A Story from Subotai

This story came to me in my sleep, a bit of a dream that woke me up, and then my half-awake mind took over . . . This seems to be a common occurrence as of late.

This is a story about an non-player character of mine in the present campaign, a character named Subotai.  He has little to do with the ‘Conan the Barbarian’ character . . . this character has a bit of Subotai’s personality, but also a lot of a character named Old Diehard from a movie called Warriors of Heaven and Earth.  He’s older, appearing to be in his 50’s, but still quick and strong . . . and he’s very good with a bow.

Subotai, Grimm (another npc) and Bo (a player character) are training at the academy of the Order of Light for a mission.  Other members of their team are Carson (yeah, him), his brother Johnathen, the Varaig Hrothgar and a noble-scholar named Gwilym.  Subotai and Bo (Subotai is Uzbeki and Bo is a Chin) decide on an evening out . . . Subotai’s friend Grimm joins them . . . . 

A Story from Subotai

After a day of training, the next day being their free day, Subotai and Bo discuss a walk to check out the Merchants Quarter.  They’ve heard of a collection of Chin merchants and an Inn nearby and they are curious.  Grimm hears them speaking of the walk and decides to join them.

   The trio leaves the Order of Light compound and moves along the north side of the square.  They do begin to see signs of businesses of the Chin, and in fact an entire section of the north side of the square is devoted to the folk of the Chin and others of the east.  Subotai states that he recognizes the script of his folk the Uzbeki on a few businesses.

   A small street branches off and has eastern trees, cherry and magnolia.  Bo sees an Inn and they head that way.  Subotai stops and carefully indicates a pictogram in Chin script.  Bo says that he understands the idea of the script, but is confused by it’s placement.  Subotai says the pictogram is on all of the businesses in a variety of places, mostly not in obvious placement.  Grimm acknowledges and says she has never seen it before.

   “It is a sign to travelers.  I have seen it in many places, in the realms of East Nesloryan and Hadron’s Bastion, as well as in the Scythian lands, in the lands of my folk and in the Chin borderlands where I was raised.  Wherever your folk go, Bo, if outside of the purview of their own people, this sign is an indication that the structure is a safe place for Chin wayfarers, a place of sanctuary in a foreign land.  It includes an additional mark including the Uzbeki folk in this protection.”

   Bo nods, not having been in places where such a thing would exist.

   Grimm laughs and places a hand on her friends shoulder.  “That, my friend, is possibly the longest string of words I have ever heard you put together, and it included a bit about your past as well.  You are in a talkative mood this evening.  Mayhap we might hear a bit more about your past?”

   “Mmmmm . . . probably not,” Subotai replied smiling and he lead the pair into the side street.

   The trio moves forward.  On the right an inn appears, and the trio moves towards it.  There were two doors of entry, Grimm notes, one on the dirt approach to the building and another beyond where bricks had been laid to provide a cleaner, more durable surface.  Grimm remembered a time that she and Subotai had entered a Chin business in Hadron’s Bastion.  The Chin people show respect by cleaning or removing their shoes prior to entering a business.  She smiles and nods to herself and is suddenly glad that she wore were clean town shoes as opposed to her war boots.  She follows the pair to the far door. 

   Inside is an L shaped common room and eight Chin and Uzbeki customers and a male worker at the bar.  It was unseemly for women to work as barmaids in their lands, Grimm remembered.  Any Chin establishment where women were working is usually some level of ‘pleasure palace’.

   Grim and Bo take seats at an empty table as Subotai goes to the worker and orders drinks.  He comes back with a small tray with three small bowls.  The contents of each are a liquor, soft pink in colour.  “Pelju, flavoured with cherry blossoms and herbs,” he says as he places the tray on the table.

   “A runt has entered joined us,” a Chin man, a large, fat, somewhat ugly Chin man exclaims loudly in the Chin language, “and a runt female at that.”

   “A jackass has spoken,” Grimm replies, also in the Chin language.  “His trainer should have taught him better manners.”

   The fat Chin stands and stares down at her, but he is distracted as Bo stands and eyes him.  “She is my guest,” Bo says, “and we mean no harm here.  We are travelers who only wish to feel the comforts of home for a time.”

   “And she insulted me,” the fat man slowly growled, “and that . . .”

   “. . . was your own fault,” says Subotai, still seated at the table, but eyeing the man.  Subotai spoke slowly but precisely in perfect Chin, drawing Bo’s attention away from the fat Chin.  “You insulted her in your language, expecting that she would not understand.  It would be best if you pester her no longer . . . she is capable of snapping you in half.“

   “And you, a gorum nomad, acting like your word means anything.”  His voice was slurring, a sure sign of intoxication.

   “Yun, that is enough.”  The voice of a newcomer carried the authority of someone who expected he would be obeyed.  “You have had enough to drink.  It is time for you to return home and sleep off your anger.”

   The newcomer was an elderly man, slight and short in stature.  Appearing to be about Subotai’s age, his blazing black eyes expected no argument, and he received none.  Yun slowly nodded and turned, walking from the establishment.

   “I apologize for Yun.  His cousin was beaten by a trio of locals not long ago, and he holds a grudge,” the older man said as he walked to the table and acknowledged the three.  “I am Chon Li, owner of the Cherry Blossom Inn.  Welcome and be comfortable,” he paused and looked down at Grimm, sitting at the table sipping from her bowl of Pelju.  “She sips the Pelju as one who has the manners of one of our own.”  He switched to dwarven and added, “You are welcome here, stone-sister.”

   “You are gracious and kind,” Grimm replied in Chin, “and you have a fine establishment.”

   Bo bowed to Chon Li.  “The harm seemed to be caused by too much Doiju,” Bo said gravely.  “I am Tetshibo, monk of the Buddha.  I am warrior from Guenzhou who has joined the cause of these folk.  I must admit, your establishment and your manners are causing me to miss my home, even though it has not been long since I was there.”

   Subotai stood and bowed as well.  “Our companion is Freida Braveaxe, known as Grimm, a powerful ally and companion.  I go where she goes, as I owe her a life debt.  I,” Subotai paused for a considerable time before continuing, “I am Cho Subotai-qul, born a freeman in the town of Ihnya, sired by Amul-komon and borne to Cho Mailu, a woman of Shinsuan.”

Chon Li raises an eyebrow at this, but he bows in return and says, “My folk have lived in this land for many years, but they originated in Chang-sing.  Our folk living in this town are from many regions of Cathay-Jia, but all from our land are welcome.”  Chon Li paused and then asked, “Do I understand that you were borne a Fu-li, a freeman, but that you were once a slave?”

Grimm turned her head towards Subotai at this, her eyes wide.  Subotai looks at her and nods, and he suddenly looks his age, which she guesses to be fifty to sixty years.

“I am Subotai, of the Shinsuan family Cho, Fu-li and former qul, slave.  My father was Amul the scout-rider, an Uzbeki who loved a Chin woman and dwelled in a town for her.  My mother was Cho Mailu, a woman who loved an Uzbeki man and left her land to live with him in the trade town of Ihnya. 

