The tavern is full of life, and that isn’t a rare occurrence. Despite being located in the tiny town of Ordinton (population: 67), Drunkem Dragon Inn never misses a busy night. It’s location makes it a full day’s worth of traveling to three very different cities, with smaller settlements close by as well. Not only do wanderers on quests to different lands take advantage of Ordinton’s placement, but traders do as well. The Drunken Dragon Inn almost always doubles as a bazaar. The crowd that have gathered to spend tonight are split in how often they come to stay at the Inn. Some such as Ulgar the Red-Eyed are habitual visitors.
Ulgar was a Human hunter who tracked down miraculous beasts and sold their parts for profit. During an encounter with an imbralabe, Ulgar was stabbed by one of its infamous stingers. His eyes have been stained since. It is due to the non-lethal toxins that were injected in him. It causes permanent damage, especially to vision. Luckily for Ulgar, he brought enough anti-venom to cure the majority of issues spurring from Imbralabe poison, such as the paralysis and never-ending dizziness.
purring from Imbralabe poison, such as the paralysis and never-ending dizziness.That old hunter still tells to the story every time he comes to the bar. It’s an exciting tale, so people listen. He somehow makes enough money selling the leftovers of creatures he killed a decade ago to afford life. Many have asked why he travels so much if not for work but they never get answered.
Others are first time, or at the most sparse guests. While it may be stereotyping, most of these are younger folk who believe they’re smarter, stronger, or in any way better than the others. An example would be Vinir the Bastard. Vinir is a lanky elf who has always gotten his way using brains over brawn. Time after time of besting barbaric brutes have led him to thinking he is invincible. That mindset released his moral inhibitions and Vinir began to steal and manipulate others.
Vinir is actually currently at the tavern trying to thieve money from the unaware. He is gambling with an array of men. Some don’t even speak Common tongue, but rather are relying on gestures to display their thoughts. Luckily, one doesn’t have to speak to play Hutgers. Hutgers is a card game supposedly made by Dwarves to pass the time while waiting for their creations to cool. Whatever the origin may be, two facts are known throughout the land: it is both fun and a sure way to lose money. The game was complex and had an infinite number of variations due to “house rules”.
Vinir, being the newcomer that he is, is unaware of the strict “no cheating” rules enforced at the Drunk Dragon. He had been slipping in cards from underneath the table for the majority of the game, causing him to win quintuple the amount the seven other players had. They all blamed it on look until a goblin caught him accidentally by dropping a card. When the small, grey man crawled underneath the table, he discovered the stash of Hutgers cards Vinir was pulling from. “Ahh! I gotchu!” He said, leaping back into his chair. He pointed with his boney index finger at the Bastard. “You are cheatin’z! I see yuh!”
“Why, what in the world are you talking about Tuck?” Vinir gathered a few laughs from the table with that one. Calling a goblin a Tuck was “funny”. It was a jab aimed at their size, as Tucks are four-legged creatures that will stand on two legs to be just taller than a goblin. It didn’t help the goblins at all that Tucks were considered nasty and ugly animals.
“I see yuh! You have car-ts un-ter thuh day-ble!” The goblin now patted at his hip, which on Vinir’s person was where the compartment of cards was. Suspicion grew at the table, and a large half-Orc stood up. He towered Vinir by roughly two heads.
“You been cheating Pale-skin?” The half-Orc’s voice was low and rough enough to strike fear into the hearts of any man, especially one just caught cheating at Hutgers.
“Why no my good sire! Don’t you see that this goblin is simply trying to start a commotion. I know how their kind is! They like our money, but are too useless to earn it, too dumb to steal it, and too weak to bully for it. I can all but guarantee his intentions were to start a fight. While we were fighting, he’d grab everyone’s pieces and run off, don’t you see?” Vinir’s lie was a well crafted one. The problem was, this half-Orc didn’t care. With a single swipe, the Split-Blood (a term given to describe anyone who is not purebred into any species) snatched the purse tied to Vinir’s body. With a flick of the wrist, the bag opened and cards spilled all over the floor. “I-... I can explain! You see sire I-” Vinir’s protests were useless, as the half-Orc grabbed him by the throat. The long silver hair of the elf flew upwards as the head it was firmly planted to was hoisted up by the half-Orc. The grey-skinned giant had slammed him through the table they were playing Hutgers on. This effectively ruined the game, but also ruined the mood of the tavern for a brief moment. The sickening crash through the wood had caused everyone to freeze and check out what was going on. The Bastard was still on the ground, and “Tuck” pulled the coinpurse from his hip.
