The Legend Of Iron Crick

The Legend of Iron Crick: Part I: Kalaren & Egbert

Circa: Yt 6

Kalaren walked along the dusty lanes of Aragarth with his best friend, Egbert, who was busy giving Kalaren a tour of the ancient city.

"And that spot used to be a library!"  he would say, pointing to yet another tumbled down building, half patched with dark wood. "We don't use it for that anymore, though. Too drafty."

"And this was the central Barracks. We use it as the main Armory now."

"We're not sure what this building was, but it was certainly destroyed a lot, even before the rest of the city apparently was. Possibly some sort of wizard's hall."

Kalaren would nod, and listen, and always have to ask Egbert what it functioned as now, to which Egbert usually replied that he 'didn't know', or that it was for 'lots of different things!'

At one point, they passed by a very oddly blank area near the south gate. Amongst all the other closely crowded mercantile ruins, it stood out quite sorely. Large brown brambles filled the front as if trying to recreate the storefront that perhaps once existed.

"What about there?" Kalaren asked. "Surely something existed there before."

Egbert chuckled. "Yeah, that's how the legend goes!"

"What legend?"

Egbert stopped dead in his tracks and half-turned to Kalaren, clearly attempting to muster as much drama as he possibly could. Which wasn't much. "The legend... Of the GHOST TAVERN."

Kalaren crossed his arms and looked for a spot to settle down. "Oh dear. My legs are set a'quivering."

"And I haven't even mentioned the Crazy Druidess!" Egbert exclaimed as they sat down on the crumbled remains of a garden wall. "But anyway...

THE LEGEND OF THE GHOST TAVERN

"The story goes, that in the waning years of Ankoria's glory days, after the Great Sorcerer had delivered his curse, and gone on to other lands, a certain female Druid came into power, and sought to rid the land of alcohol, convinced that this would restore Ankoria to it's rightful path as the predominant power in Militiregnum. 

She had successfully convinced smaller taverns and villages around Aragarth to abstain from the twisting of nature's bounties, like hops and apples and barley, for their own senseless pleasure, and to seek the cleansing purity of abstinence. To clear their minds and hearts, and seek higher meaning in Nature instead of the bottom of a bottle.

Now seeking to truly begin her quest in earnest, she sought to convince a Prominent inner-city Tavern to join her in removing alcohol from the land. In doing so, she thought to gain a true foothold for her movement to grow across the Kingdom. So she came to Aragarth, to the Tavern here at the south-gate, and stroke up a conversation with the Barkeep.

"Barkeep!" she declared dramatically, "Tonight is the night of your atonement!"

The Barkeep, who heard accusations all-day, every-day, did not take her seriously, instead calling back over his shoulder, "And what vice can I serve you to forget about that?"

"None!" she exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air. "For I seek to set you on a better path, one towards the light of illumination and unity with Mother Nature!"

This, of course, got the attention of not only the Barkeep, but of a large majority of the people in the common room.

Upon noticing the woman's simple dark green habit, The Barkeep realized he would have to be tactful with what he said next if he didn't want a brawl. (And while he didn't mind a good bar brawl or two, he was already over-budget for furniture repair and replacement this month.)

"My dear woman, it seems you've come to the wrong place if you're looking for learned men with high and lofty thoughts. Try the Inns by the North or East gates. "

The Druidess shook her hooded head passionately, and her hood fell off. "No, humble barkeep," she whispered, smiling sweetly. "Their time shall come, but it is not tonight. Tonight is your night, to ascend to their level. You will help me to explain it to them, once you have seen the light as well."

The Barkeep smiled at the woman. She was very pretty for one in her 30's, and had long, brunette hair, but alas. If she wasn't here to eat or drink, she would have to leave.

"Ma'am, if you're trying to sell something, I'm afraid I don't have time to listen to your pitch tonight." He said, politely, picking up a tray loaded with frothy mugs. "There's plenty of other folks whom I need to serve an-"

She snagged his arm as he came around the bar, and he nearly spilled the tray.

