O — The Ogre at the Door

 

Tegort, Udrin’s unnerving bodyguard…who may not have been entirely alive.

Most bodyguards loomed. Tegort lingered.

Wherever Udrin went in Padua, Tegort was rarely far behind. He was an immense figure, planted near a doorway, a wall, or whatever narrow space best let him watch the room. At first glance he was simply a large man, the sort whose shoulders filled a frame and whose silence discouraged questions. But the longer people looked, the more unsettled they became. His movements were slow but precise, his gaze distant in a way that suggested he was listening to something no one else could hear.

And then there was the stillness.

Tegort could stand for hours without shifting his weight, without clearing his throat, without the small fidgets that betrayed ordinary life. Some swore they had seen him remain in place through an entire evening at Katerina’s Rest, untouched mug before him, never once taking a sip. Others whispered that when the lanternlight hit his face just right, his skin had the pale, waxy look of something preserved rather than living.

Udrin, of course, offered no explanation.

Whether Tegort was a loyal servant, a magically sustained guardian, or something far stranger depended entirely on who you asked…and how much ale they’d had. What everyone agreed on was simpler: if Tegort was standing in a doorway, you think carefully before crossing it…or maybe you just find somewhere else to go.

Because whatever else he was, the Ogre at the Door was very good at making sure people stayed exactly where they belonged.