Chapter one part one
'Cause I'm mad, I'm bad, like Jesse James
John lee Hooker - I'm Bad Like Jesse James
Rot and Rust
It started much the way most tales start; in a tavern. Taverns are great. Cheap food, good ale, warm beds, and a roof over your head. One only needs to worry about the occasional thief or hustler attempting to swindle you at some game of "chance". But for those experienced in the art of the alehouse it can be a little slice of heaven.
The night was dark and foreboding. The sky had been threatening the grounds with rain for days and the ensuing storm would be one not to be caught in. The tavern was packed with all manors of men, women, and monsters. Sogwood was a fairly large city with a vast assortment of characters frequenting it. The city had been built by humans centuries ago as a trading outpost with the hopes of fostering better relations with the nearby Xaflij Elves and the Burdrock Dwarves to the north. Although trade flourished, relations did not. Both elves and dwarves mistrusted the humans and the surrounding bogs and swamps surrounding Bogwood proved to be a deadly deterrent to settlers. However, it did prove to be a magnet to those seeking fame and fortune through skill with a blade or bow. Many legends and stories swirled of forgotten temples sunk in swamps or abandoned fortresses lost to time in the Forgefang Mountains. Whatever the reasoning, young men and women of varying skill and specie began to flock to the murky trading post, slowly swelling it's population to nearly a hundred thousand. Some achieved some degree of success as adventurers while others instead turned to more traditional forms of business like blacksmithing or opening shops. Things seemed to be running along smoothly until recently. Trade between the elves and dwarves had all but stopped and the last caravan that had gone out to trade had been a week late in returning. A general feeling of unease had begun to creep into the minds of the townsfolk, but here inside the Gnomes Hat, the fire was roaring, music was playing, and the ales were flowing.
On a small stage in the corner of the cramped first floor of the tavern stood a lanky human blowing on a harmonica. Near him sat a handsome looking dwarf singing and a well dressed goblin playing trumpet. The music was a too much of a slow rhythmic heartbeat for the atmosphere of the place, yet no one seemed to mine. Round tables were strewn about, crowded with people. Massive looking Orcs with tribal tattoos, denoting their clans and achievements, sat alongside sleight elves garbed in the colors of the forest. Humans toasted stout thick bearded dwarves for their drinking prowess who in turn praised the humans for their ability lose in drinking contests. One particular pair sat nestled against a wall. Two men, both human, sat at a small table. The one was well dressed in a red tunic, black trousers, and a long worn leather coat with a red trim. The man was lean with a mane of unkempt hair that fell down his back and grew across his face, the color of old silver. He wore a slight smile and listened to the man across from him while leaning back in his chair, slinging an arm over it's back. The second man wore a simple blue traveling cloak pulled tightly against him. One could make out his slightly tanned face and long greasy hair that fell from under his hood as he leaned forward to converse with his friend.
"Well have you found us work? We can only stay here a few more nights before we run out of coin"
"Relax enjoy yourself. I am sure something will turn up."
"How can I relax when I don't know where we will be sleeping next week?!"
"When do we ever know where we will be Ziggy?"
"ZAUBARE! My name is Zaubare! How long will we travel together before you remember? I know your name Armant! You could try a little harder" Shouted the cloaked man.
"WHOA Whoa ...whoa" replied Armant, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Everyone knows your name is Zaubare, old friend. Ziggy just sounds better. It adds a little sunshine to your otherwise dour disposition" said Armant with a smile as he took a long draw on his dark ale.
Zaubare looked at him for a moment and suddenly his stone face cracked into a smile and he too took a swig of his wine.
" OK but tomorrow we get to work. For real."
"Of course." replied Armant and the two turned their attention to the band.
Across the tavern sitting at the bar, an unlikely pair of a dwarf and a halfing sat together, laughing loudly and regaling one another with tales of grandeur. The dwarf was dressed in animal skins and a helmet adorned with a massive set of ram's horns. Hair dark as night rolled out from under his helmet and down his shoulders. A thick black beard sprung from his face and was tied into several points. It was hard to tell if he had a mouth except for when he was laughing or shouting which he did quite often. The halfing was also a peculiar character. She stood no more than 3 feet tall but carried herself as if she were a giant. She wore tarnished and dented scale mail armour and a long brown braid down her back.
"So afer I smashed th' two orcs t'gether I threw em at th' thrd an then jumped on top o the whole lot a em an started STOMPIN!" the dward said. He hopped off of his bar stool and proceeded to stomp on imaginary orcs in demonstration. The halfling watched in delighted of his theatatrics.
Outside the rain had begun to fall and the crack of thunder could be heard.
"The storm has finally broke" said the halfling
"Aye, an 'm glad t'be inside. The sky looked to be ready to pour all the wrath a hell onto us as I was coming inta town."
" What? Big bad dwarf afraid of a little water?"
"Ach NO LASS! Im afraid o' the smell coming offa these hides after a downpour like that! BWAHHAA!" laughed the dwarf as he gestured to his own animal skin tunic.
"Well since we are here and you don't smell too terribly, let me tell you abut the time I was questing with this grou..."
But her story was interrupted by a crash! The grime-covered window looking out onto the street, shattered inward along with the body of a town guard. A moment later the front door was burst open by a massive looking orc wielding a wicked looking mace, dripping with blood. Before anyone could utter a word the orc was upon them moving to the first person within reach. An older looking human well into his cups. He looked up dumbfounded as the orc's mace came down in a slow heavy arc on his head, shattering bone and spraying everyone at the table with blood. Other patrons of the bar began to rise, grabbing cups or chairs to arm themselves and began to advance on the orc when a wave of a half dozen or so more flooded into the bar. At the same time several spears came soaring in through the broken window finding their marks in two more townsfolk. At this point all hell broke loose. People rushed for the window trying to escape the orcs but as they leapt from the tavern they were run down in the rain soaked streets by goblins mounted on mangey hyenas.
