balin could hear the not-so-soft whispers of the retirees.

     “That boy’s got two birds.”   

     “Reckon he’s a baby Bard?”

Suis Moribus

     At the door to Patrick Field’s house, 1^st Lieutenant Santos addressed the two women he’d escorted from the Templus Ministrae, “one moment while I inform Colonel Dagon that you’re here.” Turning the knob and pushing the door, resulted in nothing. He shoved again, then looked over his shoulder and half-heartedly smiled as he knocked.

     When the door opened a crack, Santos declared, “tell Colonel Dagon I’ve returned with the Celatrix and one of her officers.”

Manus Revinctus

Not only had Goldie lost her town and had her bar turned into recovery operation headquarters, but now she was being forced to cater to the Justices of the Antigone Courts. If this hadn’t happened because of mass destruction, she would have forced them to take a group picture to add to her wall. Most of the pictures were of locals, taken during town celebrations. A few, Goldie’s favorites, were prominently displayed behind the bar, over the rows of alcohol. These celebrity photos included sports heroes, authors, and one of her with Fintan the Bard. She, like most of the women her age, had once pined for the young one-eyed rascal. It wasn’t his way with words, oh, no. As an adventurer, he’d seen and done things. His worldly manner was majorly attractive. Goldie stared at the picture, fondly thinking of better days. Captain Prescott pulled her from her reverie.

Plus Auctoritatis

     Goldie’s Revenge, the last standing tavern in Avalona, had officially seen more people come through its swinging doors in the last two hours than in the six years since opening. Goldie, the owner—a middle-aged divorcee who had used monies received in the divorce settlement to open the bar her ex-husband had always dreamed of—stood at the main bar chatting with a Regular Militia captain that arrived with a retinue carrying the General of the Plains Region. Goldie watched General Willard Isaac Tomlyn as he directed soldiers with the calm certainty of one accustomed to giving orders. On occasion he would indicate action using only his head, pointing his dimpled chin in one direction or the other, and observing with detachment as soldiers about-faced and strode off intent on fulfilling his commands.