“I was born in Ihnya and was raised there.  My father used his knowledge and skill as a scout for the town’s guard and he began to teach me these skills when I was a boy.  I was taught to ride and to run and to shoot the bow.  I was small but strong and swift and no one could catch me when I ran.  My mother taught me the letters of her folk, and of languages and of the tales of her ancestors.  She also taught me of the goddess Quan Yin, and my father taught me of Teisheba of the four winds . . . and I was happy.

“The folk of my father raided Ihnya one summer and my parents were killed.  I was taken as a prize and enslaved.  I had not quite seen my thirteenth summer.

“I was a slight and thin child and small for my age.  When my captors identified my ancestry,” he raised his hand and brushed aside his long gray hair and revealed an ear which had been mutilated, the upper part showing scars that healed poorly, “the mark of the fey, the elves, I was cut to make me conform to their norm.”  He lowered his hand and allowed his hair to fall over his ears again.

“I was learned, as were my mothers folk, and I was passed from owner to owner until I came into the possession of a concubine of the great war leader Khusta An.  Her name was Jasur.  She enjoyed my quick mind and I was soon running errands for her and dealing with her menial chores and work.  I was taught stealth and spying and eavesdropping, for she yearned to know the secrets of others.  Soon after that, she began to teach me more subtle arts, palming objects and hiding things.  She used me to collect items from her enemies, as she fashioned herself a ‘sehrli’, a witch or hexer, and she use her ‘magik’ to jinx her enemies and help her insinuate herself with the leader Khusta An, An the Master.

“The clan of Khusta An was a moderately-sized one, but their territory was coveted by two of the larger Uzbeki groups.  Khusta An suddenly announced one day that he would lead the clan to a great destiny in the west.  The clan’s journey would be long, but their reward would be great.  My mistress Jasur had planted the idea in his head, and my fate would be determined by this deception.

“After four years in captivity, I was suddenly on a long journey, a trek which lasted over a year.  The people cried for the woes that they suffered on this journey, for we were beset by tribes of nomads and then the dark creatures in the lands of the Tog Odlari, the Fanged-Beings and then we were tested by the desert known as the Sea of Bones.  After four years of soft living, I again gained the form and body of an active youth.  I was better fed than most, as I was a slave of Jasur.

“Finally, we reached the shores of a great lake, a sea, and were told that we had arrived.  We cut out a territory on the southwestern shore of the sea, a land of scattered settlements of farmers and herders, Scythian folk.  These lands had no overlord and Master An soon controlled their lands, requiring them to work for him and taking them as slaves if they refused.  This new land was not for a softer folk, but it suited the soul of the Uzbeki.  Master An ruled a territory from the Caspan Sea west to the Karakum, a wasteland.  Within a year he had taken over a trading town on the great river Amu Dorya, and he suddenly he controlled the main east-west trading route between the east and the nations of the west.

“My escape from the folk of Master An came soon after this.  While in the trade city, Jasur died.  She was poisoned, and I too was sick for a short time, as I had taken a sip of wine from the same container.  When I recovered, I was told that the preparations were being made for Jasur’s musqa yonis, the sacred burning, and that I would join her on the fire.

“They were unaware of the skills taught to me by Jasur, for I was soon out of the camp of Master An and in amongst the traders of the town.  I stowed away on a riverboat heading down stream and away from slavery.  I never looked back.”  Subotai paused and looked around the room.  “I am Subotai-komon, scout and archer.  I am Cho Subotai of the family Cho of Shinsuan.  I am Subotai, of the Uzbeki folk and the Chin.”

There was quiet for a bit until Chon Li broke the silence.  “Welcome, Subotai-komon of the family Cho.  We are honored by your presence.”

Subotai seated himself and began to sip at his bowl of Pelju.  He found that Grimm was staring at him intently.  “I have been enriched by your story, my friend,” she said softly in Chin.  She paused for a few seconds before asking in Havloran, “ . . . so, how old are you.”

Subotai stopped and thought for a few moments and replied, “Eighty-one”, and returned to sipping his Pelju.

© 2017 Thomas D Taylor All Rights Reserved

A day in the life of Carson

This story is another story that was never intended as a story.  It was . . . well, I will take a few paragraphs and explain things a bit. 

Carson and his brother Johnathen are the grandchildren of Tarl deCourbet, a rather important man in the realm of AvonLore . . . Tarl, yes, that Tarl, from the previous story.  Their father Thaddeus was the sire of four children, a girl and three boys.  As the boys reached adulthood, the three boys, their ‘cousin’ Eloise and their escort Evn took a tour of the realm, finding adventure.  They found a great deal of adventure in the far Wilderland, fighting goblins.  The third brother named Victor decided the adventuring life wasn't for him, and he returned to the capital with Prince Roderick, a self-centered sort who was jealous of his older brother and heir to the realm, Thurstone.

The other two boys and their companions continued to help fight the goblins and became embroiled in finding one of their companions, their ‘cousin’ Henery.  This search eventually led to an alpine valley with a stone circle and a group of dark druids about to sacrifice Henery and complete some great ritual.  The great druid was killed near the end of the ritual, and the group and a few surviving foes were propelled 19 years into the future by the power of the interrupted ceremony.  They were discovered by powerful family and friends and were ‘transported’ to the mythical Inn of the Unicorn, a cross-world nexus located somewhere on world tree, Yggdrasil. 

The group of heroes, now 19 years into the future, have agreed to assist in a strange mission . . . they have done so at the behest of Tarl deCourbet and King Dargoth BloodAxe.  You remember Dargoth from the previous two stories . . .

This party is about to start an epic campaign that will take many years to complete.  They are taking any opportunity to gain a little training before they go.  Carson’s player had mentioned to me being interested in a bit of Investigator training for his character Carson, and this ‘story’ is the result.

Note : this story was written in one sitting . . . and it took about six hours.

A day in the life of Carson

Carson and Johnathen deCourbet are at the home of their parents the day after their meeting at the Inn of the Unicorn.  They have already rested for a week, but they now have one additional week to rest prior to their departure for Nesloryan and their mission.

With Isabel installed as the ‘Eorl’ of Abelard, Una and Thaddeus now have a home in the hills to the north of town.  A fine home in the midst of a wooded track, the pair have the time and privacy to spend upon their chosen professions, Una on her witchcraft and Thaddeus on his Arcane Sorcery.

Una is home today, but Thaddeus is off on his father’s business, as he is helping him in this ‘Prophecy’ business by managing the basics of the investigation while his father bounces around and does what he does best.

Victor is home to visit his brothers, both twin and older.  He has been rehabilitated after his questionable support of Prince Roderick in a scheme to overthrow his brother Thurstone . . . Victor’s quick turn against Roderick when it began to go bad helped Victor’s case, but he is still seen to be of ‘questionable reliability and is not really accepted in Royal circles at this point.  He is, however, always accepted at home.

