by R C Gray
The innkeeper waved his arms towards the main room below. “The bloody elf the guards have in custody, and the dead body down there on the floor is proof enough. The elf said you was priests that wouldn’t cause any trouble, but I should have known better when I saw two green-skins with ‘im. Now I have to spend hours scrubbing blood off the floor. That’s what I get for trying to be gracious and give travelers a place to stay. I should’ve trusted my gut. But that’s enough chatter. Get your bags and get out. I have more problems to deal with and don’t have time to waste on the likes of you.”
Braig let out a grunt and ran his hand over the back of his neck. He knew that trouble would eventually find them, he just didn’t think it would be this soon. Glancing at the bags on the floor behind him, he leaned his head out of the door and peered down the hallway. “You’ll have to give me some time. I have to get all our gear. It’s not just me that had things here.”
One of the men stepped forward, pushing his head into the open door as he scanned Braig’s room. “You better make it quick. And we’ll be here watching to make sure you don’t steal anything.”
Braig clenched his teeth as he made his way around the room, grabbing his clothing and keeping his distance from the coins hidden under his mattress. If the men knew he had any gold, they would likely take it for themselves, not caring whether or not the money they had already paid covered the damages. With his bag flung over his shoulder and his arms full, he moved from room to room, gathering all of their supplies and stacking them in a single pile in the hallway.
Glancing down at the mound of sacks, Braig stared up at the two armed men keeping an eye on him. “And how am I supposed to carry all this? I don’t suppose you’re gonna offer me a horse and cart since you’re throwing me out of here, are ya?”
“That’s not our problem. Now pick up this trash and get moving. Make a few trips if you have to but get it out of here.”
Braig clenched his fists and began to load bags onto his back and walk down the stairs. The room below him was covered in bits of smashed wood and fresh blood on the floor. Noticing several guards inspecting the body near the corner of the room, he kept his head down, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Stopping to pick up Skara’s daggers, Braig pushed his way through the small crowds of onlookers and strode towards the door.
Calling over the stable boy, he told him to keep an eye on his bags while he made several more trips into the inn to gather the rest of their gear. Piling their supplies in a nearby alley, he made his way back inside, keeping his head low as he made several trips back and forth for the rest of their belongings.
After grabbing the last of his bags, Braig turned to look at the broken tables and blood strewn across the room one last time. He wasn’t sure what happened, but he knew that a place with a name like The Fist wasn’t anywhere he’d want to be.
Noticing the scowl on the innkeeper’s face, Braig glanced over his shoulder at the two armed men behind him.
“You see what your friends did down here? Now keep moving before we make you look like that body over there on the floor.”
Shaking his head, Braig gave the innkeeper one last glare before he stepped out of the front door and trudged over to his bags stacked in the alleyway next to the inn. Leaning heavily against the wall, he slid down to the dirty cobblestones and rubbed his hands roughly over his face. Not sure of what he should do next, he looked up at the stable boy standing in the shadows next to him.
“I need you to do one more thing for me,” Braig said, looking around to make sure no one was nearby.
“What’ll that be, sir?”
“I need you to run and fetch Ferhani for me. There’s some coin in it for ya if you hurry. Otherwise, there may not be anything left I can give you.”
The boy looked up and down the road and nodded to Braig. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, sir. But I can’t guarantee that she’ll come.”
Braig sighed as the boy took off running down the road, leaving small clouds of dust behind his heels as he ran. Pulling his shield closer to his chest, he watched crowds of people as they sauntered by, eyeing all the bags sitting next to him in the dark alley. Clenching his sword in his hand, he gazed down the road, hoping to see a familiar face sooner than later. “She’ll come, boy. She has to come.”
A Tale of Sigurn and Ingrid
Bodhran stood as silent as stone on the stage, his thick fingers holding the long scroll open in front of him, letting its length rest neatly on the floor in front of his feet. The low hum of chatter fell silent as Bodhran turned his eyes from one table to the next, studying the crowd. His voice boomed across the room as he spoke, reading aloud from the scroll.
