Horror, Humor, and Heroes

by Jim Bernheimer

  Placing his mailed fist over his damaged chest piece, Sir Byron spoke, “Indeed we shall, Milady. First, we must journey back to the town in the valley below us and assure them that yet another threat to their safety has been vanquished and perhaps purchase the services of some of their able-bodied men to transport this fabulous treasure.” Sir Byron was secure in the knowledge that the simple folk would greet the news with tears of joy. Truly, a momentous deed has been done today.

  #

  “Sir Byron and his three twits haven’t been seen in nearly two weeks. Do you think they’ve decided to move on, or even better, finally got themselves killed?”

  Most of the patrons in the tavern turned hopefully towards Duncan waiting for his response. The tall man with broad shoulders and graying black hair answered, “I’ve heard nothing, but honestly having a group of adventurers get what they deserve here would be even worse. That would attract even more of them! They’d swarm this place looking for something that could kill other adventurers.”

  The dozen or so people in The Dancing Pig taking their mid-day meal groaned audibly at the thought of even more adventurers running around the Valley. Marcus, his second in command, had already tried sending the adventurers to the old Jennings Farm that was destroyed last summer in a fearsome storm.

  Duncan reflected on the disaster that ensued. They’d burnt down three apple orchards looking for the mythical beast that had destroyed the house – as if hordes of Chimera were just flying around the valley! Chimera don’t even like apples, or at least two of the three heads don’t!

  “How can people have that much power and absolutely no common sense?” Deidre grumbled angrily. It didn’t take much to stir up resentment. With the time it takes for apple trees to grow back, odds were that she was going to be resentful for a long time.

  Lars, the blacksmith, no stranger to stench, added, “I’d be happy if they just had the common decency to wash themselves before they reached the town limits!”

  Someone tried to point out the bright side, “Easier to smell them coming that way.”

  Lars continued, “They barge into my shop saying ‘Stop shoeing those horses and fix my armor!’ It doesn’t matter that the other customers were there first and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why they would think I keep a supply of mithril on hand just waiting to fix or make them something! Fortunately, my ‘mithril’ looks an awful lot like regular steel with a few impurities thrown in to give it just the right color. I even threw in a set of ‘mithril’ horseshoes for his mount last time.”

  Deidre, running a hand through her graying hair, muttered, “Tromping about the land looking for their dungeons and whatnot? No need to stick to the roads when you can camp in the middle of the wilderness and wait for some wandering monster to come along. Why in the name of all that’s holy would you want a monster to stumble onto your campsite?”

  Lars smacked his flagon onto the table, earning a disapproving glance from both Otis and his daughter Sabrina. “It’s how they get their jollies! When’s the last time you saw an orc or goblin running around? I miss all that cheap labor. Adventurers? Hah! They’re a plague sent by the gods to ruin us!”

  Somewhere along the line, those bumbling idiots also heard about a supposed underground city of evil. Duncan knew if he brought it up, he’d have a full-blown riot on his hands. After that, he made certain the worst of the town drunks were given alternative accommodations when the “Flubtastic Foursome” was within city limits. His actions stopped the wildest of the “buy me a drink and I’ll tell you a secret” stories.

  Between the cave-ins they caused and the constant demands to the owners, the mine almost went under. That nearly put twenty men out of work and for what? A cave full of gnomes polishing their, ahem, rocks.

  Duncan knew one thing for certain. Sir Byron’s Questers were the worst lot of adventurers to show their miserable faces in the valley in two generations. It was a small wonder that all of his hair hadn’t turned gray! Duncan wasn’t even that old! He needed a vacation, badly. Somewhere out there, in a forest glade, by a pond full of fish, a saucy dryad was waiting for him.

  A shopkeeper partly-asked and mostly-begged, “Couldn’t you just throw them in the dungeons?”

  Duncan shook his head slowly, “That never works. One somehow always escapes and they end up wrecking half the town.”

  Some shuddered, thinking of the destruction from previous attempts to reign in other groups.

  The same shopkeeper offered, “Well, what about the ‘mysterious rider’ with news of war in the west? That worked pretty well for the last Band of Bumblers.”

  Local slang almost always referred to adventurers as “BoBs.” At one point, Sir Byron asked Duncan who was this Robert fellow and why the townspeople hated him so? Duncan politely turned down the knight’s generous offer to speak with the man and try to talk some sense into him.

  “Did you forget about the riders we actually did get from the west, who promised that if we pulled that stunt again, there’d be war? I’m pretty sure they were serious!”

  The shopkeeper moaned, “If we don’t do anything, we’ll be stuck with them forever!”

  Duncan scoffed, “Clarence, easy on the drama there. We need something new to get rid of this sorry lot, something better than kidnapped princesses or dungeons in the middle of nowhere.”

  Duncan was drowned out by the sound of the front door banging open. A tired-looking wagon driver slouched in. Deidre immediately rose and gave her husband a welcoming hug.

  “How was the trip, Silas?”

  Silas growled, “Ten extra days on the road with a wagon of grain, just so the Dwarves can give me two-thirds of what I used to get from the Lizardfolk! How do you think it went? Otis, what’s for lunch?”

