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"Ho, Bartender, thedium, double strength." I called to a large, pasty man behind the bar. I like thedium because it keeps one healthy, it might have a little healing magic in it, and it tastes delicious, too. "Ho, you, get it yerself, I'm busy," the bald, puffy-faced bartender bellowed back sarcastically. He looked more bored than busy, though. "Now!" I yelled back, my good mood shattered by my brilliant idea of choosing the wrong place again, as always. Mumbling to himself, the Bartender reluctantly drew a tankard. "Here ye are," he said, eyeing me up and down suspiciously. "That'll be fifteen scree." "Ah! Have you raised your rates since I came in, or do I detect trickery? From word of mouth in the south Bazaar you should only be charging ten!" "Five are for my all too generous services. Them services ain't free, ya know.", he rumbled, "But I'll let ya keep yer blasted scree an lower it ta fourteen scree." "You out do yourself, you can't charge that much even with the festival, but eleven would be okay." "You'll ruin me yet. I shouldn't go that low without the festival. Thirteen." "Done, since I won't get lower. And while you're here I'd like to know what you've heard on the rumors." "You'd have heard 'em all by now, I reckon. By the way, that'll be two extra scree, for the information. Talk ain't cheap there either." My turn to mumble, I counted out fifteen scree to pay the overstuffed lout. He grabbed them from my hand, frowned at me and turned to walk away. He chuckled in victory and his big belly shook. "Overgrown dwarf," I muttered under my breath and downed my thedium. Unfortunately I still needed to know if the information I really sought was here, or anywhere for that matter. The dark haired woman looked like the most reasonable person in the tavern. "Ho, miss, do you mind if I sit and ask of the latest news?" "N-no not really. W-what's troubling you?" Her voice was quiet, secretive, almost scared, but not quite. "You seem more troubled than I. Tell me of your troubles first." "I-it's nothing, really." Her voice quavered, "I'm just tired. I-I've been working too hard." "Tell me, what is your profession? Perhaps a merchant, your voice sounds a bit off. Too much yelling wares?" "Armorer's apprentice." At this her voice rose a little, then fell again. "That's, I- I that's w-why I'm wearing armor." It was the first I had noticed. Indeed! She was wearing a plain chain mail shirt with a leather hauberk overtop. I was not so rude as to look under the table, yet a simple sight spell let me see that she wore high leather boots that were quite polished. There was also a shield under the table. It was finely crafted, not a scratch or dent on its surface. Curious, though, that it bore no symbol except some fine lines running across its width. Also, I took note that she wore nothing over her long wavy brownish-black hair, and because the Roug wall militia had simple steel helmets, I ruled out that profession. The dark haired woman might be an Armorer's apprentice, but her voice was so shaky I wasn't sure what to think. Maybe her nervousness would give her away, I hoped. "What was it you had heard of the rumors?" I inquired. "Why are you so interested in some s-silly old rumors, anyway?" she attempted to chuckle. No! I could not tell. I had my own reasons, but I needed to know. "Nothing, nothing at all." I replied. At that, the woman gave me a very strange stare. It seemed she was trying to see through me. "Fine," her voice was bolder than it had been. "What rumors did you wish to hear?" Her whole person seemed to perk up suddenly. Her posture straightened. she lifted and held her head higher, and her dark blue eyes seemed more alive as they danced around, though caution was still in them. "You seem to want to know something so much." It took me a moment to retaliate myself before I could answer. The change was so sudden. "Of those from the South and of local tales." I stammered. "I still don't know why you want to know about rumors, I mean, wouldn't you have already heard them? But to be truthful, I have heard little from the South, since no messengers have arrived in over three days. In fact, all I have heard is about the war parties. All that is known is that they come from across the ocean and take no captives. The land, cities, people, stripped of everything and destroyed. I wish I could tell you more but no more is