"No, please. Listen. Your life may depend on it." She said softly, but firmly.

The Barkeep refrained from rolling his eyes. She was definitely going to try and sell him some University course or a new religion, based on the robe she was wearing and the way she was talking. He tried to gently extricate his arm while holding the tray in the other hand. 

"M'lady, I have work to do, and friends to serve, so if you do-"

"You mean seduce and poison with your atrocious concoctions?!" she suddenly shrieked, pushing him away, and knocking the tray out of his hands, causing it to spill everywhere. "You twist Mother Nature's designs with your BASE alchemy!!!" she spat.

The Barkeep stared at the broken crockery on the floorboards, watched the liquid soak into the cracks.  He heard others arguing with the Druid now as she railed about his crimes against Mother Nature, against Ankoria, against Religion, and the advancement of the Human Race. He vaguely heard his regulars defending him, their favorite Barkeep, his Tavern, themselves, and their life choices. It all faded, till one of his regulars shouted from across the room "Hey John! Should we throw this crazy quack out?"

He finally looked up, and saw the entire tavern arrayed against the one robed woman.

His quiet reply: "Yes." 

Realizing she was defeated, and baffled at this unexpected stubbornness, she proclaimed: "FINE! If you will not see the error of your ways, I will show them to you forcibly! SEE HOW YOUR CHOSEN CONCOTIONS REACTS TO THE PURIFICATION OF FIRE!" And before anyone could accost her, she conjured a fireball and threw it at the Barrels behind the bar.

For John the Barkeep, time slowed to a crawl.

As everyone dove for either the Druidess, 

or for cover, 

or, in his case, for the fireball, shiny brass tray set forth as a shield....

He saw everyone's faces, even his own, contorted in anger and hatred, reflected in the flames that the Druid threw.

The Druid's frustration-fueled magic was twisted by the dark energies in the still very recent, and therefore very potent, Sorcerer's Curse of Ankoria, and it turned her simple Fireball spell into something far, far worse. Far, far, more complex. The air shimmered, and the firey orange of the fireball turned a thousand different hues in it's brief travel towards the barrels.

Upon reaching the Barrels, the entire store of Liquor and drinks went up in flames... 

Taking the entire Tavern, and all it's current inhabitants with it."

~~~~~

"And the Tavern and all it's people were never seen or heard from ever again!" Egbert finished.

"Wow," Kalaren said. "That's... awful."

Egbert nodded. "Yup! That's the legend of the Sober Witch!"

"Not even really very scary. Just awful."

"Well... Um, yeah, I guess so."

"Like, all those people, probably had families and stuff."

"Well, it's just a legend after all. Nothing really shows that it's real. Other than the fact that there really is no trace of the Tavern, just like in the legend." Egbert said, starting to feel uncomfortable with his story.

"That's convenient," Kalaren muttered dryly.

"Anyway! Shouldn't we be getting back? I thought Wilma was making some sort of sweet bread tonight!" Egbert said, desperately trying to change the subject.

Kalaren decided to let it go. After one last jab. "Yeah, that sounds good right about now. Your story depressed me."

"Hey! It's not even my story. Old Enchanter Grimoir  told me it!" Egbert said, trying to distance himself from his poor storytelling skills as much as he could.

"Oh!" Kalaren laughed. "That explains a lot."

"When he told it, it scared the living daylights out of me."

"Lemme guess, there was thunder and lightning, and it was the dead of night."

"Um... Actually, yeah."

"Sounds like Grimoir knew how to tell a spooky story!"

"Yeah. But then again, maybe it's one of those things that comes with old age. Who knows, maybe I'll get good at it eventually!" Egbert mused.

Kalaren laughed. "Sure, Egbert. That's about as possible as me getting better with a sword as I get older!"

Egbert chuckled, and ribbed Kalaren. "Hey, I know that's not going to stop you from trying to get better, right?"

 "That's true," Kalaren acquiesced. "As long as I have a sparring partner willing to be patient with my unskilled flailing being rendered upon their impenetrable defense!"

"Always!"

