The rickety sign creaked as it swung in the autumn gust. Russet leaves fluttered through the air, telling of the colder months soon to come. The faded letters on the sign drooped in an odd way, so that even the jolly-sounding words ‘The Measly Onion’ looked rather old and dejected.

 Inside the tavern, the atmosphere wasn’t much different. A sketchy looking man leaned on a counter, absently flipping a gold coin in his thin hand. A few straggling travelers sat at tables, whispering quietly or saying nothing at all as they drank their ale out of huge tankards. 

A timid bard sat before the fire, plucking his instrument as quietly as he could, wanting to play a tune, but not daring to break the eery stillness. Thankfully, there was someone else about to do it for him. 

The thick, oak door suddenly was torn from it’s hinges and flung across the small room. The door sailed gracefully through the air and smashed to pieces on the stone floor. The guests stared, open-mouthed, displaying all sorts of teeth. Buck teeth, yellow teeth, straight teeth, sharp teeth, missing teeth, and average looking teeth.

The person who had hurled the door across the tavern stepped inside calmly, and strode up to the man at the counter. The new character was tall, broad, and tough-looking. He had a beard and wore a hood, pulled low to hide his eyes. He was dressed like your average bounty hunter: Black hood, black pants, black tunic, soft leather boots, a dagger strapped to his side, another dagger strapped to the other side, a sword on his back, along with a bow and a quiver of arrows. The only unusual thing about his get-up was the green bean crest emblazoned on the hilt of his sword. Other than that, he looked rather like a tall black porcupine.

He slammed his fist violently on the counter and demanded in a low, growly voice,

“I’ll take a pint of your strongest ale.”

The shifty tavern owner cowered, and dared to squeak out, “W-would that b-be the s-super jumbo s-special for you sir?”

Apparently, the bounty hunter did not want a super jumbo special, because he grabbed the man by the throat and stuffed him in a bin marked, ‘Deposit all unchewables here.’ The cashier stayed underneath the pile of apple cores, meat bones, and brownish glop, not daring to emerge. The bounty hunter then stormed to a nearby guest and snatched away his ale, before taking a long draught and slamming it down on the table. The table, held together by three and a half nails, splintered and fell apart.

The bounty hunter proceeded to tear a framed painting of King Thorold, (long may he reign), off the wall and slam it over the head of the poor timid bard. The painting ripped so that the bard’s round head stuck through, and the painting hung around his neck. He fainted, to be found later and taken to prison for disrespecting a portrait of the King, (long may he reign).  

Many of the guests finally came to their wits, jumped up, ran out the door, hopped on the nearest horse, and left town. This man was clearly prone to tantrums, and not to be messed with. 

The man snatched the wanted poster that was on the table and stared grimly at it for the space of five seconds. He carefully folded it, scored it, and tucked it in his pack. He calmly walked out the place where the door had been and went to the stables. He picked the lock of two stalls, and led the horses out. One was a black mare, and the other a brown stallion. He tied the black horse to the brown and rode off with both.