Isabel returns today, taking a break from the daily business of the demesnes to visit her brothers.  She was a young woman of 21 when they disappeared, newly married.  She was always smart and quick of mind, but the brothers notice that she has also gained a level of common sense, or really uncommon sense, that she lacked at times in her youth.

A lovely day visiting and comparing notes leaves Carson and Johnathen wondering if they will ever become completely comfortable again in the presence of those they knew and still love.  So much has changed in nineteen years . . . . . . . . .

That afternoon, the family gets a surprise . . . Grandfather Tarl shows up for dinner.  Una seems to have been expecting him.  An enjoyable meal is had by all, and a round of wine, ale, etc. is served in the main room afterward.

Carson leaves for a moment and steps outside.  He is alone for only a few moments before he notices his grandfather approaching.  They talk for a few minutes, small talk of family and plans for the week and such . . .

“So, lad, what are you plans for tomorrow.  I ask only because I have arranged an opportunity for you, a chance to train with a master.  This man has skills that might be useful to you in this task that you’ve agreed to.  The things he shows you will also be invaluable to you if you take on the full mantle of the Constable in the future.”

Carson readily agrees, having been waiting for Tarl to pause so that he could do so.  Carson knows and respects his grandfather greatly . . . any suggestion made by him will be agreed to without hesitation or question.

“Grab your gear,” Tarl says.  “Whatever you need for an overnight trip.  I’ll have you back by tomorrow night.  I would, however, leave your bow and your shield . . . you shouldn’t need them.”

‘Curiouser and curiouser,” Carson thinks to himself.  ‘No Bow or shield?  Alright, if Grandfather says so . . .’

Carson grabs a small knapsack of gear and comes back downstairs to find Tarl talking quietly with Una.  Una is nodding, and then she turns and smiles as Carson enters the room.

Tarl calls out suddenly to Malcolm, “Ready to go, you know the spot.”  Tarl and Carson suddenly fade out and fade back in . . . to a darkened alley in a city, an old city, just after sunset.  As Tarl and Carson walk down the alley to the street beyond, Carson quickly takes in what he is seeing.  They reach the street and Carson looks up and down the narrow street for clues.  Finally, he says, “Glockenhollow?”

Tarl nods and smiles.  “Good guess.  And those skills that you just used without my prompting, they are the skills that my friend Rafael will be helping you with.”

Tarl leads Carson up the street to a small square.  On the far side of that square is an Inn, the sign of the Singing Wren.  Tarl walks in the door with Carson trailing and walks up to the counter and calls softly, “Customer,” after ringing the bell.  A tall woman steps out from the back room and sees Tarl, bowing to him.  “Master Draco, as expected.  Here is your room key.  There are refreshments in the room.”

Tarl nods and leads Carson towards the stairs.  At the top of the stairs there is door the right and hallway to the left with many doors.  Tarl unlocks the door to the right and the pair enter . . . a much shorter hallway.  Tarl relocks the door and they walk down the hall to the farthest room, which Tarl unlocks.  The room is lit by oil lamp, and is well appointed with a table and chairs and a bed against the inside wall.  On the table there is a carafe of wine and a mug of ale, with a refill for each in small sealed pewter containers.

Tarl is quiet for a bit as they each relax and sip their drinks.  Suddenly, Tarl asks, “How many tables were there downstairs in the main room of the inn?”

Carson sputters for a moments and then answers.

“Close, there were five.  How many windows facing the street in that same room?”  Carson answers, and Tarl shakes his head.  “There were three.  What color was the innkeepers blouse?”  Carson shakes his head.  “How many oil lamps are lit in this room.  Too late, if you are having to look now.”

Tarl stops and places his hand on his grandson’s arm.  “Relax, Carson.  Take a sip of your drink.”  Carson does so, his eyes a bit wide and uncertain.

“Son, I don’t mean to demean you or belittle you . . . but I have to make a point clear.” Tarl finishes his wine, refills his goblet and begins . . .

“This mission is an odd one.  You have an ultimate goal and you have no idea where to start.  You know the mission is important, but no one is sure how to complete it.  You have on your team a number of fine fighters.  Your brother is one and Hrothgar is another.  Bo is quite solid if a bit defensive minded.  Grimm is solid, she has fine scouting skills and she’s a good tactician I am told.   Subotai is a great archer and spotty in hand-to-hand, but he makes up for it as a scout.  Gwilym is . . . learning quickly, and he has a sharp mind, he is skilled at Arcane Sorcery and has a brain like a sponge.  And you, Carson, are good in a fight, good with a bow, good as a scout and you have a sense of justice which, to be honest, could help you keep the group from making any faux pas in Nesloran.

“What this group does not have is me.

“OK, the group does not have an observer, an investigator, someone who can see what normally is not seen, someone who can help the group find clues and maybe save their asses in a tight spot.  Someone who is looking for things that others might miss.”  Tarl chuckles and then continues.  “You probably don’t understand what I meant by those odd questions about this place, but you might in time.”  Tarl pauses and takes a gentle draw from his goblet and savors the flavor for a moment.  “Hmmmmm, nice vintage.  I shouldn’t be gulping this.”  He eyed Carson for a moment and then smiled before continuing.

“I was raised in Glockenhollow; common knowledge I believe.  Despite the fact that I was the son of a guard officer, I spent a great deal of time on the street, learning the trade of a thief and con artist; NOT common knowledge.  Oh, don’t give me that look, Carson.  I also learned the skills of a shaman as a youth, but you don’t see me following that trade either.”  Tarl smiled and laughed and then continued.  “This town holds so many memories for me, and it is a good place to learn what I think you need to learn.  You will meet Rafael tomorrow.  He is nearly my height, he’ll be cloaked but likely will show no weapon.  He will come and get you here when he is ready to start your day’s training.  He will refer to me as ‘the old sneak’.” Tarl smirks at that.  “He was raised here is Glockhollow as well, and he will take you places that may surprise you.  Follow him and do as he says and pay attention to him.”

Tarl took another sip and stopped talking.

Carson sat and wondered what he had agreed to . . . and wondered what he would see with the coming of the new day.

Tarl chatted a bit and finished his wine in a leisurely fashion.  Once he was done, he excused himself and called to Malcolm, and he was gone.

---         ---         ---

Carson finished his ale and thought about what his grandfather had said for a bit.  He considered a walk around town, but his experience with Glockhollow was minimal and he didn’t want to get lost or get himself into something that he couldn’t handle on his own.  Finally he checked the room, got undressed and went to bed.

Carson awoke to a knock on the door.  Sighing, he rolled over and considered whether to ask who was there.  The knock came again, and this time Carson realized that someone was knocking on the table . . . in the room.  Bolting upward, Carson eyed a man sitting in one of the chairs at the table.  He was wearing black leather trousers and a gray shirt, and his brownish cloak was open and dripping water onto the floor.

“Good morning, Carson,” the man said quietly.  “The old sneak said you’d be here, ready to learn.  Well, get dressed . . . it’s time to learn.”