to be known." "Aye, no one seems to know more than you. I wish it were so, but it is not. If only there was a clue." "Then you do already know?" the woman asked, startled. "Yes." "Why ask me, then?" "I told you, it's nothing, really." But again the woman gave me that stare, as if looking into my soul. "Maybe I could tell you later, though." "Fine." she said rather smugly. "What of the local rumors? Have you heard of them?" I asked, hoping to shake that gaze. "Aye, I have," she said, though still not lowering that paralyzing gaze. In fact, if anything, it only intensified. It chilled me to the bone. "Is it true that Jala is going to kill herself?" "The woman was quite startled by these words, by the look on her face. "I would hope not!" Her expression had turned to shock. "I don't think so. No, I-I really don't think so. Where did you hear this?" "How could you have not heard? It's one of the most popular rumors here!" "It is?" "Yes." "Oh, I haven't really payed much attention to the rumors. I mean they are rumors after all. How could any be true?" "You haven't? There's often some splattering of truth in both old wives' tales and rumors." "No, I haven't. Rumors are always so distorted from the truth." "Well, I had thought everyone knew by now. Why not? Rumors are supposed to spread. I think so, at least. Oh well, what about running away?" "Yes, she is, I know that. Don't ask me how, but it is so." "So then it's true," I continued. "What's true?" "That Jala doesn't love her suitor." "His name's Heregio, and nay, she does not. How could she, or any woman, love a thieving scoundrel like him?" The woman's voice was steadily rising, and her face turning red. "Heregio is a coward, little better than the pirates roaming the coast waters! How can a woman like me be expected to... Oops!" No one else had caught her blunder, except I. I had suspected, but only now was I sure. "So you, your highness, are Jala." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Oh, aye. But don't be so loud, and don't call me highness, ever! It's lucky no one heard, or I would be escorted back to the castle, again, and I might very well have escorted you to the dungeon. I do so hope you're happy in almost blowing my cover!" Jala's voice was toned just perfectly to match that basilisk stare she gave again. "Sorry, if I was sure you really were trying to escape I'd have..." "Wait, you know I was trying to escape?" a puzzled look now appearing on her face. "It's easy if you put two and two together, you come up with four. Your face is also an open book, in case you didn't know." "An open book?" she asked, frowning. "Oh well. It doesn't matter anyway, not really. But I'd best be on my way." "Whoa, don't be so hasty! You haven't touched your ale. You could raise suspicion leaving so hurriedly. You don't even have your shield. Then there's also the Bartender..." "Oh. Thank you, I almost forgot my shield and... Hey, how did you..." "Don't worry, sit down and talk awhile." "Fine," said Jala, as if she had lost on this part of the conversation. "But it's my turn to ask questions. First, who in the name of this whole continent are you?" "I, milady, am Jaxom," I said a bit more haughtily than I meant to, adding the "milady" just to agitate her a little for being so rude. It looked like her long wavy hair might burst into flames any minute, at that remark, but she continued questioning. "Where do you come from?" "The South, recently. Before that I travelled from the Northeast. Before that, the great unexplored eastern continent, but it all started at D-dominia, a place across the S-sea of Sorrows to the far west, with S-sir B-Bryan a-and my b-brother. H'hmm, s-sorry about that, just a touch of nostalgia. It was where I learned my own profession." "What might that be?" Should I tell her, I wondered? A magic user in town might cause a bit of a ruckus. Should I chance it? Why not. "A demonstration, perhaps." And, with that, a bizarre thing happened. The center of the table between us shimmered, scilintating light, and turned clear like glass. Actually, it was glass, as I had turned it thus. I had adapted that spell from an old scroll I found a long while ago. A gasp of unexpecting surprise from Jala formed into something barely recognizable. "Wha?!?" was all Jala could muster. "Perhaps another demonstration?" As I called forth another spell, Jala's chair, with her in it, began to float at least three inches