Granyt Doorkeep

The last few punters staggered out of the Stout Oak. Based on the shattered barstools, an unconscious Ogryn hanging out of a window, multiple teeth and blood pools decorating the floor, and the slumped body of a Dock Guard draped across a bench, <color=#774418>Maulie’s</color> night was just beginning. The inn was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by the pops and crackles of its raging fire. Maulie finally exhaled as a being who could move literal mountains stepped out of the shadows behind the bar. Even after all these years, she still marveled at Granyt, the only bouncer she needed. His muscled, blue-grey skin was etched with runic tattoos that pulsed a pale green. Stone encased his shoulders, forearms, and hands. Several rocks, each with their own rune, wobbled as they orbited his bald head. Maulie still had no idea what made him this way. Such were the mysteries of Geomancers. Granyt surveyed the devastation, whistling at its scale. ‘I’ve seen cave-ins neater than this.’ ‘Lumaya wept – I told you to de-escalate the situation, not start a free-for-all. <color=#774418>Keeyra’s</color> going to have me drowning in paperwork because you injured another of her Dock Guards.’ Maulie gestured to the heap on the bench, who had an almighty welt over his right eye. ‘Dangers of the job. He jumped in to break it up, and happened to collide with my fist. Honest mistake.’ Granyt flexed his fingers, dust falling from the joints. ‘The black eye, yes. The boot up the arse when he called you a rock-fisted son of a rankmole, no.’ ‘It was a two-for-one deal.’ The two began their nightly routine – Granyt with his heavy mop and bucket, Maulie gathering the flagons dotted around the inn. The two worked independently, Granyt whistling half-forgotten Tunnelling Guild work songs while Maulie tried to sing the latest ditty the traveling bard had brought from Kaerok. She kept stumbling over the chorus, her mind wandering to Granyt. Did he know? Had he remembered? After a couple of hours, the Stout Oak Inn was back to its usual state, with its back-window patched by a panel of solid rock, and the unconscious Ogryn sleeping peacefully on the flagstones outside – thanks to a simple heave-ho from Granyt. The two returned to the bar, Maulie taking up a stool as Granyt walked behind the counter. Her eyes lingered on him, her gaze a mix of awe and pity. He took the gilded tankard and drinking horn from his belt, gave them a quick spit wash, and filled them up with foaming ale. He gave the horn to Maulie and the two both gulped down the swirling liquid, letting out simultaneous gasps of refreshment. ‘Swiftcreek’s really outdone themselves with this one,’ Maulie said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. ‘You’ve had that look all day, what is it?’ Granyt asked. ‘Well, I checked the calendar. Today marks 10 years since you crashed through that door, caked in dirt, soot, and Lumaya knows what else, and pleaded with me to help you.’ A prolonged pause hung in the air. ‘Feels like yesterday,’ he said. ‘The relief when you saw me.’ ‘I hadn’t seen a friendly face for a while.’ ‘You were absolutely exhausted. I sat you in front of that fire and all you could do was say that one phrase. Can you remember it?’ ‘They’re all trapped.’ Granyt’s eyes were now drawn to the fire, and he rapidly clenched and unclenched his fists. Maulie sat by him, placing her hand on a rocky shoulder. ‘Do you still think about it?’ She asked. ‘Every day I see them, out of the corner of my eye, dressed exactly how they were. At the bar, crowded round the fire. I can hear them singing the same old songs. But when I look at them, they melt away. The lords of the pit – snuffed out like a candle.’ The two sat in silence for a short while. ‘Let’s drink to them. If they’re always here, they’ll cheers with us too,’ Maulie said. ‘Let’s give ‘em the good stuff – we’re commemorating something.’ She went behind the bar, gathered two flutes of fine Aravian glassware and poured two glugs of crystalline liquor into each. She passed one to Granyt, still amazed that someone with hands of stone could hold something so delicate. She cleared her throat. ‘To all the hooligans you’ve knocked out, all the pies I’ve served up, and to all the punters we’ve given a spot of comfort. An island of calm, in a sea of muck. Cheers!’ Maulie held out her glass to Granyt. A smile crept across his face as he clinked his glass with hers. ‘Cheers Maulie. To many more years.’