Escape from Valn

 

Part 6

A Gaggle of Boisterous Companions

          Laughter erupted from one of the tables near the bar, drawing the attention of some of the visiting patrons as a hardy band of adventurers reveled in the aftermath of a successful day over a foaming flagon of bittersweet ale. The boisterous adventurers celebrated their triumphant expedition to the Ruins of Chlorn; each member of the raucous group boasting about their particular role in the daring journey or heckling one another about the near death experiences that almost brought their first adventure to an abrupt end. After one such tale of recounted derring-do, a weaselly looking man with greasy brown hair pasted to his forehead that they called Rinzel made a lewd crack about one of the other members- a warrioress named Zelinda Orrlsvane- who hurled a half-eaten turkey leg at the man, forcing him dive for cover and making the group howl with laughter at the poor blaggard’s expense.

          Erolas Tallondil couldn’t hide his mirth as the rowdy members of his troupe hassled and nagged one another about the recent expedition, their peculiar habits, or whatever else just so happened to draw their attention. He and his partner, a halfling rogue named Dunty Mobblestone, hadn’t been with the group for very long, having only signed on with them just before the journey to the Ruins of Chlorn, and so he wasn’t quite used to the boisterous nature of his fellow comrades. Dunty, however, had blended in quickly as was usual for his kin; in fact only moments before, he had taken a keen interest in the affairs of one Barlough Regnar- a veritable bear of a man with a barrel-like chest and long bushy black hair that wouldn’t be complete without the equally thick bushy beard with random braids amid its length which made the man appear more like a giant dwarf than anything save for the great warhammer that he kept faithfully by his side.

          The great beast of a man had imbibed nearly half a dozen pitchers of Kayomaran Lager, becoming so drunk that he had began proposing his love to anyone or anything that resembled a member of the opposite sex. Upon seeing this, Erolas’ halfling counterpart had thought that it would be entertaining to see if he could convince the lager-logged warrior that a certain cloak stand was eyeing him with particular interest. He even went so far as to convince the burly man that he shouldn’t waste this opportunity and that he should try his chances with the ever-so bashful maiden in the hopes that he might just “get lucky”. Sniggers from the others of the group were poorly stifled as Barlough stood up, having to catch himself so that he wouldn’t over compensate for his current lack of balance and fall either on his face, his companions, or land on his arse. With a deep breath to suck in his gut and bolster his shoulder mass, the burly man swaggered and staggered over to the flirtatious piece of décor where he tried to make his move.

          All was going well until the bard’s first song stole over the crowd, filling the room with an invigorating enchantment that soothed the weary and sore, and restored vitality to those who could hear its haunting rhythm. As his mind-numbing effects of his drunken state had begun to clear, Barlough stood blinking mindlessly about his surroundings as though he was lost. He shook his head and squinted as he inspected the cloak stand more thoroughly. At that point, Dunty was thankful that the bard’s enchantment hadn’t fully cut through the foggy chaos of the burly warrior’s enchantment as Barlough Regnar stood, staring dumbfoundedly at the cloak stand as if to wonder where he was or how he had gotten there. With a confounded glance around the tavern, he located his companions and sauntered slovenly back to his seat, giving them the most incredulous look that could ever be spied on such a man’s face.

          “Cans ya beleefth thadt I’s ‘bout ta gedt freshth wit shom cloaksh,” he asked, the heavy slur in his deep voice telling everyone at his table that he had ingested so much liquor that even the mystical healing energies of the music had not been able to sober him completely. Not for a moment did he even realize that he had been put up to it by his companions; nor was he aware of the truth behind their mirth as he continued. “Why I’d bedt thadt shom poor shmop wuz prob…probabab…probly,” he grimaced with frustration as he fumbled to get the word out while struggling with the slur in his voice.

          Barlough’s companions howled with laughter at the burly warrior’s expense as he recounted his utter confusion for the circumstances at hand, knowing what or who had put him up to approaching the cloak stand in the first place. Erolas ran his fingers through his harvest-golden locks as he giggled about the unfolding events, and then, taking a deep breath to suppress his mirth, he took a conservative draw on his stoup of Elven mead. He swirled the finely fermented liquid around in his mouth, enjoying the robust flavors locked and concealed within. The ranger was most thankful for the bard’s rejuvenating melody as its mystic energies caressed his being, easing the chill of the icy cold day from his body and filled him with a sense of relaxation that renewed his spirit. He was momentarily distracted from his train of thought as a large powerfully built Northman ambled gracefully by dressed in buckskins and wrapped in a wolf-skin cloak. Strapped to the Engalian warrior’s back was a great two-handed waraxe that looked as though it could cleave a man nigh in two with a single powerful stroke. The barbarian regarded him solemnly as his hawkish eyes roved over the area- to a nearby table along the wall where an empty seat awaited him. The ranger tipped his mug toward the big Northman; a silent greeting that showed his respect for the mighty warrior. The barbarian offered Erolas a stoic acknowledgement of his greeting; then continued on his way.

