Enialis

The sun rises to a crest over the snowy peaks of the mountains above. A figure appears over the ridge, stumbling and fighting through the several feet of snow that has accumulated.  A cool, north wind blows, causing the figure to draw their blood soaked cloak tighter round themself. The figure clutches their side as they continue through the drifts, wind at their back. Momentarily stopped, the figure turns to look over their shoulder, then suddenly falls. The surrounding snow starts to turn red, dyed by the wound on the persons’ side. This is where I come in. My name is Enialis Galanodel, a good for nothing drunken bastard who’s seen to much in his many ages upon this world. Somehow the ale seems to ease the pain of the many lost loves, and fallen comrades. I came upon this person, a woman who, when coherent enough said her name was Jillian Amastacia. Not that it mattered much, I still had to drag her unconscious figure to the tavern that was a mile or two up the road. This is where my tale ended, and my legend began.
         Clutching the woman on my back, I rush to the taverns door, hastily rearing back and kicking the door in. “Barkeep, I need a bed and some ale!”, I shout as I rush up the stairs in search of a place to lay her. I look over my shoulder, the barkeep isn’t far behind, and he’s brought what looks like a flask of whiskey with him. Good, at least he seems to have half a brain. I throw the woman onto the bed and immeaditly try to unclasp her breastplate. To no avail do I succeed. Time for plan B, and with that I draw my knife. Carefully, but with a quick precise cut, I get the breastplate off. The wound looks bad, probably from a axe, or some form of crude sword.
“Shut the damn door!”, I yell to the barkeep who is standing ideally by, “And hand me that alcohol.”.  Using some hasty first aid, I managae to stop the bleeding and put on a shoddy bandage. I slump back into a chair and examine the situation, using what brain cells I have left after my excessive drinking. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not iggnorant by any measure, but compared to someone like a elvish scholar or so, I don't even stack up). I glance at the barkeep, he looks like he'll be sick. You'd think someone who has to deal with a place this filthy daily would show a little more backbone. "Go fetch me a ale, stout if you will.", I say as I toss him a coin from my pouch. "Yes sir, right away.", and so he shuffles out holding to the wall for stability. I get up to clean my hands, a little dazed, most likely from the lack of sleep.  Stumbling over to the sink, I knock over a few trinkets on the dresser. I splash some cold water on my face...it helps a little. I hear the door creak open behind me, I turn to see the bartender bringing me my stout. I cross the room with a few great strides and grasp it from his hands. "I'll watch the woman." and with that I push him out of the room and shut the door. I stumble into the chair and down the stout. The cold drink burns a tad as it goes down. Nothing like that sensation when you feel like I do. My eyelids start to get heavy, and I begin to slump in my chair. Sleep overtakes me, against my best efforts, and silence engulfs the world around me.
         "Thump!, Thump!, Thump!" the sound resonates in my ears. I crack an eye open to get a glimpse of the room.