The Courtyard
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The drunk gatekeeper has fallen replaced by a red smear across the flagstones. The hero steps over the body and enters moonlit open air. A square of cobblestones, gallows shadows cast by the keep on two sides; a trestle table dumped with jugs and roast, surrounded by seven idle guards, firelight on their mail.
He draws his blade and steps directly into the lantern-glow.
Drink and dice lie thick here—cross the open killing-floor unseen or show the sword and hope they are too drunk to fight?