above the stone tiled floor. "Down, now. You magic-user, right... you are, aren't you?" was what the very dazed Jala said. "I'm right, right? Down now, please, me." she sputtered, but not extremely loudly, no one heard, and no one noticed. I released my spells, the table first, then Jala's chair was set gently upon the floor. "Sufficient?" "Y-yes," stammered Jala. "Y-you are a magic user, right?" "Aye." I said, smiling. "Amazing! We haven't had any magic users in Aitos for over twenty years!" I cringed involuntarily. I didn't like myself almost being exposed to everyone by a blabbering princess. "Quiet!" She responded with a rather smug look. "Fine, you keep a secret; I keep a secret. Okay?" "Fine. So, what kind of magic do you work with?" Jala went on, as if nothing had happened. "Mostly good. I use both light and dark nodes, but I try to use it to best effect." "Oh." "Don't worry, I don't commonly make a habit of flinging about my destructive spells." "Oh, that really cheers me up! Do you think if someone were evil, they would say it freely? Oh pardon me sir, are you evil? Even so, you don't seem evil, just a bit chaotic." At that moment, the bartender stepped out from a back room. "Attention!" the bartender bellowed. "Now I'm only gonna say this to ye once, so listen up. Anyone wantin' to sign up fer tonight's fight, sign up here." he rumbled, pounding the bar with his fist. "It'll only take ya back 10 scree. Winner takes all." At this, every dwarf that I mentioned before when I entered hooted, hollered and scrambled frantically to be first in line. A few others made it first, though. Like a pack of wild dogs, they overed, through and undered their way to the bartender. With no respect for anything, they plowed through tables, chairs, people. You get the picture. "Excuse me a moment. I have a fight to attend." I said off-handedly to Jala. "You, too? You can't! I-I mean Riptor, he-he's undefeated! It's less chance you'd stand than a rat in a room full of cats!" "But I'm going for that cheese. I need the money. It's rather hard for a magic user to get a job in a town with no magic." "And if you don't win?" "There's more than one way to skin those cats. I'll win; trust me." I walked over to the bartender with a grin on my face. How I did enjoy these events "Ten scree for the fight," I said, tossing them on the counter. "What do ya want, a ringside set? Pay up yer other five scree." "What five scree?" "Yer fee for bein' a magic user. I musta fergotten to mention it, stupid me. Now pay up!" "How..." "I just couldn't help but hear," he interrupted suddenly. "You listened?!?" "Naw... It's hard not to hear. If ya don't want ta be heard, don't talk so loud." "How much did you hear?" "Enough. And if ya don't want ye and yer princess lady friend's presence announced to everyone here, then ye'll pay up. Yer fairly lucky I'm nice enough not ta charge ya all yer worth!" "Stifling a roar of outrage at the threat of blackmail, I grumbled, pulled out five more scree, and basically threw them at the bartender. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - As I stood waiting for the fight, I began to think of what Jala had told me. The South, burnt to the ground! That seemed a lot like... naa, couldn't be, could it? It could be, but I hoped not. Blast it but I hoped not. Most likely it was though, and if so then they would more than likely work their way north, here. They were following me once again! I had just been in the South less than a week ago. They were catching up to me awfully fast. Well, the best tactic, I sincerely hoped, was to stay here and confront them when they arrived. The sense of imposing danger in the magic was getting stronger. Then, finally, the torches grew dim, the windows were sealed, and Riptor stepped into the dim light of the arena from seemingly nowhere. It took several seconds to adjust to the dim light before my eyes finally focused on Riptor. For a fleeting second I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, saw that they weren't, and my heart skipped some beats. Alas, a Dracon! Half dragon, half human, the Dracons are. They are a race of a violent temperament. This one looked more like, I believe it is called, a Dynonycus dinosaur I had once seen while wandering through a part of the great eastern continent. He had somewhat orangish-grey scales with dark stripes running down the back, like a tiger. Powerful muscles rippled and twitched