Carson grabbed his clothes from the chair he had placed beside the bed.  Once dressed, he buckled on the sword belt and he then pulled on his cloak.  He was soon ready to go, if a bit bleary eyed and confused by the start of the day.  He then eyed his teacher Rafael more closely.  Light build, just taller than himself, dark hair and eyes.  He had a dagger visible on his belt, but no other visible weapons.  Brown boots, short and of supple material, completed his outfit.

“What do you see, Carson?  I see you looking at me, what do you see?”

Carson described Rafael as he’s just observed.  “What else,” Rafaele asked.

“Well, you’re sneaky, as I didn’t hear you come in.  You managed to unlock the door as well.”

“Is that all,” Rafael asked.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Not bad, but you have a background as a Constable.  Your grandfather told me about that, but little else.  Now, do you want to know what I have learned about you?”  Carson’s eyes narrowed and he nodded.

“You are not a drunkard or you would be much less functional than you are now.  You are a bit nervous, but not especially so, either an inborn trait or a reliance upon the fact that your grandfather would not place you in the hands of a maniac.  You are presently uncomfortable without the heft of your shield.  You also seem to be looking about, almost as if you are used to be carrying more equipment.  A well-used bow is part of that equipment . . . your calluses indicate that you don’t rely more on bow or sword, but will use either readily.  I would assume you have been more active in the outlands, in the woods and wilderness, and have spent little time in the city as of late, if at all.”

Carson sighed.

“That shamshir is a good weapon.  It won’t draw the attention of the guardsman, but it’s handier and deadlier in a fight that a shortsword.  Keep the cloak over it when you can, no sense in being obviously armed.  Pay attention as well as you can today . . . I will be throwing a lot at you.  I will give you occasional directions and will ask questions; follow my instructions, and answer the questions as best as you can.  Pay attention and learn.”  Rafael walked to the door, removed the key and left it on the table.

Carson followed Rafael out into the hallway and out a door.  Down rain-covered steps the pair went, with Rafael making nary a sound . . . Carson tried to emulate him.  It was not raining, although Carson was sure that it had been . . . the smell in the air, the slick steps and Rafael’s wet cloak proved that.  ‘Oh,’ Carson thought, ‘I should have mentioned that to him, the wet cloak.  Damn!’

The pair emerged from a narrow alley and onto a street.  They walked down the street and up a side street a ways until they came to another open square.  They did not enter the square, but instead slipped into the shadows of a corner between buildings . . .

Carson noticed that it was quite dark except for the light from a couple of street nearby lamps.  He looked to the sky and found no hint of morning’s light.  ‘What time is it,’ Carson wondered to himself.

A soft elbow to the ribs drew Carson’s attention.  “Watch,” Rafael whispered.

A wagon was entering the square.  The bed of the wagon was covered with a tarp. 

The wagon was maneuver around to the side of a restaurant and a large door was opened on the building.  A large man stepped out and greeted the driver of the wagon.  The pair uncovered the load and placed it just inside the door of the building.  Carson saw sacks of what appeared to flour in the bed of the wagon.  The pair unloaded most of the flour and then they each grabbed an end of the poorly bundled tarp and placed it in the back of the wagon.  The big man waved the driver off and went inside, closing the door.  The driver mounted the seat of the wagon and drove off.

“Well, what did you see?”

Carson started at the sudden question.  “Well, a load of flour for the restaurant.  A big fellow from come out and helped the driver unload the wagon . . . and then they were done.”

“What else?”

“Hmmm, they didn’t recover the remaining sacks of flour, few as were left.”

“What else?”

Carson thought for a second and a thought formed.  “Umm, the tarp, they placed it in the bed.  But, they took it inside while they were unloading the wagon, and the pair of them carried it back out,” Carson paused for a moment and then continued, “like it was heavier, or maybe had something in it that it didn’t have before.”

“Not bad,” Rafael said quietly.  He then elbowed Carson and headed into the square.  “Watch everyone that we see for a bit.  I’ll ask you about them later.”

“But, what did they have in the tarp,” Carson whispered to Rafael.

“What indeed,” Rafael replied smiling.

The walk up the street led them past eight people out and about as the sun finally started hinting at it’s impending rising.  They came to a small tavern that was already open for the day, or had never closed, whichever.  They took a seat in the corner and food was brought for them; cheese and bread and meat sliced off of the pig that had been cooked for dinner last evening and some stew.  They ate first and then Rafael looked at Carson and started asking questions.

“Who did we see first?”

“A woman.”

“Describe her.”

“Dirty blonde, shoulder length hair, brown dress with a red vest, gray wool cloak.”

“Weapons?”

“Ummm, no”

“Silver dagger on left hip in an embroidered sheath . . . fancy.  Describe the third person that we saw.”

This continued for some time as Carson continued to try to keep the people straight and get as much as possible correct.  When they paused for a draw of ale, Carson felt he had done a woefully poor job.  A few minutes later, a man walked into the tavern.

“Watch him,” Rafael said softly.

The man approached the ostler and then glanced around the room.  He quickly turned his eyes from Rafael and Carson and moved to the other corner.  Food was brought to him and he began eating.

“Don’t eyeball him, use you peripheral vision, observe but don’t stare,” Rafael said.  He then made short work of the food remaining in front of him and, upon finishing, leaned back in the chair with a satisfied look on his face and belched loudly.

Carson continued to observe the man.  Young and tall, well-built, likely full-human, Carson thought.  He had the look of a tough guy.  No weapons showing, but was that a short sword hidden underneath the cloak?  Hmmm, he’s glancing at the door, like he’s expecting someone.

The door opened again and two men entered.  One was about Carson’s size, well-dressed, nice boots with some mud on them.  He had no visible weapon, but was also wearing a cloak.  The taller man was rough looking, rough leathers and a cheap wool cloak, heavy and gray.  Carson saw the weapon handle, sword hilt by the look of it, sticking out behind his neck mostly hidden by the hood of his cloak.

The pair joined the first fellow, with the rough man watching the door and the room while the other two talked.  Soon, a bag of coins crossed the table, smallish, eight or ten, maybe twelve coins, Carson surmised.  The first man seemed pleased as he hefted the bag and smiled.  The well-dressed man said something sharply and the three rose and headed out the door.

As the door closed, Rafael’s eyes lost their dreamy state and he quickly stood.  He placed silver two coins on the counter and headed for the door.

“What was wrong with that encounter,” Rafael asked as they walked outside.

“Many things, Carson replied.  “I’d say we saw a pay-off, although for what I don’t know.  What bothers me is, well . . .”

Rafael had looked and spotted the trio while Carson was talking.  They had walked down a bit and were turning up a side street.  Rafael turned to follow them while pulling Carson after him.

“Blend in, Carson.  Keep well enough back to avoid drawing attention, but close enough so as not to loose them.  Now, what else bothers you about that exchange?”

“I think there was gold in that bag.”

“Very good.  Watch for a guard patrol and follow me, I’ll watch them.”

They turned up the side street just as Carson spotted a pair of guardsmen, on-duty watch by the look of it, coming up the street.

