by Robert Bevan
“Quests?” asked Barlow. “What kind of question is that? Who asks something like that at a pub?”
“Like I said,” said Timmon. “Idiots.So I cooked up this whole kidnapping thing on the fly. I honestly didn’t expect them to live.”
“Hey!” said Dave. “Not cool, man.”
“They nearly killed me!” said Barlow.
“Relax,” said Timmon. “I told them to bring you back here alive. Just think of it as payback for when you threw two dire rats into my cot while I was sleeping.”
Barlow slapped his knees and laughed. “You should have seen your face!”
Timmon looked down at his feet. “Those furry little bastards have really grown on me.” He spit on the floor and the sounds of scraping and licking came from behind the bar. Tim scampered up Cooper’s side like a squirrel climbing a tree.
Barlow’s face turned serious. He looked at Tim, who was eye level with him on account of being on Cooper’s shoulders with his arms wrapped around his face. “Where are Shitnose and Leo?”
The quiet din of the congregation suddenly became completely silent. Everyone looked around at each other and confusedly put their fingers in their ears. Soon after, they spread out in a semicircle roughly the size of the Silence Stone’s area of effect, revealing two pissed-off looking orcs.
Leo was bruised, bleeding, and covered in dust. Shitnose had a lump on his head, and his nice silk tunic was wrinkled and smeared with blood.
Shitnose tossed the Silence Stone to Barlow, who slipped it into a small, black pouch. Sound returned to the room.
“What happened to your tunic?” asked Barlow.
Shitnose lowered his head. “I bought it to wear to your surprise party. Now it’s ruined.”
“Are those words written on it?”
Shitnose flared his nostrils at Tim. “That sadistic little prick cut me with a piece of broken glass!”
“I barely scratched him,” Tim objected.
“What does it say?” asked Barlow.
Shitnose stretched the bottom of his tunic down so that the letters were legible.Barlow read the words aloud.
NOW I HAVE
A CROSSBOW
HO – HO – HO
“I don’t understand,” said Barlow.
“I wasn’t even carrying a crossbow!” said Shitnose.
“Explain yourself, halfling,” demanded Barlow. “Was that meant to be a taunt?”
Tim sighed. “It was meant to be a joke. I thought it would be funny.”
“What’s wrong with you people?”
Timmon wore a perplexed frown. “What is HO – HO – HO?”
“Forget it,” said Tim. “Can we just get our money and get the hell out of this shithole?”
The pub fell silent. The only way Julian knew the Silence Stone hadn’t been reactivated was that he could still hear the dire rats behind the bar slurping up Timmon’s spit.The crowd of thugs, ruffians, and ne’er-do-wells seemed somehow larger and denser than it had just a moment ago.
Barlow the Butcher shook his head, then looked at Timmon. The expression on his face was easy enough to read. Do you believe the nerve of these assholes?
Timmon addressed Julian. “I would like to renegotiate the terms of our agreement.”
Tim choked on the last few drops of stonepiss in his flask. “No way, José!A deal’s a deal.” He tapped his empty flask on Cooper’s head. “And who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?”
Julian glared at Tim, hoping his expression was as easy to read as Barlow’s had been. Shut. The. Fuck. UP!
Tim ceased his antics and pursed his lips tightly.
Julian turned back to Timmon. He swallowed hard. “I’m listening.”
Timmon grinned. If you and your friends can make it through that door alive, I won’t feed you to my rats.”
“Ahem,” said Paulie.
Timmon looked at the bird. “Oh, right. The rats aren’t too choosy. You get first pick, Paulie.”
Julian turned toward the door. Shitnose and Leo were the two main obstacles between them and it. “Horse!”
As soon as the black and white speckled steed appeared, Julian slapped it on the ass. “Let’s go!”
The startled crowd scattered as the horse barreled over Shitnose and Leo. They’d both been through a rough day, and Julian felt a little bad about trampling them with a magical horse, but Tim had blown any chance that they might have had at a diplomatic resolution.
