isn't the answer.

I walked forward, my hands going slack. I was the son of a merchant, I had never been taught how to fight. If I tried, I'd just get killed. Maybe, I reasoned, these people would be different. Maybe they wouldn't try to hurt me, just for the curling horns and slitted eyes.

Maybe.

Maybe.

I screwed my eyes shut and walked into the lamplight, feeling like a fool. I reached out with clawed hands when I reached the door and knocked. One, just a light tap, and then a second time with conviction. I felt like the sound should have rung out like thunder, but it still sound feeble to my ears.

The door opened and I found myself looking into a broad chest with thick arms. A beard barely curled into my view and I notice that the arm ended in a hand gripping a cudgel.

"Who're you?"