  “Beef stew or mutton, what’ll it be?”

  “I’ll have the mutton.” He paused before venting, “Of course, I’d rather have the lakefish with that creamy mushroom sauce. Oh wait, I forgot! The Lizard people used my grain to feed the lakefish. Thanks to our ‘heroes,’ no more Lizard people to feed the fish, and now, no more fish. To make it worse, the few survivors ran to the trolls for protection and the trolls were put to the torch, taking the mushrooms with them! Any apple cider left to wash it down with? No, I didn’t think so. At least there’s still mead, until they find a reason to kill off the bees.”

  His wife replied, “We’re trying to figure out how to get rid of them right now. Pull up a chair and start tossing around ideas with the rest of us.”

  Otis, the innkeeper, added, “If we can’t get rid of all of them, how about we eliminate them one at a time? I say we start with the barbarian. I practically had to burn his sheets. Do you think he’d be insulted if I just put down hay next time?”

  His buxom daughter, Sabrina, cleaning dishes in a basin, sarcastically remarked, “Aw, but he always makes me the cutest little necklaces. Let me tell you, nothing looks better than a necklace made of Goblin teeth, with a bit of rotting flesh still attached. He really missed his calling. He should be in the fashion industry. It almost makes up for all the times he’s somehow confused my position here with that of a prostitute.”

  Otis was obviously still fixated on the whole body odor aspect and ignored the painful memory of the slur on his daughter’s honor, “Oh, that’s what that thing was in the trash! Rognar is too dumb to be afraid of anything, except a tub of water and a bar of soap! Could we make up something about his tribe, clan, or whatever he has that’ll get him headed back in that direction? Seriously, how many of you believe he’s really a chieftain? I know I don’t! “

  Others grumbled in agreement with Otis as Marcus queried, “Why not get rid of the so-called thief? I guess if I hung around with an armored knight, a smelly, screaming barbarian and an elf ready to ignite something at a moment’s notice, I’d think I was pretty stealthy. All the merchants have to carry extra coin purses with them to improve the odds that he’ll find one.”

  Wanda, the fruit vendor, just smiled w
istfully. “Not everyone minds the little bugger. He’s fairly harmless.”

  Duncan started to reply, but stopped. Wanda was a “sturdy” woman whose most attractive physical feature was her “personality.” He was fairly certain that Dirth Nimblefinger’s fingers were the only ones that dared touch the hag’s body.

  Finally, having removed that image from his mind, he continued, “This isn’t helping. If one of their group leaves they either take up residence in the town waiting for their missing member to return, or they hold some kind of stupid audition that spawns more of them. We need a quest, one that takes these fools far away from us. How about a secret fortress?”

  Otis rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Pirates are real popular these days and I’d bet a week’s wages that only the elf can swim.”

  Duncan leapt on the idea like it was a lifeline, “Alright, now we’re thinking. Pirates! So, we need to send them south or east. South is warmer. They’ll stink even more down there, plus there’re vermin and insect-borne illnesses. South it is! Okay, what do we know about pirates?”

  “Lots of little island chains down that way. It’d take a long time to search those islands.”

  “Good one, Otis! I know! Let’s make the island invisible! That’s why no one can find it!”

  “Great idea, Marcus! They’ll eat that rubbish up. Telling them that no one can find it feeds their monstrous egos. Keep going. We need a name. What’s our pirate’s name?”

  “How about the Dread Pirate …”

  “Marcus, even adventurers might not be that gullible. Good try though. Let’s try something else.”

  After a few minutes of discussion, they settled on Wanda’s suggestion, “The Captain Ann Tennille.”

  Duncan agreed. “I like it. It sounds rather catchy. Making her a female would appeal to the knight, who would see it as an opportunity to redeem a damsel. Clarence, Deidre, and Wanda work on Ann’s life. We need some details.”

  Creative juices were flowing faster than the flagons of mead. Ann worked for “The Vile Necromancer Rogers,” because the head bad guy or girl was always beyond redemption. She sailed forth from his invisible island to carry out his evil plans.

  More helpful ideas followed. Someone was dispatched to get parchment for a map. It was common knowledge that adventurers couldn’t follow any kind of verbal directions. They required pretty pictures.

  Otis mused, “We can tell them that all the fishing villages are far too fearful to talk about what they know. Hopefully, someone down that way is sharp enough to stick them on a barely seaworthy vessel.”

  Duncan looked to Mayor Jeffords, a portly and balding man, for his approval before moving on. “Marcus, you and two guardsmen go dig a false grave for the rider from the south carrying a diplomatic pouch. Russell, do you have an old set of saddlebags that we can use as a ‘diplomatic pouch?’ Slap a fancy-looking buckle on it and it’ll fool those idiots.”

  Everyone worked at a feverish pace to make official-looking documents pleading for the assistance of King Gygerax to send his best adventurers to the southern ports and detailing the crimes and offenses of “The Vile Necromancer Rogers” and “The Captain Ann Tennille.” The ink had barely dried on the last of it when Tom came running in.

  “Sir Byron’s Questers are at the edge of town!” Tom yelled and sprinted back out the door to meet them. Most were careful what they said around the boy, worried that he’d either tell them, or that he was already on his way to becoming “one of them.”