          The elven ranger turned back to his mead and the simple meal of bread, fruit, and cheese before him, allowing the music to wash over him once more. The revitalizing melody was soon replaced by another- one that told the tale of the war against Unklar and the battle to free the world from The Horned God’s tyrannical rule. The Anthem of Alderiche bounced, dipped, and trilled along as its powerful melody worked to bolster the morale of the refreshed patrons of The Oaken Tankard. As Erolas’ keen eyes roved over the common room, taking in the scene about him, he noticed the stir as a young rogue tried to rob a wandering knight and was caught in the act. He watched with great interest as the events played out, and was more than a little surprised when the knight- rather than turning her in- offered her a seat at his table and even bought her food and a drink.

          The knight’s general compassion toward the thief both puzzled the ranger and earned his admiration at the same time, for most of the knights that he had encountered in his travels had usually saw themselves as administers of the law. Of all of these, however, only this particular knight seemed to be trying to embrace the code of conduct by which most knights had been sworn to uphold. The clumsy shuffle and collapse of something heavy caught Erolas by surprise and brought the elf back to the events that were playing out at his very table. He quickly surmised that Barlough had once more overindulged in Kayomaran Lager and had passed out hopelessly drunk; upending his chair in the process, and now lay flat-out on the tavern floor. Rumbling snores erupted from beneath the table, drawing hoots and howls of laughter from not only the members of the troupe, but anyone who saw the drunken fighter’s latest predicament. Erolas and his compatriots laughed even harder as fellow patrons and barmaids alike began stepping over the snoring brute as though he was just a sack of flour in the way. Chuckling despite himself, the ranger shook his head at the incredible absurdity of the situation that Barlough had drunken himself into.

          As the laughter began to die down once more, Selvis Berrinhard, a tall man with angular features and hair of deepest auburn hailed to a barmaid who was busy tending to a solitary traveler who was only seated a few tables away, calling for her to bring a decanter of ale to fill their rapidly emptying tankards. It didn’t take long for the girl to minister to their call as she hurried to fill their flagons to the brim and was off to fetch another pitcher or two for the rowdy group, pausing only long enough to shoot the weaselly Rinzel a dangerous glare when he slapped her across the hindquarters, making her jump and squeal at the blatant invasion of her personal being. The greasy rogue’s surrounding companions regarded him with mocking jeers as they goaded him about the lass’ rejection of his advances.

          “Looks like the barkeep’s going to have his hands full with that one,” Dunty commented as he nudged Erolas with the side of his mug and gestured toward the bar. Erolas looked up to see what his halfling partner was referring to, only to find himself staring at the most rugged dwarf that he had seen in many a year. He was grim-faced, cheerless, and looked as though he had been rough-cut and chiseled from the heart of a granite mountain with long fiery red hair that cascaded in a multi-braided tangle of flame and color well below the middle of the stocky fellow’s broad back where a beautifully crafted bearded battleaxe hung, suspended from a hidden baldric which gave it the appearance of being held in place by the very hair of the dwarf’s head. By the length of his autumn hued beard, Erolas could tell that the squat fellow was young by the standards of his kin.

          The stout warrior nodded to Ortuck exchanging a handful of shining coins and gems for a large Foaming stein known to locals as “The Tower” and rightly so for the sizeable tankard was nearly twice the size of a normal flagon and carved into the likeness of a tower. The dark, rich and frothy head of the freshly poured ale had spewed over the side, running down the graven brick and ivy side of the tower to drip onto the worn wooden planks of the floor. As he drained the stein in but a few gulps, the dwarven warrior turned to survey the room. His eyes were deep-set beneath a craggy brow lined by a flaming hedge of ember eyebrows that only added to the ruddy hue of his exposed cheeks; his gaze was humorless and observant as he surveyed the room like an artisan about to take on a new endeavor. His eyes met those of Erolas, regarding the elven ranger with a grave sense of respect even as he nodded in acknowledgement of Erolas’ presence. The ranger responded in kind, and then lifted his tankard in an old dwarven salutation. Had the elf not known any better, he would have sworn that he saw the hint of an austere smile on the dwarven warrior’s hardened face. Whatever it was; was short-lived as the short stocky traveler turned back to the bar for a refill.

          “What was that about,” Dunty inquired as he silently watched the pass between the dwarf and the ranger?

          “I’m not sure, my friend,” Erolas replied studying the dwarf for a moment longer, “but I can say one thing for sure.”

          “That is…” Dunty prompted in return?

          “This night seems to be getting more interesting by the moment,” The elf stated as he regarded the halfling with a wistful glance before embroiling himself back into the revelry of this cold mid winter’s eve.

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