Inside the halfling woman leapt from her stool. Her eyes glowing with a strange blue hue.
"Evil," she muttered, "They are all EVIL... I HATE EVIL!"
The halfling woman grabbed a chair and broke it apart with a single kick of her boot clad foot. She scooped up a piece that had splintered nicely into a point and rushed at the orc with the mace. He swung at her but she nimbly dove under the swing and planted the splintered piece of wood into the beast's foot. It howled in pain and kicked the halfing back amongst the scattered remains of a table with it's good leg. Suddenly a clay tankard shattered against it's skull as the dark haired dwarf leapt from a stool and landed on the orc.
" Nice of you to join the fight dwarf!" shouted the halfling, picking herself up from the floor.
"I'd rather na waste the ale on the skull of some sloberin savage" came the reply as he grabbed another tankard off of a nearby table, downed it, and smashed the empty vessel against his pinned foe.
Meanwhile across the tavern the two men, Armant and Zaubare, quickly rose to their feet at the first sign of trouble. One of the Orc raiders rushed towards them but Armant kicked a nearby chair into the oncoming raider's shins causing a spectacular fall straight into the upswing of Armant's fist. Zaubare stood calmly in the corner muttering to himself as a duo of orcs rushed him. Their hot blood crazed howls were about to be upon him when he lifted his hands and unleashed a torrent of arcane fire that engulfed them both. The two orcs shrieked out in pain and attempted to stumble back before succumbing to the flames. As they finally came to rest on the tavern floor they happened to ignite some of the various splintered bits of wood and alcohol as well as the tavern itself. Whomever was left scurried for the door.
"I'm gonna grab our stuff! Clear me a path!" shouted Armant.
He made a mad dash for the bar, vaulting tables, and dodging orcs along the way. Zaubare conjured bolts of magic to strike out at foes that stood in Armant's path allowing him the leeway to finally leap over the bar amidst a clatter of broken glass. He began to make his way, crawling to the storage room at the end of the bar, where he had seen the barkeep take their weapons upon entrance (as per city regulations). He didn't get very far before he saw her appear from the storage room herself armed with a pair of axes and a bandoleer of daggers. She practically stepped on Armant as she strode towards the front of the bar where she let fly her two axes, both finding their mark deep in the chest of an orc that had been blocking the exit.
"EVERYONE OUT !" She barked before pulling a pair of daggers from her belt and moving towards the next orc in her path.
Armant scurried to his feet and into the small room, where he began to rummage frantically through the various blades, bows, and bags checked in by commoner and adventurer alike. He found his sword and "tool belt" as well as Zaubare's bag of notes and magical odds and ends. He noticed a particularly nice looking axe as well and decided to grab it. It would be a shame to let it be ruined here in a fire and even though it wasn't his style of weapon he was sure that it could buy them a couple nights lodging somewhere less flammable. Upon exiting the small room he called to Ziggy.
"I got our stuff, make for the streets. The whole place is going up!"
The cloaked man ran for the window and managed an awkward dive that would probably be better described as a sliding motion though it served it's purpose. Armant began to make his own escape when he heard a sharp bark from across the bar.
"Oi! Where ye be goin wit me axe?!" shouted the dark haired dwarf, a bloodied chair leg in one hand and a tankard in the other.
" I was retrieving it for you! We need to properly arm ourselves if we are going to win this fight!"
Armant quickly slid the axe across the bar to the dwarf whose eyes now shined with devilish delight. He turned and threw himself into battle with the nearest opponent he could find, steel slicing through the air and biting into green flesh, eliciting howls of pain. Another voice called for a sword from beyond the bar but was lost to Armant. A moment later the blood spattered face of a halfling woman popped up onto the other side of the bar.
"If you're grabbing gear, get mine! A sword and bag bearing the symbol of Jetrol. Well, don't just stand there MOVE!" commanded the diminutive figure.
Armant not sure what to do dove back into the small room and began searching. It did not take long to find the small blade and bag but when he reemerged he saw how quickly the fire had spread. The back section where he had been sitting had been entirely engulfed along with the stage. A damn shame he thought to himself, they were good. He leapt over the bar and tossed the halfling her things.
"Best get choppin before we start droppin'" he said with a smirk as he pulled his own blade from it's scabbard. It wasn't much to write home about, nicked and rusted in some parts but it could still run an orc through and it had been Armant's first purchase as an adventurer. The orcs, however, had decided to fall back, leaving a clear shot to the door.
As they emerged they were met with the sights and sounds of chaos. The city itself was under siege. Fires raged down the cobbled streets in spite of the rain and things much larger than orcs lumbered about. The clash of steel on steel and cries of battle could be heard through the storm. The band of survivors from the bar had set up a defensive position the middle of the street using two overturned carts as cover against the mounted goblins and roaming orcs. Armant and the halfling found Zaubare standing alongside the dwarf with the finely crafted axe and tossed him his bag. Then proceeded to fasten the strange "tool belt" onto himself.
"Saved your diary for ya. Oh and thanks for torching the place, I really didn't want to have to pay for those two drinks we ordered but next time give me a heads up, I'll order the steak too." quipped Armant.
"They started it." retorted Zaubare
"Well, we are finishing it." came a stern voice from behind them.
The Barkeep still clad in her leather apron holding her bloodstained axes leveled her gaze upon the two men.
"You two are with me, you owe me for the drinks you never paid for and if we survive I will call us even for the fire. And you two, short and stout. Grab your steel we have a city to save."
The dark haired dwarf looked down at the halfling.
"She better be calling me short 'cus I been watchin me weight lately"