Julian, Dave, and Cooper followed the horse out as fast as they could while mugs, axes, and even chairs crashed against the walls on either side of the doorway.
Tim, who was still riding on Cooper’s back, flashed his middle finger at the crowd. “Yippee ki yay, motherfu—” His face slammed into the top of the doorframe as Cooper passed through, but otherwise they all made it out unharmed.
“Get them!” shouted Barlow the Butcher, apparently wanting to re-renegotiate the terms of their and Timmon’s agreement.
Julian slammed the door shut. “Horse!”
A magnificent copper-colored stallion appeared in front of the door. Julian stroked its cheek and let out a sympathetic sigh. “Whatever happens, stay right here. Okay?”
The door only opened an inch before being blocked by the horse. Angry screams poured out from inside the Rock Bottom Pub. The horse didn’t budge. He understood.
“That won’t hold them for long,” said Dave. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Cooper hoisted Dave up onto the black and white horse, then tucked Tim’s unconscious body under his arm like a football. Tim, knocked out cold as he was, did an impressive job of still holding on to his hip flask.
They had only run three blocks when they nearly bowled right over a pair of patrolling Kingsguard. One was dwarven, and the other half-elven, but both were solidly built warriors, bringing honor to His Majesty’s crest on their uniforms.
“Halt!” demanded the half-elf wielding a shiny-tipped spear. “What mischief do you make at this time of night?”
Julian shook his head nervously, his eyes constantly darting back toward the direction they had come from. “No mischief, sir. Just out for a stroll is all. I was having trouble sleeping.”
“You’re an elf,” said the Kingsguard. “Elves don’t sleep.”
Julian rolled his eyes and flicked himself in the temple. “Well there you go, then. Thanks, officers!” He spotted a raven flying in a small, concentrated circle above their position. He wanted so badly to run, but felt like their conversation hadn’t yet ended.
The half-elf eyed Cooper warily. “What’s wrong with this halfling?Where are you taking him?”
“Um…Church?”
“Is that shit in your beard?” the dwarvenKingsguard asked Dave.
“I, um…” Dave stammered.
“I’m sorry, officer,” said Cooper. “That’s my shit.”
The dwarf’s eyes went wide. He looked back at Dave.
“Come down off that horse this instant,” demanded the half-elf. “I want to know exactly what you gentlemen are –”
“There they are!” shouted Barlow.
“What in the heavens?” said the half-elf. He and the dwarf stepped away from Dave’s horse, which had been obscuring them from the mob’s view.
“Oh shit!” said Barlow. “Go back! Go back!”
The dwarf looked up at the half-elf. “Is that…?”
They both said in unison, “Barlow the Butcher!”
The half-elf turned quickly to Cooper. “See that this halfling drunkard makes it home safely.”
“And you,” the dwarf said to Dave. “Whatever kind of deviant acts you choose to partake in with this half-orc are your business.”
“I wasn’t –”
“But wash your beard. You bring shame on our people.”
With that, they gave chase to the dispersing crowd of thugs, ruffians, and ne’er-do-wells.Kingsguard training evidently did little to improve the Movement Speed of a dwarf. Julian, Dave, and Cooper
watched as the stout little soldier waddled off after his partner.
The End.
The Minotard
(Original Publication Date: April 8, 2015)
It had been a rough day, and Dave felt he could safely cross Armed Escort off his list of potential careers. Nevertheless, he was in fine spirits. The rain, cool and refreshing, had rinsed most of the goblin gore from his beard and armor. Now that he and his friends had returned to the relative safety behind the city walls, he used up his remaining zero-level Heal spells to clear up a few minor scratches and abrasions left over from the fight.
“What’s that sound?” asked Julian.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” said Cooper. “That chili from this morning is still doing a number on me. I thought the rain would drown out the noise, so I’ve just been letting them rip.”
“I was talking about the music.”
“Oh.”
Dave was determined not to let Cooper’s half-orcish gastrointestinal issues dominate the conversation. “I don’t hear any music.”
