Deleted Scene: Markelhay the Younger

"Queer bunch o' folks, if I say so myself." Elder Ghort said, picking his teeth with a stiletto dagger, his paunch hanging over his belt. His short frame barely came up to the windowsill of the house he leaned against. He was talking with another of his race, a halfling in non-descript clothing, and a hat far too large for it, that slipped over its eyes, as a group of humans bustled to and fro to make the house a proper residence for their 'lord'.

"Doesn't cut a pretty figure, that's for sure" Ghort's companion said, "His prissy arms don' look like they gots a days work in 'em." The Humans nearby didn't appear to hear them, being too concerned as they were with watching their purses and carrying out their tasks. Ghort stiffled a snort "Don' see how he coulda killed a dragon, he don' even look like he could give Fatty Shorthouse a decent minute in the ring." Both of the halflings laughed at the conjured image. Fatty Shorthouse was Elder Ghort's son, and was the most rotund halfling of the town, some of the people who frequented the town wondered how his legs could support his weight, so round was his frame, he was also notoriously lazy, and had difficulty with chores that halfling youn' 'uns were usually tasked with. This was forgiven however, when Fatty displayed his talent in wrestling overconfident adventurers who wished for accommodation for the night.The halflings often had fun at their expense before giving them lodging and some food in return for the entertainment.

The voices of the half-lings carried through the window to Boris Markelhay's room, as he removed his armour. His friends had told him they were going to look for some booze around the town. Karl had mentioned something about a brothel, but Boris knew that he had no interest in the short folk that were almost all who occupied the town. The halfling's words reached his ears, as he unlasped the straps on the chest plate of his full plate, but they didn't travel much further. His mind was too occupied too take their words into consideration. The breastplate popped free as he undid the last strap and it fell to the ground with a clatter. He picked it up, and placed it next to his shield, both proudly adorned with the Markelhay family crest by Teldorthan when he had been but an infant. His father had always wanted him to be a knight lord since he was young, but Boris disappointed him in many ways. Boris wanted to blame his lack of prowess with a blade on how spoilt he had been by his mother, but she hadn't been around long enough for that, and her words and embrace had long ago become a thing of the past. He removed his greaves. He had never taken to fighting, but had found happiness in talking with the people of the town, and made friends with many of their number during his training to assume a place in the guild. A good will gesture his father had called it, Make the people see we aren't beyond getting our hands dirty.

He quickly dressed in more comfortable clothes when he had finally removed the bulky plate mail. They didn't have long to spend in the town, but a Lord Markelyhay couldn't visit a town without dining with it's leaders. It was simply proper etiquette. He sighed heavily. The dawn would bring with it the culmination of all his father's hopes for him. Boris had hoped to delay such responsibilities as long as possible, but his father had been so proud of him when he'd brought the dragon corpse back to Fallcrest. He'd taken credit for the deed without thinking, and his father had been so proud, he couldn't come back later and tell him the truth. His father's pride bore a heavy cost. He was chosen to lead the Town guard, and take his father's role at the head of the army. He had only recently come of age, and was a good five years younger than his father had been when he'd had similar trials. He knew he had no idea what he was to do, but his father had made it seem so elementary. Just raise your sword, and charge the bastards he had said, the scent of wine upon his breath. Easier said than done. But he had to come home with some credibility. Maybe the adventurers would help him when the time came, he wondered. He'd seen their handiwork in the basement below the ruined temple, and knew that they would be more suited to taking the lead than he would. They'd never take his order's though.
He sat down at the desk provided by the halflings, but maybe... he thought, drawing his maps of the city and it's surrounding area from a haversack that lay nearby.

Lord Markelhay left his residence, and met his friends outside. The halflings had been decidedly uncooperative in their search for booze, and the only action Karl had gotten was that a halfling woman had offered to allow him to plough her pastures, but meant it literally. They followed Markelhay to the Town Hall. The council of town elders had laid out a table of all their finest vegetables and meats, and called the Humans to sit and talk with them. They had a long ride ahead of them in the morning.