“Der-inks for efferybod-ey tanks to deh Point Eared!” He shouted in that awful broken Common. The goblin couldn’t be blamed though. It was actually quite impressive, as typically his kind didn’t speak the Common tongue. Goblins have only in the last fifty years or so started to govern themselves. It wasn’t until they formed their own society that others had treated them with respect. It was almost funny how two hundred years prior, this goblin would have been killed simply for existing. They were considered greedy monsters, not people. Oh, how the times change.
The drunks applaud as the Dwarven bartender grinned as wide as he could. He was an elderly man. Both his head and face hair had turned a white, purified with age. He grabbed a few bottles from underneath the bar with one hand and a few mugs with the other. As he began getting drinks, he thought of all of the money he would be making tonight. Sure, he would have to get that table fixed, but that’s a whole thief’s wallet of drinks! Oh the things he could buy! His mind conjured up images of delicious and exotic meats he’d have to get imported as well as the best trip to a brothel gold could buy.
While the Drunken Dragon Inn’s owner kept daydreaming about what that small bag’s worth would never be able to afford, a devilishly handsome young man stepped up and swiped a mug. He looked around and un-consentingly clinked it against the mug in the hands of a gorgeous blonde haired Elven lady. Now this fair maiden was nothing like Vinir, for he was a bastard and that is visibly not the case. She was dressed in elegant wear, for she donned a dress which ended at her knees. It was a sign to this young human man that she had come out to the Inn to have the time of her life. With him, the time of her life it would be. “May I into-row-duce myself?” The sir spoke and somehow his suave came rolling off of his lips. With a hand, he brushed his black hair back to keep it in style.
“You may. I won’t guarantee an introduction back Mister…-” The lady trailed off. Responding in the smoothest of ways, the charmer spoke,
“They call me Vandor Lackmann.” He paused as if waiting for her to swoon over him. She didn’t. “Wait, you’ve never heard of me?”
“I’m afraid I’ve not Vandor. I’m guessing you’re going to try fooling me like the rest of the lads do and tell me you’re a big strong knight who has killed his fair share of dragons?”
“Oh, no! You see my dear…”
“As I said, I guaranteed no introductory response.”
“Very well. You see, those men are fools. Liars! I, on the other hand, am not. Well, I suppose I am. But I’m not. I can honestly say that I’ve slain the scaled. Though I can also say that I have set them free. I can stare into your eyes and without telling a lie say I was on both sides of the War of the Martyr. For I, Miss-” He waited. She didn’t say anything. “Still nothing? Well, I am an actor. More specifically, an actor hailing from the Bard’s College of Histrona."
“A silly little bard, are you?”
“A silly little bard, are you?”“Silly little? I would never say that about a bard. You see, us bards are unpredictable. A warrior will hit you with a big stick. A mage will blast the sun at you. A ranger will shoot you up and down with arrows, hitting every precious point of your body. But me? You have no idea what I’m capable of doing, nor what I plan to do.”
“Whatever you plan to do, I think it would be best to not plan for two.”
“...So this is our goodbye?”
“It is, Mister Vandor.”
“And I still don’t get a name?”
“You don’t.”
“Ah. ‘Tis a shame.” As Vandor spoke now, he grinned and turned his back immediately on this woman. He was looking in the tavern for a gal; not one in specific, any would do. He glanced at the Orcs in the back of the room playing that Mosh-Tarr of theirs. There were a few gals playing it, though they weren’t Vandor’s type. He was all for his maidens being strong enough to pull a tree out of the ground, but after his last encounter with an Orc he decided it would be best not to take his chances.