“Get them to come with you,” Rafael said softly.  “Give them your name and add, ‘on the business of the King’s Constables’, and ask them to follow you.  If they refuse, insult their mothers and follow me quickly.”  He then headed up the side street.

“What,” Carson said, trying to remain quiet.  “Fine, no problem.”

Carson approached the two guardsmen and announced, “Carson deCourbet on the business of the King’s Constable.  Follow me, we have a situation.”  He then turned and trotted off in pursuit of Rafael. 

The two guardsmen followed.  “Who, what’s going on?” while the other said to his partner, “deCourbet?  Let’s go, this might be legit.”

The trio moved up the street and to a tee on a darkened street.  Carson looked for Rafael, and then suddenly heard something above him on the left.  He then saw a rock drop to the ground after having struck the building to his left.  The guards continued to look left as Carson turned right, surmising that the rock had been thrown from that direction.  He saw Rafael hiding behind some crates and he led he guardsmen over.

“What goes on here, sir,” the senior guardsman asked in a low voice as they all hide behind the crates.

“We have a trio of men in that building, downstairs and in back by the look of it.  Side door there would be our way in.  Ten to twelve gold exchanged hands in the Pot and Lantern Tavern and I believe this may involve someone, not something, that is being exchanged. 

“OK, fine,” the guardsman replied softly, listening intently.  “What do you want to do?”

“Carson, watch the place for escapees,” Rafael replied.  “You two are with me.”

Rafael headed off with the guardsman, while Carson watched the building.  Anticipation increased in Carson as he waited, but he didn’t need to wait long.  A fight broke out inside, with the guards announcing themselves and the sounds of fighting following.

Carson decided he needed to be closer and he ran to the corner of the building.  Here he had a view of the street and he had the front door covered.  A few seconds later, Carson heard footsteps inside running for the front door, the door suddenly opened and the first man from the tavern rushed out, only to be tripped by Carson.  The man fell flat on his face and tried to get up, only to see Carson’s shamshir blade a foot away from his face.

”In the name of AvonLore and Athenae the Just, I take you into custody.  Give up your arms or suffer the consequences.”

The man didn’t move as one of the guardsman came out of the building and pulled a horn from his cloak and sounded a long call.  He waited a bit and then sounded again, and this time he received two replies.  Soon, four guardsmen joined them, an additional half-a-dozen a few minutes later.

---         ---         ---

“What the Hel was that,” Carson asked Rafael as the guard took the three men away.  A pale man, obviously abused and with untreated wounds, had been pulled from the room, treated and ushered off quickly, also under guard.

“To be honest, we wandered into something completely unexpected,” Rafael said smiling.  He then looked at Carson and asked, “So, did they come along obediently or did you have to insult them?”

“Hmmm, well,” Carson said quietly, “I actually tried a trick I’ve seen my parents and others use.  They simply stated to follow them, and they turn and head off as though there is no question that you are going to follow.  I wasn’t sure it would work in this case, but the King’s Constables mention and my last name seems to have been enough to convince them.”

Rafael laughed out loud for a bit and then nodded.  “Good, good.  Now, investigate the scene.  The guardsman aren’t interested, they have all the information that they think they need.”

Carson went through the building carefully.  A low attic upstairs held a variety of odd items.  The front room was little used.  The building appeared to have formerly been a shop of some type, but was now on a side street that was not so well traveled.  In the back were three rooms.  One was the bedroom of the first man in the tavern, the tough guy.  Carson found normal items in the room, and then found a bag containing lock picks, rope, a few pairs of gloves and a half-a-dozen empty sacks.  A wardrobe held a few clothes and many things of value; rings and bracelets and such, mostly.

The second room was empty, had been occupied, but not recently.  A bed, an empty chest, and a wardrobe, all empty.  Carson found one loose floorboard, removed it, found a hiding place with two bags of coins in them.  Mostly copper, some silver; the total value probably came to around a few hundred copper.

The third room also held a bed and a wardrobe, but that was also where the pale man had been held.  Tied to the bed, obviously.

Carson reported everything that he surmised from the place.  A petty thief or burglar, Carson surmised.  The prisoner was a bit of a head scratcher, Carson had to admit.

“Someone who had crossed the Thieves Guild, from the sound of it.  The young tough, our first man in the door, is a member as well.  He found the man, somehow got him to come here or dragged him here, either.  He then went to the guild to sell him, for about 10 gold pieces from the sounds of it.  A tidy profit for sending a man to his death, eh?”

Carson frowned, and nodded.

“Well, that was a useful diversion, but we have training to complete.  Off we go, Carson.”  Carson stepped outside and saw that it was barely dawn.  Carson sighed.

---         ---         ---

Rafael kept Carson at it all day.  ‘Watch him’, or ‘watch her’, or ‘what was she REALLY doing’.  He took Carson into a number of shady, dirty places and had him investigate the premises, describing what he found.  Sometimes Rafael added information that he had missed, sometimes he simply nodded and they moved on.

Carson was well fed, as Rafael stopped three more times in different taverns throughout the city.  Each time it was good food and, ‘Watch him, Carson.’  ‘Now, did he have any jewelry?’, etc.

Finally, not long after dusk was gone and night fallen, they returned to the Inn that Carson had stayed in the previous night.

“Alright, Carson, that will be enough for today.  You’ve done well, better than I had expected.  If you ever need any further lessons, you will find me through your grandfather.”

“Thank you, Rafael,” Carson said, bowing his head in respect.  “I feared I was not doing well today, but I will certainly reflect upon what I have seen today.”  Carson paused and then added, “Sir, what exactly is it that you do for a living?”

“I am chief special investigator for the Crown.  I report directly to the Chief Constable of AvonLore.”  He paused and then laughed a bit before adding, “Close your mouth, son.  And I see a question in your eyes . . . ‘Why is he helping to train ME.”  Rafael laughed again and continueed.  “I was found by the old sneak, your grandfather, and recruited to the Royal service.  At that time I was a young scoundrel, a bit of con man, and I made the mistake of ‘marking’ your Grandfather.  Well, that went wrong very quickly as you can probably guess.  He didn’t turn me in, but he said, ‘I’ll be seeing you again, so, I’d be more careful if I were you.’  That scared me straight for a time, and I avoided the obvious cons for a bit.  Then, one day, I find myself face-to-face with him again.  He introduced himself this time, and I felt doubly stupid for my previous attempt to fleece him.  Imagine, me, trying to con Tarl deCourbet!  Well, long story short, he found work for me, helping him on one of his ‘missions’.  After awhile, he turned me over to the Falkirk College for training.  I actually learned investigations and criminal justice under Gunner macAilpein himself for a time.  I worked for your grandfather for a few years after I completed my schooling and then joined the Royal Investigations Corps.”  Rafael looked at Carson and his eyes narrowed.  “Ah, that’s right.  You are living out of your time.  You probably met the elderly Prince Westerfield decades ago.”  He smiled and brushed back his hair and revealed a slightly pointed ear.  “I’ve been in this business for almost fifty years.”

