Stories from the Tavern of the Pen

[Finnius]

The inside of the Mighty Pen's tavern is unusually busy this night. Drinks flow freely, food is abundant, the air is buzzed with rumor. Tonight, the rumors say, one of the great bards of Terra will be making a public appearance. Tonight, the bard will spin his stories. The crowd waits with baited breath, growing ever more excited by the moment; names begin flying. Will it be the great Orlan, whisper the skullery maids? Maybe it will be Wyvern or Salinye, with tales of adventure and great glittering treasures. The truly hopeful and optimistic even hint that it could be Ozymandius himself, or Zool pulled down off his wall.

 

Therefore, no one is greatly troubled when a short man with an oddly hued complection takes the stage and begins adjusting the footlights. The patrons assume it is a stageman, readying the scene for a great performer. They begin looking around the room for the main attraction. The little blue man begins fiddling around with the stool laid out on the hardwood stage. The crowd begins to look worried. He sits on the stool and clears his throat. People begin leaving.

 

"Wait! Wait, really, I'm a great storyteller!"

 

The patrons pause and look sceptically back towards the stage, as if to say, Ok, but you better be reeeeeaally good. The little blue storyteller clears his throat once again and continues.

 

"This first story takes place a long time ago, back during the early days of Terra Lost, when the world was still new and green, and the first archmages were beginning to reincarnate. It begins with a young dragon named Gwydion. Gwydion was young, about four hundred or so, and small for her age; only twenty five feet long. Her scales were a dusty reddish, instead of the bright ruby sheen that most of her people had. One day, while Gywdion was out hunting for her breakfast, she spied something a touch unusual. A section of her forest had gone silent. Not a bird sang, no wolf howled, nor did any wind rustle the smallest leaf on any tree.

 

Being naturally curious, as all young dragons are, she decided to head down and check it out. Gwydion gracefully glided into the treeline and crept closer to the disturbance..."

 

The crowd begins to look disinterested, and some begin checking their timepieces. The little blue man wipes the sweat off his brow and continues.

 

"In any case, as the young dragoness comes closer she begins to hear sounds with which she is unfamiliar. She hears the clashing of steel, the twanging of bows, and the wailing of dying men. As she creeps even closer, she can smell the blood on the ground and the stench of bile. The young dragon inches closer and closer until she can see the glint of the sun reflecting off plate mail. Gwydion slinks nearly to the treeline and stops dead as she sees a ring of dead men, some clutching bows, others impaled on their own pikes; circling a single man. The man is armed only with a long curved blade, and is wearing no visible armor. He raises his head and looks straight into the dragon's eyes..."

 

(To Be Continued due to Children and Visitors)

[Finnius]

"...

 

Gwydion stares back with all the fervor and ferocity that a dragon her size can muster; which turns out to be enough. The man lowers his weapon, then sheathes it and addresses the young dragoness.

 

'I mean you no harm, noble creature. These men and their belongings are yours for the taking.' The man then turns and exits the clearing with long, graceful... and notably quick strides.

 

That afternoon, after having stashed the booty; which turned out to be quite a bit, Gwydion returned to the glen where she had witnessed the battle. Whoever that man had been, he was long gone. Once again, curiosity got the better of young Gwydion, and coiling her hind legs, she launched herself from the ground. Having seen him exit to the east, the dragoness flew in that direction, towards the edge of her forest. She flies for more miles than she thought possible, eventually touching down and walking, then giving in to sleep. In the morning, when she awakens, Gwydion notices a plume of smoke on the horizon. It is thick and black, and even from this distance, the young dragon can smell its acrid stench. Certainly the sword-man wasn't headed in that direction... Was he? Giving in once again to her curiosity, Gwydion begins toward the smoke.

 

As she comes closer, the dragon begins to notice people. Hundreds of them, flocking towards the smoke-pillar, some with heavy sacks on their shoulders, others with horse-drawn carts, still others with just the clothes on their backs. She hears the sounds of drums in the distance, and hears metal scraping against metal. The sour smoke-smell clogs her draconic nostrils until she lets out a half-hearted sneeze. But nothing prepares her mind for the horrible sight that awaits over the horizon, when the pillar's source becomes apparent.

 

A spire of granite juts into the air, lashes of twisted metal streaming from it to the ground. The ground beneath is concaved inward, forming a shallow bowl, made of great stone slabs. Stairs descend below the slabs, and the people flocking inwards are drawn towards these. The sound of great metal cogs can be heard from beneath the slabs, and sickly reddish light can be seen in the cracks and at the tops of the stairs. And there, on top of the granite spire, stands the man with the sword, his head thrown back and arms outstretched, as if to catch the very wind itself."

 

(To Be Continued due to Sleepiness)