underneath. His figure seemed slumped, his strong, flexible neck supporting a head cocked to one side, scanning the crowd and contenders. Yellow eye stopping at me. The reptilian pupil narrowed. I hid my fear behind a blank expression, for this was the look a wild beast would give you, before it rips you limb from limb! He had to know I was a magic user, I could see it in his eyes. Wristblades swung out and snapped into place. Oooo's and Aaaa's came in hushed whispers from the small crowd. Then, suddenly, with no warning except a ripple of his muscles, they snapped back. A large crack appeared along his muzzle revealing a row of sharp white teeth. Hands laced with razor sharp claws flexed and unflexed, as the claws of his feet made small clicking sounds as they drummed on the floor. The mouth slowly made its way into an icy, menacing grin. Startling us all, he suddenly spoke. His words were slow, deep, and deliberate with rumbling tones and a reptilian growl. "Ssooo... you be the contendorrrss that challenge the might of Rrriptor! HA! Rrriptor nail yourrr hidess to wall, I ga-rrron-tee." Then the bartender piped in, "Don't worry, I asked me good ol' Riptor 'ere ta go easy on ya. The only rule is no killing. If anyone is killed, I'll give 'em their money back. Har! Hah! Hah! Let the fightin' begin!" The first contender, a thug who had gotten into line before the dwarves, looked now as if he wished to be last. Reluctantly, he stepped into the arena. Riptor said nothing, except a menacing snarl, bearing several white teeth. The bell rang once and before anyone knew what was happening, Riptor had executed a flying roundhouse, drawing deep gashes along the man's cheek with his clawed foot. The thug's head was battered to one side from the blow, drops of sweat and blood flying everywhere. The man fell to the floor and instantly Riptor was upon him, perched upon his chest, hand over his neck. "Don't move, orrr you be a dead man." he growled softly. The guy hardly dared to breathe, much less move, and Riptor leapt off. The next contestant stepped into the arena. "Round two." the bartender added, unneedingly. Again, the bell rang through the room and this time Riptor had to dodge a wild swing from the dwarf. But, alas, Riptor was quick to retaliate, landing his tail across the dwarf's midsection. All the air flew out of the dwarf and he doubled over, gasping to find breath. Again, Riptor's tail whipped out, this time behind the knees. The poor fellow fell on his back, hard. Riptor just stood over him until he caught his breath, like a predator over a carcass. The dwarf sat up slowly, looked sick and clutched his belly... then vomited. "Hey, now, no vomitin' on my arena! That'll cost ye extra! Someone get 'im outa there!" blurted the bartender. Then, the third contender followed, after the removal of the second. He was one of the dwarves with chain mail armor. He, like the others, held back for as long as he could. Eventually, though, he, too, went into the arena. The match started but this was slower, each circling round the other. Then Riptor struck, not like the other times, but more hit and run. He feinted right, kicking swiftly to the left. This ploy didn't work, though, for apparently the dwarf was wizened in the ways of fighting. He had lifted a large gauntleted hand to block the blow. The dwarf circled and then, amazingly, landed a haybailer that could have shattered a man's jaw. Riptor's head cocked violently to one side. His eyes closed; he seemed to soak in the pain. The dwarf just stood there, fearfully realizing he had only angered the beast. Riptor opened his eyes. His head turned Oh' so slowly toward the dwarf. I could see the danger the dwarf was in. Hatred burned deep in Riptor's eyes, all focused upon the dwarf. The room became deathly silent as wristblades clicked out, echoing through the tavern. A silent battle cry resounded off the walls. Riptor had been challenged. He stood there a moment, then attacked. Swinging right and left, he tore into the chain mail, leather, dwarf. Some sparks actually flew from the fray. The dwarf was backed against a wall, covering his head. I knew he had lost all chances of winning, pummeled like this. The chain mail vest, like some limp animal, fell to the floor, tattered beyond recognition. The dwarf soon followed. But still, Riptor did not stop. The dwarf frantically kicked at him and shielded his own face futilely. He