© 2017 Thomas D Taylor All Rights Reserved

The Council of AvonLore

Another shorter story never meant to be a story . . .

The group that is presently being played in the 3rd iteration of my own gaming system, Tryskeleon, has been out goofing off, as it were.  Time to drop on them an epic task and make them earn their livings.  Almost all of the folk in the group are the sons and daughters of powerful folk, and they now need to live up to the deeds of their ancestors.  Sooooo . . . 

. . . enter a prophecy and a nearly legendary figure named Tarl deCourbet . . . and his friend, King Dargoth Bloodaxe.

The Council of AvonLore

1

-  Upon creation of the Realm of AvonLore, King Thurstone the First was in his full intelligence and sense of right.  He was sure of his decision making, but he also knew that he needed council, and that his descendants might need it more than he.  He created the Council of AvonLore as an advisory body not technically attached to the day-to-day management of the Realm of the House of Lords.

-  The members of the council include lords of the realms (Kenshar, Abelarde, Westerfield, Freidland, the Calendrian March, etc.), as well as those identified as ‘Councilors of the Realm’.  Tarl deCourbet and Owayn Isenbeorn were the first identified as such, and there are few who are assigned this title (as was Kark Helios’hand).  Others who often are called to attend but have no decision making role are the High-Clerics of the leading Cults, but only those specified by the King (usually the Cults of Thundarus, Dana, Helios, Athenae, Gwendolyn).

2

A prophecy uttered at the exact moment of the crowning of Thurstone the First as Lord of AvonLore revealed that, “In the future, AvonLore will be threatened with utter extinction unless the folk of the land remain watchful.  Even then, the actions of a few may eventual save all.  The mark of the ‘fey’ will be on these saviors and they will bring honor upon themselves and those that came before them.”

   The leaders of AvonLore, especially those who have power over the lands, have been privy to the prophecy and have watched for decades for signs of this catastrophe.

   Recently, the crown learned of the death of a member of the Order of the Light in far off land of Nesloryan.  The deceased champion was talking with a follower of Gwendolyn, a witch and seer who was having a vision.  As she was telling of a great catastrophe that would soon befall Nesloryan, the witch was attacked by a strange spirit; the witch and the champion of the Order of Light were both killed, but the witches niece witnessed the attack and fled.  When word arrived in AvonLore of this prophecy in the lands on the eastern continent, those in AvonLore who know of their prophecy begin to realize that watching AvonLore and the regions around the realm may not have been enough . . . the threat may be a wider one.  This new information leads those that have been watching to wonder if they have been blind to the arrival of the threat. 

   King Thurstone II, grandson of King Thurstone I and son of King Aramis, called for a meeting of the Council of AvonLore.  Once gathered, the Council discussed the possibly of a connection between the two prophecies.  The assembled lords decided that an immediate investigation be launched to an effort to discover any connection between the two prophecies and the source of the spirit that silenced the prophecy of Nesloryan.  It was decided that someone must be assigned to manage the effort.  As Lady Isabel deCourbet began to make a motion to determine the leader of this investigation, King Thurstone turned to Tarl deCourbet.  “Tarl deCourbet, friend of my father and grandfather, there is no one more capable than you to manage this effort.”

3

After the council meeting ends, young Thurstone asks Tarl to meet with him in his private office.  Upon his arrival, he finds Thurstone awaiting him and King Dargoth entering to join them.  Dargoth strides slowly but without a sign of lameness despite his advanced age (119 yrs old); he has a long-handled axe that he uses as a cane, but he does not lean upon it.  Tarl believes that Dargoth could just as easily use that axe to cut down a dozen foes if threatened.

   The three make a few decisions in their short meeting, although Dargoth makes few comments and simply affirms most of the decisions when Thurstone looks his way for approval.  It is decided that they will expand their watchers and use in-place allies to assist whenever possible.  As no watchers of AvonLore have been present in Nesloryan, they decide to ask the Order of Light to assist in that region, as they are former allies and have been active in that region for over a hundred years.

   Tarl is in charge of the effort, but he is to brief Thurstone and Dargoth occasionally, and he is expected to check in to keep up on any important intel gathered.  Tarl chuckles and agrees, knowing that his wife Gwendolyn will keep him in contact and advise him of anything important.

   A few other minor things are ironed out in this meeting and it breaks up about dinnertime.  Thurstone leaves via the door into his main offices, while Dargoth and Tarl leave and head down the balcony towards the main hall for dinner.  They walk along the second floor of the palace/fort looking down at the courtyard garden below . . . Tarl matches the pace of his old friend as they walk . . .

   "That boy has a lot of his grandfather in him," Dargoth says as he walks along.  "His father Aramis was a good man, but he had trouble being a good king.  You and I both know that Lily (wife of Aramis, daughter of Morganstern and Breanna, now the Queen Mother) was the true power of the realm for years, thank Clangedin.  She's a smart girl, daughter of her father that one."

   "Thurstone, on the other hand, is like his grandfather Thurstone.  That was a man, I tell you, smart and firm in his course, and courageous too despite his scholarly appearance.  I hadn't met a lot of men that impressed me before that; you and Morganstern and Kark, even Garth . . . but that man, he made me glad to have you folks as allies."

   Tarl nodded and walk slowly alongside Dargoth.  Tarl worried at times, as age was finally affecting Dargoth noticeably.  He wasn't done by any means, and he had strong children to help him.  His oldest Astrid is married to Galdric, RealmLord of Ardencor.  His eldest son Boric is a chip off the old block, a warrior-cleric of Clangedin.  His second daughter is Ingrid, married to Delgren, RealmLord of Galdor's Gate.  Tarl's brow furrowed a bit as he thought of Freida, Dargoth's youngest daughter, missing these last twenty years or more . . . And his youngest son, Gunnolf, is a powerful monk and teacher to Tarl's own granddaughter Jana.

   As they neared the top of the stairs, Dargoth stops and looks out over the courtyard, and then he looks up at Tarl.  "I'm glad Thurstone picked you to run this mission.  If he hadn't suggested it, I'd planned on forcing the issue myself."  Dargoth smiled, and continued, "I know, I know, you are tired.  You are tired and hoping to spend more time with your wife.  But this, this is something that needs your attention".  Dargoth paused and then continued.  "I hate this kind of thing, some hidden threat, slinking around in the dark somewhere, undefined and skulking.  I was never good at that kind of thing, you know that.  Put a foe out there and let me fight him, that's my way.  You, on the other hand, you've always had a knack for ferreting these types of threats out.  That is why I was always glad to have you around, even in the days we were with Owayn and Gwen, before we became friends; stealth and intrigue, that is something you understand.  I'd see a mess of shadows and mist, and then you'd walk out of those shadows, sword bloodied and the foe revealed, the task clear.  Aye, those were the days . . ."

   Tarl nodded.  “Aye, those were the days.  Fighting alongside Owayn and Gwen, no responsibilities and nothing could stand in our way.  The world was ours, or that’s what we thought.  And then, we did make the world ours.”