“The tale of Sigurn Follan and Ingrid of Drell is a story of bravery, love, victory, and also of tragedy. Our tale begins in the northern reaches of Svegard over a thousand years ago, on a morning not unlike any other for our heroines. For our heroines, you see, were hunters of great renown. Not simple hunters like you or I, but hunters of great beasts and abominations of dark magic. They were called from town to town, land to land, to vanquish the loathsome creatures that brought havoc or left death in their wake. But it was in Wolden that they began what would be their greatest triumph and last great hunt. For it was on this morning that they were called eastward to hunt a foul and terrible evil that had befallen the city of Hammerhold.
“For you see, the great keep of Hammerhold held many riches of both gold and magic. The dwarves and men inhabiting the city had been burrowing deep into the heart of Hiraeth to find the treasures that ran through its veins while establishing trade routes on the surface to sell their beautifully crafted wares. But tales of the precious gems and metals soon spread and began to attract unwanted attention. For greed, you see, is a powerful thing that can corrupt even the purest of intentions. It began with creatures pouring from the dark tunnels deep beneath the ground, claiming lives as they filled their bellies on the flesh of their victims and stuffing their pouches full before scurrying back into the darkness. But the worst was yet to come.”
Pausing to give a quick glance over the crowd, Bodhran adjusted the scroll and took a small sip out of a cup sitting on the small table next to him. As a brief silence filled the room, he let his intense stare fall onto several of the men and women in the crowd before lowering his eyes back to the scroll.
Renna could hear low whispers from nearby tables as several mugs clinked against the wooden tabletops as people took long drinks of their ale, their eyes wide as they waited for the story to continue. Raising one of his arms high into the air, Bodhran’s loud voice bellowed across the open room, bringing an end to the low murmur of whispers as he continued to read from the long scroll.
“Soon, over the hills to the east, a shadow emerged, blocking the light of the sun as it flew, casting a deep shadow across the walls of the keep. It was a large winged creature, the likes of which had not been seen for over a hundred years. But this was not the first time this creature had been seen, for it was known throughout the land as a scourge, a desecrator of temples, and a destroyer of fields. It had been dormant for so long that most believed the creature was nothing more than a fable told to scare small children into doing what they were told. But alas, it had returned once more to cause chaos and leave destruction in its wake. It was, you see, the Black Dragon of Edinmoore.”
Renna shifted in her seat as she took a long drink of her mead, draining the mug and holding it up in the air, motioning for another. As the barmaid refilled her cup, Renna set down several copper coins on the table, never turning her attention from Bodhran as he continued to speak, his voice steady and deep.
“And so, word had been sent westward on the wings of a raven to call for the aid of Sigurn and Ingrid, the great slayers of beasts. For those inhabiting Hammerhold knew not what to do against a creature such as this and were hard-pressed to keep the dragon at bay. But the distance was great, and no one knew if word of the beast would reach them in time. And as the days pas
sed, hope began to fade for those in the keep as they saw no signs of Sigurn and Ingrid on the horizon.
“But, unbeknownst to them, Sigurn and Ingrid were within two days of the keep, pushing ever onwards, stopping to rest only when exhaustion nearly pulled them from their saddles. For it was a long ride, and the blowing snow slowed their horses and caused delay, and two days was far too long for those at the keep to withstand the might of their fierce tormentor.”
Bodhran set down the scroll and lowered his voice, looking out across the crowd as he spoke, a slight waver in his voice. “The burden of the attacks was too much to bear, and the foundation of the keep had been shaken and left to crumble. The city of Hammerhold was brought to ruin, and the keep collapsed, burying most of the inhabitants and treasure beneath its great walls. But despite all the death and destruction, the dragon was not yet satisfied, and its bloodlust not yet sated. Turning its gaze south, the beast began its journey across the Usarq to the land of Breoce in Auren.”
The crowd sat in silence as the weight of his words sank in. Although the destruction was far to the west, stories of the loss of life had traveled across the ocean with merchants, bards, and those that had seen the death firsthand. It could have just as easily been Uthrea that had felt the wicked bite of the dragon, and the fear that it could happen again was always waiting, pushed deep into their souls, hidden away out of sight.