  Duncan reluctantly used the loose-lipped Tom to misinform adventurers, but only when necessary. The leaders of these groups often had a creepy affinity for stable boys. It made him wonder …

  “Everyone, you know what to do.” Duncan watched Otis and Sabrina hide the good stuff and break out the watered-down cheap crap. Most adventurers couldn’t handle the real alcohol. Nothing was more dangerous than a really drunk one wandering around your town.

  “I’ll go warn the rest of the merchants.” Wanda said heading out the door.

  Duncan was certain she was hoping for one last “female moment” that involved someone else. Deidre and Silas finished stuffing the makeshift diplomatic pouch and vowed to leave town as fast as their wagon could carry them.

  Mayor Jeffords looked at Duncan. He was about to do the old rock, paper, scissors game to determine which one would have to meet them when Duncan stopped him. “I’ll go Mayor. Make certain Marcus and the others have finished with the fake grave and then tell Marcus to round up all the drunks. Have him spread the word that the Dancing Pig is off limits tonight.”

  Duncan turned to address everyone else. “We’ve got one chance to get rid of these morons. Let’s make it count! Anyone who messes this up might as well leave town!”

  He scooped up the pouch and left the inn. Walking out into the late afternoon sun, Duncan muttered a few barely audible prayers that nothing would go wrong.

  Watching them ride into town and Tom running alongside the Knight looking like a toddler trying to tell his parents that he needed to pee, Duncan spoke to no one in particular. “How Sir Byron’s horse can hold all that armor and ego at the same time is one of life’s great mysteries. Look at the buffoon! He’s wearing full plate mail, but every time he’ll jump off and almost fall over like a turtle. For what? Just so he can go over to help the unarmored elf off her horse. Hell! They’ve got me talking to myself again!”

  #

  Sir Byron proudly helped Lady Anise from her stallion and saw the Captain of the Guard approaching. “Ah yes, Dunkirk, was it? I bring great news, for we have slain a great wyrm. Your humble village shall never cower in fear from it again!” The Knight noted that the man was at a loss for words.

  Finally, the man spoke, “You killed Brokenfang?”

  “Aye, verily, ‘twas an epic battle, the kind that legends are told of, but how did such a beast come to be only two days from your town? Why did you not tell us? When I deliver my report to the King, I will be forced to note that you and your mayor were less than forthcoming with us. It is regrettable, but it is my duty. Now, if you could spare some men and wagons, we need to remove our bounty.” Byron tried to refrain from scolding the man.

  The guardsman looked afflicted with something and Byron looked to Anise, who merely shrugged her delicate shoulders. Whatever vexed him, it was beyond her capacity to fix.

  Finally this Duggan fellow exploded. “You killed our Dragon? What is protecting the town’s money?”

  This confused Byron, “What do you mean? Your Dragon? Your treasure?”

  “It’s where the town stores our gold! We hired Brokenfang to protect it! Did you ever look at the signs when you went to the moneychangers? Didn’t ‘All deposits protected by Dragon fire’ mean anything to you?”

  Byron contemplated this. Devin seemed genuinely upset over this unfortunate turn of events. The stable boy, Tim or Teddy, also looked rather flummoxed.

  “Duncan, does this mean there aren’t going to be any Dragon rides at the county fair this year?”

  “No, Tom, it doesn’t look that way.”

  The Knight was faced with a quandary. “Err, we figured you were too afraid of the beast to properly inform us. Had you been more forthcoming, this unfortunate series of events could have been avoided.” Truly, there was blame for all in this matter.

  “Why would we tell your thief where we keep our gold?”

  The guardsman appeared rather twitchy. If Byron didn’t know any better, he’d swear the man was thinking about drawing his sword.

  Massaging his bearded chin, Sir Byron decided to solve the problem once and for all. “I suppose there is some logic in your words. Very well, in that case, as a Knight of the Realm, I offer my sincerest apologies for this minor misunderstanding. Mayhap, we could assist in your efforts to procure a new guardian beast?”

  He looked to his companions and they nodded somberly. Nothing in this land held more value than the words of a Knight of the Realm.

  “Minor misunderstanding! I�
��! I…! Oh never mind, we’ll take care of it. You must be tired from the fight. Tom, see to their horses. Sir Byron, a rider came in today. He bore a message to the Royal Court, but his injuries were dire and he succumbed. There is news of a Pirate Queen terrorizing the Southern Coast and the documents in his courier pouch indicate that the south has need of heroes. Should we send our own courier to the Royal Court?”

  Sir Byron again gazed at his comrades. Rognar thumped his chest. Dirth cackled, looking very eager and Anise the Silent indifferently raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. Having secured their approval, Sir Byron was glad to move beyond the unfortunate events surrounding the Dragon’s death and begin planning their next great quest.

  “Nay! If the Southern Coast is beset by seafaring bandits, then it is the finest heroes in the land they shall get! I’ll take those documents and relieve you of their burden. Come my companions, for tonight we shall rest and re-supply! Tomorrow, we venture south! Donald, my good man, will your valley be able to tolerate our sustained absence?”