Mosh-Tarr is an ancient game that’s been around ever since the Orcs discovered healing magic. It involves two people punching each other back and forth until one gets knocked out. After each punch, both sides are healed. Vandor loved watching it as a sport. In Orcish arenas, he’s seen Mosh-Tarr by the best of the best go on for hours on end. It was such a fun thing to watch.
Vandor’s field of vision switched to encompass a Dwarven gal talking to the old man at the bar. Vandor could easily deduce that the man was owner of the Inn. That meant the gal was either his wife, his daughter, a paid woman, or someone the old man wished to be with. None of those seemed like good choices to Vandor. This Inn was the only quality Inn within a day’s distance to where Vandor was headed. A performance festival was to be held at Maclin. Vandor had plans to try weaseling his way in with some of the big league names of theatre. People there were getting paid big money to do what Vandor did for living wages. The bard didn’t want to ‘just live’ anymore. He wanted to live a life of elegance. After all, he was Vandor Lackmann!
The third gal he gazed upon stopped him in his tracks. That would mean something if he didn’t overdramatically plant his feet into the ground at every woman he saw. The completely fascinating thing about this one was just the contrary. She was remarkably unremarkable. There were girls far more attractive dancing and putting themselves out as ready for another’s company. Not her. She sat at a table near the back of the Inn dressed in a covering black cloak. Her red hair rested easy at her shoulders, and without the height she had Elvish ears. She had to have been Split-Blood, as she had the features of an Elf while being shorter than the average human woman. The most interesting thing about her was what she was doing. With a shot glass in one hand and a sizeable book in the other, she simply sat and read. It was astonishing, and it made Vandor desire her more.
His approach was simple. He would act larger than he was and use quotes from obscure literature to get her interested. It was a trick that worked countless times before. The women had either been impressed if they understood the reference at his knowledge or impressed by the strong words. He strutted to the chair across from hers, and he slid perfectly into the seat. Her eyes remained glued to her book, refusing to look up at Vandor. The bard spoke in a confident voice, hitting a tone lower pitched than his natural. “May I interest you in a drink of your choosing? Oh how foolish of me. I can see who you are. You’re a woman so powerful that you don’t need a man like me to purchase your things for you. Of course you’d still take my offering, wouldn’t you? Call it a compliment of your independence from me to you.” Vandor grinned as he looked to her, though she seemed just as disinterested as she was before.
“Arrows of Stone by the great Dwarven writer Torto Goldfinger.” Her voice, though unemotional, filled Vandor’s head with giddy. Somehow it added to this chase he was on. Who was this odd woman and where was she the rest of his life?
“Very good!” Vandor paused, then continued in a different tone. He tried a new quote. Rather than a quote spoken to a lady, he used one that a warrior shouted at a bartender. “Must I kill each and every last one of you to get a damn ounce uh’ mead?”
“The Quest for the Blue Scale written by Skarf Leone and adapted to play by Nimgo Rubo.” “Impressive!...” Now in his plain old human voice, he tried making conversation. “You sure know your stuff, don’t you?”
“Anyone who graduated from a decent college would know those quotes. It’s basic at best.” “Basic? Glad to see you’re so friendly.”
“I never asked for you to come over here, did I?”
“No, you didn’t but it’s like-... It is as if we were fated, you and I. I see us on our deathbed. You’re there, and I’m there, and throughout this whole story of our lives it is as though we were fated to die together.” Vandor acted to the best of his ability, making this sound as genuine as he possibly could. He sounded hopeful, and that emotion was strong enough to make the Redhead lower her book and look into the eyes of the bard. She was confused and concerned at the odd saying, until Vandor gave off the largest of smiles. “And the Queen is bested. Lover’s Deathbed by Sir Grecco Maloil.” The lovely lass rolled her eyes. “Oh did your college not teach you the etiquette in losing?”
“My college taught me how to win, thank you very much.” This woman put on a smile of her own, beaming as though to spite the bard. Oh, how it failed. It made his desire for her grow. He would spend the next couple of minutes trying to win her over. His words were aimed to steal her as a companion, though his goal was only to earn her for the night.
