The Hangmans Noose

Balar sat at the bar watching his patrons drink. He growled softly under his breath as he took in the sight of the strange crowd that occupied his common room this evening. The usual local farmers and merchants were absent, driven away by the newcomers. There was something wrong, something in the air. He could almost taste it. Absently he fingered a medallion, hung about his neck on a silver chain. At its centre sat a white stone that seemed to capture and reflect the firelight from the nearby hearth.

"If you keep glaring at them all like that, one of them is going to take a swing for you."

Balar turned to face his wife who stood hands on hips in the doorway to the kitchen. She gave him a wry smile and walked over.

"Its just bloody odd that's all." Balar complained.

"Yes, yes." Tiella soothed, placing a hand on his arm. "As you say, a very odd group of paying customers."

She stressed the last two words and gave his arm a squeeze. With a sigh, Balar reached over and dipped his tankard into a nearby barrel. He took a long hard swig of ale and then another. A sharp scent caught his nose then, it was familiar, just on the edge of memory.

"Do me a favour love." he said, his eyes suddenly on the front door to the common room.

"Yes?"

"Fetch my axe."