screamed, a sound one should never have to hear from a dwarf, and we watched in shocked horror as his stomach was split open. Blood spattered out. As suddenly as he started, Riptor ceased. I almost caught a hint of remorse in his eye, and he fled, leaping over the ropes. A healer rushed into the arena. "He's still breathing, gone into shock. Stay back, everyone, he needs medical attention." I secretly cast an endurance and cure spell on the dwarf. it would take time to start healing, but he should be allright with time, I hoped. Still, he would bear numerous scars... although he probably wouldn't complain about that. All right, all of ye make way. Give the man some space. Someone clear away all the blood 'n yellow stuff on me stage. And get somethin' fer that wound. I don't want more spillin' out," barked the bartender. Despite his orders, everyone drew closer, hoping to catch sight of the man, to the annoyance of the bartender. "I told ye ta git back ta yer seats!" he growled, shoving back a bystander that got too close. "The fightin' will be postponed fer a few minutes till the matter can be solved and I can talk some sense inta Riptor." Two men had already gotten the dwarf and were already carrying him out. They were groaning all the way, though, for dwarves weigh more than some giants. It's true; dwarves are quite dense for their size. Everyone was starting to settle down and the room was also uncommonly silent. A murmur ripped through the crowd. This is the way rumors are started. I walked back to my seat with a dour feeling in my gut. Jala was quick to ask questions, having reverted back to her nervous state. "Did you see that? A-are you still going to fight him?" "Aye, I very well am!" "You can't!" shouted Jala, this time loud enough everyone did hear. Faces turned, all eyes on Jaxom and Jala, though Jala was totally oblivious to this. "How could you? You saw what happened! He'd just as well slit your throat as mmm-mm-mmmm!" I had cast a silence spell on Jala. Her erratic mood swings were starting to annoy me. Of course I had to say it softer than usual so no one would hear. Perhaps that's why her stifled, yet furious, mumbling could be heard still. The silence spell, apparently, had only partially worked. "Mmmmmm! Mmm m mmm! Mmm!" "Mmm mmmm," I answered. This may have sounded crazy, but it worked. The audience thought it was a mere stage act. Heads began to turn back. "Mm m?" "Mmmmmmmmmmmm!!!" I can't be for sure, but I thought I saw the window shutters shake and felt the foundation rumble at that, the loudest mmm I've ever heard. Naaa, had to be my imagination. They call it a silence spell, ha! Long, impatient moments of hazily worded, yet clearly defined mmming from Jala passed, while waiting for Riptor to return. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Meanwhile, in a vacant alley behind Kegnorn's Might, Riptor stood thinking. His yellow reptilian eyes hid secrets deeper than even my own. Who was that dwarf he had just fought? Oh, well, it didn't matter. He didn't even know if the dwarf was still alive. It was no concern of his, so why did he feel this way? Why did he even keep fighting? Couldn't there be some other way to vent his emotions? First, the thief with the plumed hat, now, this dwarf. Who would be next? Ahhh. . . but the magic user, of course! Just the thought of their kind brought a flood of bitter memories to surface. Perhaps, perhaps after this fight he would quit. Yet, what purpose would that be for, having not reached his goal. If only someone would come along who could beat him, then, maybe there was hope... "Hey, there ye are! Git on back in 'ere an' finish yer fightin. Come on, git!" "You, barrrtenderrr, betterrrr be a goin' about yourrr own bussinesss. I, Rrriptor, be a goin' ta fight that Sh'kalar." And, as Riptor lumbered by, his hand shot out and grabbed the bartender by the neck. He then whirled the bartender against the wall, hard, suspended a foot above the ground. "Don't you be a pushin' me, barrrtenderrr," Riptor growled. Then, shoving violently, he threw the man into some old wine kegs. Several broke and wine leaked onto his clothes. "Hey, watch it. That'll be half yer pay for this month!" roared the Bartender, rubbing his neck. "Hey, are ye listenin', hey!" But Riptor did not hear, deep in thought, headed to the arena. And did the whole tavern shake moments ago? Someone said something, that sounded like, Mmmmmm? Naaa. |