   “You and I and Thurstone,” Dargoth added, “and all the others.  So many have passed on and so few remain from those days seventy, eighty years ago.  But our children remain, and their children.  That granddaughter of yours, Isabel, she’s another smart one.  This was her second official meeting as leader of Abelarde and she showed no fear or hesitation.  She spoke her piece and she stood her ground.”

   “It wasn’t her choice,” Tarl said, nodding, “but with her brothers Carson and Johnathen missing all of these years, with Victor . . . well . . . She took to the task and has proven her worth, no doubt of that, my old friend.”  Tarl paused and nodded again.

   “Aye, I only hope that the dwarves do not botch the works up when I pass on,” Dargoth added quietly, staring off across the courtyard, his brow furled.

   “Hmmm,” Tarl murmered, and then continued, “I had forgotten.  The dwarf kings do not follow a hereditary line.  They will elect a new king.”

   “Yes, they will.  And they may select my offspring in the course of it . . . “ Dargoth grumbles as he glances at Tarl.  “I do not believe they will, though.  Boric is a fine lad, a true and strong cleric and war leader.  He does not have the finer skills, the oratory skills needed to convince the gathered clan leaders.  Nor does he have a great list of feats to draw upon to convince the doubters.  I had the advantage of being a war leader in a time of great struggle.  We fought Leodonis and protected Sithagor and Galdor’s Gate from invasion.  I was one of the first to stride the halls of DwarvenMount when we retook the place.”  Dargoth paused and glanced at Tarl and added, “After you had taken a look first, of course.  It is always good to have a scout look and find the enemy’s numbers, give us an idea of their defenses.”

   Tarl smirked and smiled.

   “Gunnolf is a fine lad as well, but they’ll never choose a monk, especially one who does not follow a dwarven deity.”

   “What about Astrid and Ingrid,” Tarl asked, knowing the answer before hearing it.

   “Aw, the dwarves haven’t elected female as leader for hundreds of years, not since Maribel Strong-blade.  Both of my daughters are married to leaders of enclaves as well, and that complicates things.  No, couldn’t happen.”  Dargoth stared off into the sky as if he was looking at the stars despite the fact his vision was limited to about one hundred paces, as was the vision of most of his folk.  “Freida, now, that girl . . . fiery and strong, that one is.  She could put those old traditionalists in their place.”  Dargoth sighed at the memory of his missing daughter, gone off adventuring and missing two or three years now.  That was something else that connected Dargoth and Tarl these days . . . .   

   Dargoth suddenly looked over at Tarl and smiled.  "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me give you a hand with a few things," Dargoth said suddenly to Tarl's surprise and delight.  "Sitting around is getting old, my friend, and I wouldn't mind getting involved in one last quest.  I've been to Nesloryan, although that was seventy plus years ago, and I once had friends in the Order of Light.  They are a small organization, as I remember, but they can be useful allies.  Also, I was thinking we need to send a couple of folks over there as, what do you call it, liaisons.  A diplomatic pair to be our contacts with the Order and maybe with a few of the more helpful realms there."

   "A good idea," Tarl replied nodding.  "Let's save that for tomorrow, though . . . If I'm going to be putting you to work, we should get a good meal in you and let you have a good night sleep.  Thundarus knows I need both myself."

   "Hmmm," Dargoth murmured, taking in a deep breath . . . "I smell roasted boar," Dargoth cried out suddenly, laughing loudly.  "I tell ya, Tarl, the Queen Mother had a hand in that," Dargoth said as he thumped down the stairs towards the main hall.  "I love roasted boar, and Lily knows it!"

   Tarl smiled broadly and watched Dargoth head down stairs at a sprightly pace, and then he shook his head and followed.

© 2017 Thomas D Taylor All Rights Reserved

Gast and Chin Kua at Sithagor

I started running or judging games back in late 1984, early 1985.  RuneQuest was our system of choice, with a few modifications thrown in.  That is a lot of years ago.

In 1986, I planned out my first major campaign, a series of adventures involving Owayn and Gwendolyn, twins who carried the blood of dwarves and humans and elves in their vanes.  The twins gathered a group of minor heroes about them and they took on a daunting task . . . they were to kill Dolgar, a powerful being, a patron of giants and trolls and orcs.  Dargoth BloodAxe was a member of this group.  His adventures did not end in 1987 when the campaign finished up, as he was played right up until 2003.  I still use the character as major personae in certain adventures, one of which is presently being played out.  Gast is an alcoholic cleric of Clangedin used by another player.  Chin Kua was a Tibetan dwarf and an non-player character.  He was a friend of Dargoth's from his pre-Owayn and Gwen days, one of the first non-player characters ever created for one of my games.

I had a dream one night, and it involved the three main characters in this story.  I awoke afterwards and in a groggy half-asleep state this story came out of my head.  I finally got up and wrote it out in one sitting.

Gast and Chin Kua at Sithagor

The Gate of Sith was and still is a dwarven city built into the southern side of a ridge projecting out from the DragonKrag mountains and into the eastern plains.  It is a small settlement in comparison to the neighboring dwarven realm Galdor’s Gate, but its mines were deep and rich in silver and iron.  A small portion of the city was located outside of the mountain in a walled enclosure.  These walls are tall and strong, built by dwarves to keep the foe out.  This trading quarter was all that most traders saw of the city, as the dwarves protect their secrets, and this includes the layout of their underground cities.

   In the years before the Winter War, Dolgar’s fervent follower Leodonis spent his days attempting to destroy the peoples of the lands around the DragonKrags.  In the Year of Uncounted Tears, as the Dwarves reckon years, Leodonis brought forth his armies from the north and east, attacking Galdor’s Gate and The Gate of Sith and sundering their connection with their allies to the west.  The heroes of both realms held out until support arrived from the west, but this particular story tells of the arrival of one particular dwarf to the Gate of Sith, the poor reception he received from one of it’s defenders and the lesson that was taught because of this.

   On the third day of the siege, Dargoth Bloodaxe had been elected War Leader by the dwarves of who inhabited the Gate of Sith.  Among his friends who stood at his side were a number of humans, an elf named Kensei and a dwarf named Gast, a cleric of Clangedin.  As they surveyed the forces of the enemy before the walls, a nearby sentry reported the sound of scrambling on the wall below him.  Dargoth strode forward and listened and he heard what sounded like someone scrambling to the top of the wall and dropping lightly to the stone before him.  Dargoth grabbed his axe and called forth for the intruder to show himself . . . and out of thin air he heard the reply, “No intruder, but instead a friend.”  Suddenly, a small dwarf appeared before them, but a strange dwarf indeed.  He wore the robes of a cleric, but unlike any robes every seen.  He carried a staff and only that, no other weapon and armor could be seen.  On his head was a fur hat.

   Dargoth smiled, slung his axe and then grasped the strange cleric in a bear hug.  “This is no foe, I say, but he is my friend Chin Kua, a dwarf from the east and a companion of my youth.  He is a monk and a cleric of Dumathion, and a fine comrade in a fight.  Why are you here, my friend, and so far from your home?”