“It sounds like a violin,” said Julian. “It’s soft and sweet, and kind of sad.” Julian’s enormous elf ears could hear a mouse fart from across a meadow in a thunderstorm. “Let’s go check it out.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Tim. “How about let’s not?”
“A little culture wouldn’t kill you guys. Cooper? Dave?” Julian said Dave’s name like it was a challenge or a threat. He knew that none of them gave a shit about listening to some violinist. But not going along would give Julian more leverage to act all smug and superior.
Knowing that he, himself was being played like a violin, Dave sighed. “Let’s go.”
They had nearly reached the quad in front of the Great Library of Cardinia when Dave started to hear a melody through the rain.
By day, the public area between the Great Library and the Cardinian Multi-faith Grand Temple and Medical Center was a place of bustling commerce, but the rain and late hour kept all but a few wandering souls off the streets. Those who stood around to enjoy the music did so from at least a fifty foot radius of the musician.
The violinist stood tall and alone, pulling the bow back and forth against his instrument. A black leather hat sat upside-down at his hooved feet, presumably to collect coins which no one seemed in any great hurry to give. A matching leather cloak kept most of his body, as well as his violin, protected from the rain, but his massive, horned head was exposed. From the tone of the melody he played, Dave guessed the rain on his face might be mingling with tears.
“The poor guy,” said Julian. “Look at everybody standing around enjoying his music, but not giving him any money.”
“Look at the size of him,” said Cooper. “You can’t blame people for not wanting to get too close.”
“Seriously,” said Dave. “He’d probably just spend the money on booze anyway.”
Julian’s eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. Oh shit. Dave had just given him an early Christmas present.
“Hold up,” said Tim. “Weren’t we going to spend the money on booze?”
Julian’s attention was fixed solely on Dave. “It’s people like you who exacerbate the problem, making up these fantasies so you don’t have to feel guilty about being a selfish asshole while your fellow man has to beg on the street for enough loose change to pay for his next meal. I suppose you think he’s driving around in a Porsche in his down time.”
“He’s a fucking minotaur,” said Dave. “Of course I don’t think he drives a Porsche.”
Julian fumbled around a rebuttal. “Or, like… you know…A fancy… carriage or…something. You get my point.”
“Stop masturbating the problem, Dave.”
“Shut up, Cooper!” said both Julian and Dave.
Dave held out his hand, palm up, to Julian. “You know what? Give me a gold piece. I’ll go put it in the hat myself just to shut you up.”
Julian pulled a shiny gold coin out of their collective coin pouch and slapped it down on Dave’s palm. “Go for it.”
Dave looked at the minotaur, then back at his friends. “You guys come with me?”
“Fuck no,” said Cooper.
“Anything to get this shit over with,” said Tim.
Julian rolled his eyes. “Sure.”
Dave led the way in spite of his short dwarven legs. It seemed none of his friends were in any particular hurry to approach a minotaur.
The beast had looked big from a distance, but he wasn’t standing near anything that would give Dave a frame of reference. As they crept closer, it only seemed to get bigger. It was built like a Voltron made up of vikings. Its curved horns were as thick around as Dave’s arms. The music stopped as one gigantic bovine eye opened and focused squarely on Dave.
“Is something amiss, sir?” asked Ravenus, poking his head out from beneath Julian’s serape. “I couldn’t help but notice a certain unease in – OH SHIT!”
Dave felt a little satisfaction at knowing Julian was just as afraid as he was. He held up the coin. “Th-th-thi-this is for you, sir.” He tossed the coin into a hat big enough for Tim to bathe in.
The minotaur looked at the coin, then back at Dave. Its nostrils flared and its eyes were alive with wild, murderous rage.
“Thank you,” said the minotaur, his voice like silk wrapped around gravel. “That’s very generous of you.”
Dave guessed that maybe he had confused wild, murderous rage with simple gratitude. He hadn’t spent much time studying minotaur facial expressions. He relaxed a little. “Don’t mention it. You’re a talented artist. The way you play that…” Now that he got a closer look, it was not like any violin Dave had ever seen. It functioned the same as one, but it was made of metal, the body was curved in such a way that it looked like it would rest well on a log, and the neck was made up of two long spikes. They held the strings in place, but looked more stabby than musical. “…instrument is exquisite.”
