Escape from Valn

Part 2

The Oaken Tankard

          The Oaken Tankard bustled with activity as patrons from all over Ursal wandered in, out of the bitter cold in search of a hot meal, a tankard of Ol’ Ortuck’s finest Dwarven Stout, or a bit of both to wash away the chill of this coldest of winter’s eves. A roaring fire blazed in the open-faced hearth, spreading its warmth and comfort to the many men and women who had gathered in the tavern’s common room, to eat, drink, or just share in the tales that were brought in by travelers just coming in from the road. Everything from bawdy guffaws of laughter to the heated discussions and rumors about the possible meaning behind the weather’s brutal swing filled the pub with a dull roar as what seemed to be hundreds of conversations were being carried out at once. Above the steady din of the crowd, one could hear the random thrum of a lute as a visiting bard adjusted the tuning knobs of his ancient elven-crafted instrument- jarred out of tune by a hard day’s travel on the open road. The young bard paused long enough to take a quaff from his tankard of Bergrucken Pilsner before making the final adjustments on his instrument. With a slow, attentive strum, he tested the strings to be sure that they were fully in tune before beginning to play.

          Within moments, a soft, haunting melody drifted from the stage, washing over the crowd- easing the cares, troubles, and worries of the day from their weary bones. Dongan Cardell worked the strings of his broad-necked elven lute with the care and precision of a master; though he had barely seen the better of two decades. Throughout his life, Dongan’s love for the melodic beauty and enchantment of song had only been rivaled by his love for adventure and his good-natured, well-loved demeanor which often allowed him to be openly welcomed into places where others would be turned away. As the music danced along his fingertips to be released by the well timed pluck of the strings, the bard gazed out over the crowd to take in the scene that continued to gather in the tavern before him. From his vantage point seated atop of the raised stage near the fireplace, Dongan could see nearly everyone between him and the crowded bar across the tavern where Ortuck passed a frothy stein of ale to a powerfully built Northman who accepted the flagon stoically- then turned to find a place to settle amongst the many inhabitants of the old pub. The large barbarian drew many curious stares as he made his way from the bar, many of which were aimed at his tanned and cured buckskin garb, or his hooded traveler’s cloak of finely worked wolf’s pelt draped over his shoulders with the wolf-faced hood pulled up over his head to stave off the cold air. Aside from the venomous ire directed in his general direction by a traveling mage of whom must have been put off by the Northman’s presence, most onlookers were drawn to the massive, double-bladed waraxe that was strapped across the big man’s back- a weapon that looked as though it could cleave a man in two with the least possible effort. Dongan allowed his gaze to follow the large man, noting that he moved with the non-deliberate, unbridled grace of a jungle cat as he nimbly side-stepped anyone who inadvertently ventured into his path with surprising agility and poise for a man of his size while he passed through the throng of patrons on his way toward a table near the bar. The barbarian paid no heed to the gawking patrons or the hushed whispers of the crowd as he settled in to place. A barmaid scurried toward him through the dense mob of customers, brandishing a tray which bore a steaming bowl of venison stew and a chunk of dark brown bread. She placed the hot meal before the Northman, and then spoke a few words to him, flashing him a flirtatious smile before ambling back through the crowd to tend to other patrons.

          Dongan wrapped up the first song of the evening, using the final chords as a flawless transition between it and the next- an older tune whose buoyant rhythm told the tale of The Winter’s Dark and the fall of The Horned God, Unklar; knowing that its message of hope would do much to bolster the morale of those whose body and spirit had been eroded by the steady, harsh, and relentless onslaught of the cold blustery weather. The music danced, hopped, bounced, and trilled as the melody depicted the crucial battles which were instrumental in the bringing of the light back into the world. He shifted his pace to a slow mournful part of the melody that bespoke of the fall of a great hero who sacrificed himself so that the good people of Aihrde might live free. As the bard played on, the hails for ale, mead, and wine increased, letting Dongan know that he had chosen well, for the spirits of The Oaken Tankard’s patrons had begun to lift- if only just enough to make them more comfortable for a little while. Dongan smiled, allowing himself a moment of pride for a job well done, and then he set to making the instrument sing for one and all to hear on this coldest eve of eves.

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