Entering the Drunken Dragon now were a duo, though they weren’t a couple. The male was a brutish green-skinned Orc. His appearance mirrored the villains of bedtime stories little Elves and Dwarves and Humans were told as children. He wore brown rags which exposed his shoulders and arms. Various metal and wooden weapons were strapped to his back. He was a warrior, and all knew it just by looking at him. Anyone with half of a brain would know not to mess with him, either.
However, he was somehow overlooked as the people staring at the two were more interested on the lady. She was a Cleric, dressed in traditional Holy Garb. Her white and yellow attire had no scratches or cuts in it, and people should have saw her as a symbol of hope. She was a pure woman! Sadly, her skin was enough to fill her life with hatred. She was one of the accursed Samyazelborns.
The story of Samyazelborns is always one filled with mystery and skepticism. What is known though is that in this world, beings far more powerful than mortals exist. Divines have been proven to be real and in the old days they even walked among the planet like any other individual. Of course when powerful beings walk among the lesser man, they are put in charge as leaders. The Divines had took control over mortal life, and surprisingly there was a peace in the world. That was until the kingdom under the rule of Samyazel declared war on the rest of the land. Samyazel had convinced humans from every part of the world to do his bidding and revolt. He tempted them with power, and it didn’t take long for them to succumb to their greed. The war was almost won by Samyazel, however one Divine was not enough to fight the opposing several. Three changes came as a result of the War of the Gods. First, the Divines had captured Samyazel and forced him into a captivity where his influence would never reach the mortals. Second, the Divines agreed to leave the world immediately. They did not belong ruling the mortals. All could still impact the world below, but now were far less powerful than they were. Finally, the Divines had agreed the selfish humans were to be punished. That was why a curse was placed on Humankind. Chosen by chance, descendants of man were said to be born with a droplet of blood from Samyazel, taunting their bodies. That single drop changed their appearance entirely, giving them a skin purple in hue. This was accompanied by horns which, while curved beautifully, were looked at as ugly in nature.
The Samyazelborn and the Orc sat at the bar, and they were not mutually interested in the other. The Orc was followed by the purpleskin, and at first he was ignoring her. “Vladimir, why won’t you let me come with you? I can be of great assistance to you. You needed me out there, and had I not found you yesterday you would be dead by now. Why can’t I be a follower?” She was pleading as she took the seat next to the brute, begging to accompany him on his travels.
The bartender was perplexed as he stepped by the two. The orc slammed a fistful of coins on the table. “Give me whatever is the cheapest in as much as I can get for this.” The orc growled.
“Ah, I’ll give you that and then some! Yuh see, a gentleman had agreed to pay for the house! Any extra drinks for this fine darlin’ at your side?” The elderly dwarf tried to weasel some extra cash out of the greenskin. Rather than more coins, he was met with a stare, and he took that as a cue to step away. After placing two whole bottles of a very cheap ale on the table, he sidestepped away as quickly as possible.
“I just don’t see what you have to lose. I’m only asking to follow you.” That Samyazelborn was still trying to talk to the orc, and finally Vlad answered her. After breaking the seal on one of the bottles and chugging down half of the alcohol in it, he wiped his mouth and looked at her. He stared at her deep in her vibrant yellow eyes.
“I don’t work well with others.”
“And I’m sure you didn’t before, but you saw that we made a pretty nice team. We helped out those villagers and they surely would comment on our teamwork as exemplary and-”
“I don’t help people. I fight them.”
“I’d beg to differ. Since I have come in contact with you I have only seen you perform just acts and-”
“Exactly Aubergine. That’s not who I am. I’d prefer to return to myself.”
“Oh but there is so much we could do! We bring with us a dynamic that much of the world is needing. We are a healer and a fighter, representatives of life and death themselves. And you’re a friend.” She trailed off at the end and looked down. Unfortunately for him, this had an effect on the orc. It pulled at his strings perfectly.
“Don’t do this to me Ea.” She didn’t respond. She felt too sad to do anything. Her emotions weren’t the most stable, especially because she had just recently rid herself of her loneliness. Ea wasn’t sure how to act appropriately, and thus to not create a scene she didn’t say anything else. Vlad tried getting her to talk. His attempts were interrupted by a loud crashing noise.
EDIT: Fixed Formatting issues! Please upvote and comment if you liked it!