“You are too kind, dwarf.”
Julian tossed another gold coin into the hat.
“Guys,” said Tim. “Let’s not overdo it, huh?”
“Such a melancholy tune,” said Julian. “Does it have a name?”
“It’s called Lenore,” said the minotaur. “I wrote it for my long lost love.”
Tim clapped his hands together. “You know what cheers me up? Booze. You coming, Mr….”
“Call me Milo. Thank you, tiny halfling. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt the warmth of drink and companionship.” He frowned. “But I really shouldn’t. I have a –”
“Nonsense,” said Tim. “Come on. Grab your shit and let’s get our drink on.”
“Very well, halfling. Follow me. I know a place.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Dave muttered so that only Julian could hear.
Milo glared down at Dave. “What was that, dwarf?”
Fuck!
“I… uh…” He had to spit out something. “I beg-a-boo!”
Milo furrowed his giant brow. “I am unfamiliar with that expression.”
Julian folded his arms and grinned. “Yeah, Dave. I don’t recall ever hearing that expression either. Tell us. What does I beg-a-boo mean?”
Dave was starting to sweat. “It means Let’s go! It’s like Yoo-hoo! and Toodle-doo! You know?”
“Dude,” said Cooper. “Are you having a fucking stroke right now?”
Thirty minutes later they were standing outside the Piss Bucket Tavern.
“Hey,” said Cooper. “I remember this place. We’ve been kicked out of here before.”
Julian frowned. “Maybe we should find a different place.”
“There is no other place,” said Milo. “This is the only tavern that will serve me, on account of my –”
“Fucking racists,” said Tim.
Dave thought back to their first night in Cardinia, and how they wound up at this very tavern because everywhere else they’d tried before that had turned them away. They’d refused to serve Cooper because he was a
half-orc.
“I’m sorry,” said Dave. “It’s just that we’ve been specifically warned by the owner of this establishment to never set foot in there again.”
Milo snorted. “Morty won’t mind, so long as you’re here with me.” Before any further objections could be raised, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Julian tapped the bulge on his serape.
Ravenus peeked his head out. “Yes, sir?”
“We might be in here for a while,” said Julian. “Why don’t you go find a dead rat to eat?”
“I’m still rather full from all of those goblin eyes.”
“Well then fly around and get some exercise.”
Ravenus flew off, and Julian walked into the tavern unburdened by his fat, black familiar. Dave followed him in.
All conversation stopped when they stepped out of the small antechamber and into the tavern proper. That was no huge surprise; they were unwelcome guests here. But they’d been kicked out a long time ago, and Dave didn’t expect them to be instantly recognized by every single customer in the place.
The Piss Bucket Tavern, contrary to what the name might suggest, was not the Mos Eisley of Cardinia. It was a clean, well-lit and well-maintained establishment in which patrons were expected to keep to certain standards of conduct. Violators of those standards were dealt with quickly and severely, as Dave and his friends had personally experienced. With the sudden hush of conversation, Dave expected they might be about to experience it again.
Milo stepped ahead of Dave and his friends, his hooves clopping on the wooden floor, and the collective gaze of the tavern’s patrons moved with him. Dave, unaware that he had momentarily stopped breathing, exhaled.
The bartender placed a mug and washcloth down on the bar and wiped his hands on his apron. “Milo.”
“Morty.”
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“My new friends invited me out for a drink.”
Morty narrowed his eyes at Dave. “Did they?”
What the hell did minotaurs have against him? Why was he being singled out? Cooper was the one who’d wiped shit on the stool. Tim was the one who’d puked everywhere. Julian was the one who’d broken the No Magic rule. Dave was the only one of them who hadn’t fucked up. And then it occurred to him, the unspoken message behind those mad cow eyes. Dave was going to be held personally responsible for any shenanigans his idiot friends got up to.
