Furley sighed, looking at the fireplace, shuffling his cards idly in his hands, looking down at the box designed for him by Bexly. There was something about the cards that had mesmerised him so. The game seemed simple, yet eloquent, and he'd seen nothing quite like it either. And the artwork was sublime; every brushstroke adding character and colour to the deck.
He enjoyed the warmth of the fire on his face, and was idly listening to his new friend singing a song in the tavern, though she was unaware of his presence as he'd decided to take time to reflect by himself. All-in-all, he'd had a poor week. And miscalculated a great many things.
It had all started when a man claiming to be a bounty hunter had come for Deorla in the middle of the Prancing Pony in broad daylight. He'd stood in the way of the man, with another companion of his. Alas, nobody understands her, or gives her a chance, he thought to himself. Keep mispronouncing the word 'hero', and accidentally say 'murderer'. Damned fools.
When you owe someone a life debt, though, that never goes away. No matter what happens between people you consider family, that can never change, either, no matter their label. The Watch didn't understand that, and constantly mithered him. Truth be told, he never knew where she was. She came and went as she pleased, and catching her was like trying to contain smoke. He had given the Watch his diary of observations in order to comply with their investigation, but he didn't think it'd help. She was erratic at best.
But with the heat turning up on her, he'd decided to do something about it. He'd tried to employ the hunter that had threatened her to remove her from Bree-Land, where at least she'd be safe for the remainder of her exile. The problem was, though, that he was a hot-headed man. He'd have been hard to sway.
And that's where he'd made the worst decision of all. He'd overheard a conversation between him and his new romance, Ristiinna, and had thought he'd found a weakness in the man. A pressure point in order to sway him.
Boy, was he wrong about that.
Furley chuckled to himself, as he replayed what he'd said in his mind. "Is it raining tonight", he'd asked, as she'd told her lover she slept outside. "The hills are dark at night", he'd implied to the hunter. That was a mistake. First off, Furley was no villain. He didn't even have a weapon any longer, and even with it he'd made an average combatant at best. And just like the card game he'd been playing, the hunter, Baraque, had called his bluff. He'd made the worst mistake in the book, as his old mentor, Rastrick used to say, "never say something you can't follow through with".
The hunter had made it plainly obvious of the consequences of saying things like that. In the end, Furley had tried to coerce him back on side, but there was no way of bridging that gap again, it seemed.
Looking back down at the deck in his palm, he fanned it out again, allowing his thoughts to drift idly. Looking down at the stats on the cards, he chuckled to himself. If I was a card, my Guile rating would be 1, he grinned inwardly. Much like the game, he knew that at times there were unpredicted outcomes. And he certainly couldn't have predicted what had happened after that.
The bartender had a strong word with him, and he had smiled through it. After all, in cards you must not give away your gambit, and especially if it fails, you must merely find another way. What had surprised him, though, was a knife in the neck from Demlemoth, a man who had been talking to his lover by the bar. Man has ears like a hawk to hear a conversation he wasn't party to, he thought.
Perhaps Furley should have let it lie. He hadn't enjoyed the insults thrown that day from Tessrah and Bericoft, the Watchman. Perhaps that'd ticked him off. Perhaps he should've let it go, but he couldn't.
So he'd given it one last go at the hunter, to try convince him.
He'd sent him a feather. He wanted one last meeting with him. He was going to go all in. Either he was going to get the man onside, or he was going to ensure that he wasn't going to try and harm Deorla. Not that she needed looking after, mind, he thought. Not only had he sent that man a feather, but he'd sent a message to Deorla to meet him in Bree.
After taking a walk with Bexly, they'd returned to the tavern and found a rather unsavoury scene. The barmaid confronted him over the feather, and he had smiled, about to tell her the tale. She was headstrong, and he thought that telling her what and why he'd planned what he had would either work, or clear things up.
That had been until he'd turned round, and seen a mob of people, staring at him, hands on their weapons, led by this Demlemoth and his companion, Egfor. At that moment, he'd felt fear. He was being intimidated and threatened in return, and it had worked.
Flipping through the deck, he stared for a moment at 'The Knight' card. It had the highest stat for martial ability in the game, and in this situation, their five cards absolutely outweighed any statistic he could attempt to win with. This was not the moment, he'd thought. When Demlemoth smashed a barrel as he stared deadpan at him, Furley knew he didn't want to antagonise the man further who'd wielded a knife at him a few nights ago.
"What, the feather?" he'd said. "It was my offering of peace". He could see in her face that she knew it was a lie, but he had no desire to tangle with these maniacs bearing down on him. Oh, boy, how he'd misjudged that one conversation with the hunter. It had been like the falling of small stones that dislodged the mountainside in an aggressive avalanche that was determined to sweep him away.
He'd become somewhat distracted, for it felt like a million things happened at once. Then, the girl who had sat with him and played cards was stood up, defending his honour as the barrel-smasher beared down on her, and that made him more nervous for her. This man was trying to frighten her, and that didn't sit well with Furley.
As he stood there, at the bar, he was playing through his mind all the possible outcomes that could come of all this, but mainly for her personal security. They'd made it clear to her that her association with him made it unsafe. Damnit, if only I'd not given my protection to...
Daphnee. There she was, rags and all. She'd come back from wherever she had been. He'd waited so long, and there she was, stood right in front of him, grinning.
Unwittingly, Furley had selected "The Lady" card in his hand, as he dwelled on his thoughts. Looking at it, and it's work, feeling it in his hands, he smiled.
No matter what lay ahead, he knew, if he had this card in his deck that somehow, he'd be alright. Smiling as he listened to the song behind him, he let himself take this evening to himself, in the anonymity of the fire at the back of the tavern.