Straightening his shoulders, Bodhran took a deep breath, bowing his head slightly as he picked up the scroll and continued. “And as Sigurn and Ingrid looked upon the ruin of Hammerhold, they were shocked to see so few survivors. Cold, starving and afraid, those that had lived were huddled close to the crumbled walls of the once great keep and were warming their bloodied, cracked hands near the small fires that were littered across the wreckage. After hearing the story of the downfall, Sigurn and Ingrid gathered a small crew of willing and able sailors and set off across the Usarq Ocean to track the beast, hoping to finally end its tyranny and spare other towns from suffering the same fate as Hammerhold.
“But again, they were too late. As the pair set foot on land and made their way to the town of Blackbriar, they were told by travelers and townsfolk that the dragon had been seen flying southward, heading towards the village of Siegen. Again, the two huntresses were too late. As Sigurn and Ingrid arrived in Siegen, it was in ruins, smashed like a pebble under a hammer. The buildings and homes were broken and destroyed. The stones of the once tall towers were crumbled, feeble, and hunched like an old man that had seen too many winters. The bare bones of the town were scattered across the landscape, and the weeping could be heard from every direction. Although they couldn’t match the speed of the dragon, they pushed onwards, determined to follow the beast to the ends of the world if they had to. Immediately, the pair set off and continued their hunt for the Black Dragon of Edinmoore.”
Bodhran stretched out his arms, pointing off towards the distance, motioning with his hands as his voice became louder and faster with the twists of the tale. “Continuing forward, their hunt led them over hills and forests, across plains and valleys, only to arrive in Norgrath, which had been decimated. The shops were torn apart like paper in the rain. The thatched roofs and stables were covered in mud and littered with bloody bones. The great beast, it would seem, had grown hungry and had eaten the livestock and several of the inhabitants of the town. But there was a glimmer of hope amidst the destruction, and the townsfolk weren’t as unprepared as the other unfortunate towns.
“Norgrath, being so close to Smuggler’s Pass, had its fair share of trouble and had made preparations to protect themselves as best they could. And because of earlier attacks on the city, large harpoons had been crafted that were capable of piercing the hulls of attacking vessels. These bolts helped to keep bandits or raiders at bay that might be looking for what they believed to be easy treasure from the town or to stop those trying to escape into the rocky crags of the pass. And it was with one of these bolts that the dragon was injured. The shot, while missing its mark, was able to pierce one of the thin membranes on the wing of the beast, tearing a large hole that slowed the dragon’s flight. Knowing this could be their only chance, Sigurn and Ingrid set out to try to head off the beast before it reached the next town to the west.
“The pair, bolstered by hope, boarded a small vessel and began to navigate through the treacherous rocks that littered Smuggler’s pass. Time seemed to slow as they spent the daylight hours scanning the horizon for any signs of movement, and it was on their second day in the pass when they noticed something dark flitting in the sky several miles ahead of them. It was the black dragon, darting from massive stone to massive stone above the still, deep waters below. It would seem that the damage to its wing had worsened when it tried to fly, and it now had a jagged tear running the length of a single membrane of its tri-sectioned wing. And although injured, its wings weren’t completely useless, and it was still able to carry itself nearly a mile before it needed to rest.
“But as the pair grew closer, the dragon became aware of their presence and flew towards the mountain range that followed the river on its southern side. Using its sheer strength, it flew high into the sky, landing on a jagged outcropping of rocks near the peak of the mountain, clawing its way upwards and over until it was out sight. Knowing there would be no way to follow its route over the steep mountain, Sigurn and Ingrid sailed onwards, desperately looking for any pathway that cut through the towering stones of the mountains. Had it not been for the Thiarri in their high elven city of Lunorin, Sigurn and Ingrid could have passed through the mountain range on the heels of the dragon, possibly overtaking it before it could make its escape. But alas, nearly half a day had passed when they finally reached a point beyond the mountain range that would allow them to head south without passing through the hostile land of the Thiarri.”