   “I heard that you beset by the foe, and never shall I let it be said that a friend of mine was left to fight without my support.  I have traversed the camp of the foe, avoiding those who would detect me, and I have for you the location of many of their counsels and siege weapons.”

   “You would have better served us by wading into the foe, strange one,” said Gast to the newcomer.  “Eliminating those who face us would have been more helpful rather then skulking through them fearfully like a serpent.”

   Many of the dwarves surround the group murmured in agreement while a few were outraged that a friend of Dargoth had been so shamed in front of all, despite his appearance and outlandish behavior.  Dargoth, however, simply smiled and turned to Gast, saying, “Chin Kua is a powerful enemy of the foe and he will soon show all of his usefulness to our cause.”

   “I see nothing but a lamb who hides from battle,” Gast replied, bringing forth another chorus of gasps from those is earshot.  

   “Oh, Gast,” Dargoth said quietly but forcefully, “you have now belittled him twice.  Chin Kua is a friend and a guest and a brother to our people.  You have insulted him and he may now call upon you to regret those words.”  Dargoth looked over at Chin Kua and eyed him steadily, nodding slightly.

   “Yes,” Chin Kua replied, eyeing Gast and sighing audibly.  “That my courage is disputed at all is presumptuous to say the least, but to have it done by a fellow cleric, someone who should have better sense than most, leads me to believe that you are in need of instruction.  You and I will have to settle this, and the sooner the better.”  Chin Kua returned his eyes to Dargoth.

   “Presupta . . . prewhatuous,” Gast sputtered.  “Did he just insult me?”

   “Enough, Gast,” Dargoth said in a voice that brokered no argument.  “I will not have dissention amongst my comrades.  You will settle this here and now.  You may both cast defensive magiks and those magiks only.  You may use whatever weapons you choose.”  He turned his head towards Chin Kua and asked, “What do you say, my friend.  How do we call this?  I’d prefer you not kill Gast.”

   “He is one you consider useful, Dargoth,” Chin Kua asked.  Dargoth nodded.  “Whoever is forced from their feet by their opponent three times,” Chin Kua replied, “this will show who is in the right.”

   “What, I knock him on his ass three times and I win?  Done and Done,” Gast replied, walking over to a barrel of ale.  Filling a tankard, he quickly downed the contents of the container in six quick gulps and he then turned to Chin Kua, who was standing thirty feet away with his hands clasped behind his back.  His staff he had evidently handed to Dargoth.  Dargoth thumped the ground three times with the staff and said, “Are you both ready?”

   “What, no weapon,” Gast called in derision.  “He is already almost a head short than I am.  Do I have to give up my axe?”

   Dargoth walked over to Gast and whispered softly so that no one else could hear, “I would hang onto your axe, Gast.  It may give you a fighting chance . . . and it may not.”

   Gast harrumph in reply and asked, “When do we start?”

   Dargoth walked off to the side and said, “Now.”

   Gast turned and charged the monk with his axe raised high.  He leapt at the last second and brought down a crushing blow onto Chin Kua . . . who sidestepped out of the way of the blow and struck Gast hard on the back as he went by.  Gast hit the ground and rolled twenty feet onward, settling with his back on the stone and his eyes to the sky.

   “That’s one, Gast,” Dargoth called sternly.

   Gast climbed to his feet and eyed Chin Kua carefully.  Chin Kua was standing twenty-five feet away with his hands again clasped behind his back.  Gast set his axe and circle his foe, deciding upon a feint and chop attack to counter his opponent’s quickness . . . his feint was good, but his chop again cut nothing but air.  Instead, Chin Kua had sidestepped the other way, grasping Gast’s axe and hurling it and Gast thirty feet back in the direction he had started.  Gast rolled to a stop in a heap and looked over at Chin Kua, who had not moved more than a foot or two from the place he had started the contest.

   “What is this, won’t fight me like a warrior,” Gast grumbled as he climbed to his feet.

   Chin Kua called to Dargoth and asked for his staff.  Dargoth promptly tossed it to him.

   “So, I hear you grumbling, Gast, about a foe who won’t fight like a warrior.  Warriors fight to win, to protect their homes and their folk.  I know many ways to fight, but if it pleases you, let’s finish this your way.”

   Gast smiled and charged and the battle was on.  Chin Kua no longer moved from the fight, but stood toe to toe with Gast.  For every blow, the small monk replied and knocked Gast a step back.  Gast was soon being pushed towards the edge of the rampart and would be pushed from it and down into the courtyard below if he didn’t do something soon.  Gast went into a furious attack, launching blows that would have felled most other foes.  The monk parried and dodged each attack and Gast soon began to ware down.  Finally, Chin Kua went from the defensive to the attack.  He struck Gast once, twice and with the third blow launched him backwards and off of the rampart . . . he landed in a heap below, his axe a few yards away.

    “Didn’t I ask that you NOT kill him,” Dargoth said as he and his comrades hurried down the stairs to the courtyard and Gast’s side.  By the time they arrived, Gast was sitting upright holding his ribs.  Chin Kua knelt beside him and began a healing spell.

   “We are not here to fight amongst ourselves,” Dargoth called to all within earshot.  “As Chin Kua said, we are here to protect our home and our folk . . . we will win or we will die.  I have the luck of having many allies not of our folk here to fight beside me, and many others outside these walls who work to come and assist us.  Each of us fights the foe in a different way.  No way is best, but a particular way may be best for you.  And when you all, each fighting as best you can, come together and use your skills to fight the foe, well then, we shall give them such a fight that those amongst them that survive will not ever forget!”

   As the cheers filled the air and Chin Kua helped a healed Gast to his feet, Dargoth walked over to Gast and, grabbing his mail and pulling him close, said, “You say you never want to fight me bare handed because of my brawling skills, and now you know where I learned some of them.  Chin Kua taught me much, and knows much more than he taught me.  He is a powerful friend and a defiant and deadly enemy.  I suggest you make a friend of him.”  Dargoth released his hold on Gast and returned to the walls to observe the enemy gathering his forces outside the walls.

   Gast looked down at Chin Kua and put out his arm.  “For me the best way to win is to take the foe head on.  But maybe you can help us win this fight in other ways.  I will watch and try to learn from you.”

   Chin Kua grasped Gast’s arm in returned and smiled.  “And I will knock a few over your way to keep you busy so that we both may share in the defeat of the foe.”

   Gast and Chin Kua turned and followed Dargoth towards the wall.  “We should sit down and drink away a keg of ale.  We can tell each other stories of our prowess in battle”.

   “I do not drink spirits”, Chin Kua replied.  “It is not the way of my folk.”

   “You don’t drink ale,” Gast said incredulously, almost in a shout.  “What kind of outlandish, unnatural . . . “

   “Shut up, Gast,” Dargoth called over his shoulder he climbed the stairs to the top of the wall.

© 2017 Thomas D Taylor All Rights Reserved