A Brooding Flier - from Madigan

Madigan stared at the jug of ale. It’d be his fifth drink of the night. The pub was crowded, yet far from merry or rowdy as one would expect from such an environment. People were terribly solemn. They looked aged, despite many being young. The natural result of imminent disaster’s weight falling upon you.

Drinking was only a means to numb emotion.

Madigan grumbled as he took a sip. Compared to the alcohol he indulged during his many travels, the kind here was mediocre at best. But they all shared the same effect – drowning away any sorrow, and for years, that’s what drove him.

“That’ll be another two copper,” the bartender said, the only sober person left in the building.

He could’ve been grateful that it was cheap, not egregiously overpriced like some items for sale at the market by greed-possessed merchants – but instead, it bothered him. For what reason? He didn’t know.

In fact, everything was bothersome. The snores from a patron on a stool beside him, the depressed murmurs from another two at a nearby table. Even the subtle creaks of the roof irked him.

“Take it,” Madigan mumbled, tossing the coins onto the stand. Another sip of boring ale slipped down his throat.

This would be his life for the rest of the year – a careless drunk. That was the plan, anyway. With the Nexus closing in, there’d be no more new lands to explore, so he was out of a job. He could be a messenger, as was often suitable for Fliers, but the position seemed so subservient that it revolted him. Being at some well-to-do Elder’s beck and call?

“Yeah, right,” he thought.

His golden eyes studied the ring on his finger. Dainty looking opposed to his brawny hands. He toyed with it idly, spinning it round and round, as its swirled design hypnotized him – either that, or the ale was making him dizzy. But when memories of his “special day” sought entry into his mind, he stopped.

Sentiments were useless now. No – they always had been. Madigan learned that the hard way. You could have all the love in the world, but if you were unable to keep it, what was the point? He had long determined that all “love” could offer was a temporary bliss.

And once love was taken, it couldn’t be retrieved.

Except, maybe he would’ve thought differently, if it weren’t for that Mender. So much hatred held against someone who’s face he had never seen, whose name was the only thing he knew about him.

But if he did happen to see him one day…

His talons scratched the floor.

Then Madigan would surely make their meeting unforgettable.

However, that was a dream he had long swept under the rug. He searched high and low, but there was no trace of him. Giving up was only rational. Even so, in his miserably drunken state, the Mender’s name invaded his thoughts relentlessly.

Yohan. Yohan. Yohan.

Like a spell.

One so intense that it distracted him from the real world. A gust of wind blew in from outside as a bell rang above the door, but he didn’t acknowledge either. Nor did he notice the quiet footsteps that came closer to him.

It was only when a finger poked his wings that made him alert again – though with all the alcohol in his system, it was waning.

“Excuse me, sir…”

Madigan slowly turned his head to the young woman behind him. Gentle appearing, with a face that was soft yet angular, and blonde curls poking out from under her hood.

“You were the Flier at the Elder’s Hall,” she said.

He grunted in response.

She held out her hand to shake, to which Madigan obliged sluggishly.

“My name is Isolde, and… This may be sudden, but I have a favor to ask of you.”

His dazed look turned into a glare. Random women asking for “favors” at a pub never had good intentions, lying in wait for some unsuspecting drunk guy to steal from.

“Oh, please. Take a hike.”

Isolde’s blue eyes widened. She was – confused, hesitant? As the room started to blur, he couldn’t decipher.

“I’m – I’m sorry?”

“Wha, you deaf? Get going, brat. I ain’t some sucker.”

“Do you think I’m trying to… Trick you, or something?”

“Theskyisblue,” he said in slurred speech. “Howdidyou,” he roughly shook his head to regain some stability, “how did you even find me?”

“I asked around… The village isn’t large, word gets about quick.”

“So, you’ve been stalking me. Not really helping your case here, creep.”

“Wh- no! I can assure you that wasn’t what I was doing!”

Madigan’s eyes felt heavy, his senses starting to flee once more. “Then… Educate me.”

Isolde took a seat. She fiddled with her thumbs, and for a while she didn’t meet Madigan’s gaze – not that he was paying much attention to her either. But after a jolt of assumably courage, Isolde straightened up and said to him,

“I request a guide to Arenard.”

The mountainous region of the Fliers, far out in the north. If he took breaks and flew leisurely, a two-day trip from the village to there. Nonetheless, Madigan never understood the Fliers who agreed to being anyone’s escort as if they were mules, no matter how tipsy he was.

It annoyed him like nothing else, and if he were more himself, he would’ve snapped at her. But a swatting gesture would have to be suffice.

“Nope. Can’t help ya.”

Her shoulders slumped, that bit of confidence disappearing. “May I ask why not? I’d compensate you, of course – somehow.”

“Entitled much. I said ‘no,’ but you’re still pushing.”

Madigan chugged down the rest of his drink, slamming it down once he finished. He raised the jug, shamelessly signaling for a sixth refill. Even the bartender looked concerned, but as Madigan threw him some more coinage, he did his job.

“I didn’t mean to offend you…”

“Well, you did. So.”

He spun his cup and watched the liquid swish side to side, but his agitation grew as Isolde remained. Couldn’t she catch a hint?

“You can go now—”

His head felt woozy. Very. Voices, belonging to Isolde and the bartender, asked him if he was alright, but they were drained out. The whole pub turned upside down and shapes distorted.

“Ah – crap.”

At last, Madigan’s bad habits caught up to him. He never learned his lesson. The last of his consciousness abandoned his body and it made him feel light all over. Darkness was the last thing he saw, as he passed out onto the floor.