Several hisses and boos came from the crowd at the mention of the high elves. Mugs and fists pounded steadily on the tables, and Renna saw several dirty looks pointed in her direction as Bodhran raised his hands in the air to silence the crowd. She had no idea why she would be getting dirty looks at the mention of high elves. Although she had elvish blood, it was clear that she also had orcish blood flowing through her veins. Thinking that it was most likely just ignorance or general dislike for anyone different, she shook her head and took another drink of her mead and turned her attention back to the dwarf as his voice drifted across the room.
“It was a grueling ride towards the town of Asheborn, but by luck or sheer force of will, Sigurn and Ingrid managed to arrive before the dragon and made haste in their preparations, for the dragon could arrive at any moment. As Sigurn rallied the warriors and all able-bodied peasants in the town, Ingrid prepared spells and rituals to aid her in the upcoming battle. Defenses were set as best as could be managed, and those that couldn’t fight were evacuated south to cross the ferry and make their way to the port city of Marillia.”
Moving to the edge of the stage, Bodhran’s eyes flickered from one person to the next as he continued, his voice low and soft. “As the sun began to set and the torches were lit throughout the town, Sigurn and Ingrid rested on the battlements. Their journey thus far had been long and full of peril, and their bodies were weary from the hard road. But alas, there could be little rest when facing such a beast as the Black Dragon.”
The entranced crowd leaned forward in their seats, hanging on every softly spoken word. A heavy silence fell over the room as all eyes stared towards the stage. Suddenly, Bodhran clapped his hands loudly, the sharp noise echoing off the walls. Renna, along with several others in the pub jumped at the sound of the thundering clap. Letting out a slight laugh, she leaned back in her chair and checked the flower in her hair before looking around the room at the other patrons that were smiling at the brief fright.
Raising his voice, Bodhran waved his arms and shook his hands furiously as his pace quickened. “But unfortunately, their rest was short-lived, as all heard the crashing sound, growing louder a
s it crashed in closer and closer. To the east of town in the darkly dense forest, the trees bent and snapped as the monstrous creature pushed its way through, roaring and hissing in its blood craze. Its great, black body slithered like a snake through the trees, and its long, sharp, piercing tail waved above the tops of the cedars, like a great spear being carried into battle.
“The time had arrived. All of their hardships and joys had led them to this point, at this time—the following of the flowing threads of fate that would either continue to weave the story of their lives...or be snipped from the very tapestry of mortal life. It had all led to this.
“The dragon stepped into the clearing to stare into the faces of the frightened onlookers. Its heavy steps shaking the very ground, causing even the land to tremble at the might. Opening wide its fearsome maw, its heaving chest expanded with a deep breath that exhaled into a mind-piercing screech, causing all to cower and cover their ears against the shrill cry. And with a mighty flap of its wings, the dragon ascended and move forward towards the meager defenses that had been made.
“Sigurn steadied herself and called for a volley of arrows, which did little, if anything, to slow the beast. As it flew forward on broken and unsteady wings, its razor-sharp talons tore through the defensive walls before landing roughly in the heart of the town. Its tail swung from side to side, smashing person and building alike, with regard for nothing but its own bloodlust. As Ingrid looked on, she couldn’t help but think that the dragon was terrible, yet beautiful to behold. Its scales were smooth with sharp, thorn-like points that shown with a bluish hue as the light of the torches cast faint light onto its writhing body. Its four legs were powerful and taloned, and its pointed yellow teeth glinted with flecks of red as it tore apart any living creature that got too close. Beautiful, she thought, yet terrible.
“But one by one, all that challenged the dragon were struck down. Yet in its wild thrashing, it had destroyed several of the storage buildings containing food and supplies. In the destruction, numerous barrels of potent alcohol had burst and now covered the walls and ground beneath the dragon. As the fumes rose around the great beast, the flammable liquid spread across the ground to reach a fallen torch, causing a bright flash of blue flame that quickly engulfed the dragon, causing it to reel backwards. The ground beneath its feet lit up in flames, and the fire licked at its belly. And while its scales were hard like shields, its eyes had been seared the blast.