~~~FIN~~~

The Legend of Iron Crick: Part II: Stirling & Thingguy

Circa Yt 7 or 8.

Stirling and Thingguy trudged through a high mountain forest. They were utterly lost.

"This is just GREAT, muttered Strider as he looked up from his map for the umpteenth time.  "This thing is utterly useless. There's no distinguishable landmarks, and it's getting dark."

Thingguy pushed a few boughs out of the way as he advanced, Stirling right behind. "It could be worse, my friend," he replied, though his brow was knitted in much the same manner as Stirling's. "It could be raining." He let go of the branches as he passed, and Stirling ducked them without looking up from the map.

Sighing, Stirling folded up the map and pulled out his compass. "I suppose heading north is our best option right now," he suggested as he caught up with and showed Thingguy the compass. "The higher we get up into the mountains, the further we can see, right?"

Thingguy scratched his shaggy ginger beard. "Not always, especially with these trees, unless you're thinking of hiking all the way past the treeline..."

Stirling shot him an impertinent look that said "You have any better ideas?"

Thingguy verbally replied. "Well, no."

So the two knights began walking through the dense mountain forest. North.

Not much later, as the last rays of the sun's light were filtering through the trees along their left, Thingguy felt a drop. Glancing sideways at Stirling, he wondered if he'd noticed. Judging by Stirling's vacant stare at the ground, and the action of putting one foot in front of the other, rising up the slope, he hadn't.  It also helped, Thingguy thought, that Strider liked to wear hooded leather cloaks so much.

However, the subsequent eardrum-shattering thunderous clap of, well, THUNDER, was hard to miss.

So too was the accompanying torrential wave of bone-soaking, pile-driving, fattest-raindrops-you've-ever-seen-in-your-life, wall-of-water, DOWNPOUR that enveloped them.

They both stopped walking for a brief moment, already soaked through all layers.

"I would curse you for jinxing us, Thingguy, but it looks like we're already cursed."

"Don't say that; that's too close to 'it can't get any worse'."

"I honestly don't see how it could."

Lightning struck a tree not 3 yards away from Stirling. 

"I stand corrected, and thank the stars above."

Thingguy was already feeling his joints begin to ache for lack of warmth. Movement was the only way they would stay warm now. 

"Looks like we're not camping tonight, Strider!" Thingguy said, having to yell as he walked to be heard over the drumming that the rain was making on his skull.

"YA THINK?!"

~~~~~

It could have been a few minutes later, or perhaps it was hours. The white noise of the rain made it hard to think. That, or maybe it was the water soaking into their already tired, mushy, drummed-on brains. Either way, both men would later be certain they were the first to spot it and point it out to the other.

A shape in the darkness. Not more vertical lines, which would indicate trees, but a mass. And in the mass, a light. Steady. Soft. In the rain.

Experienced travelers, they knew a steady, soft light that was not going out meant intelligence. A somebody, or something.  Checking their weapons of choice, they sought the light.  Soon enough, it revealed itself to be a iron-wrough lantern, mounted by a door. A door to a large, two story log cabin building!

"Looks like an inn!" Stirling yelled, his taste buds salivating for a nice body-warming brew.

"It's a godsend!" Thingguy cried, of a similar mind, throwing the door open without a second thought.

The two stumbled into the threshold, and were immediately hit by the change in warmth, smell, and reduced sound.

"Aaaaah," Sighed Thingguy.

"Aaaah," Sighed Stirling.

"Ah," sighed another voice. "Travelers. That was fast."

The two travelers in question spun around to identify the voice. It belonged to the only other person in the room, the barkeep. 

For surely, it was the barkeep. He was customarily rubbing the inside rim of a wooden tankard with a rag of questionable cleanliness. Who else does that but barkeeps? Also, he was standing behind the large, well-polished wood counter. As the only one behind there, that made him keeper of the bar. A Barkeep.

He even looked like your typical barkeep. Bushy brown hair and beard, hastily combed. Bushy eyebrows, framing soft bourbon-colored eyes. He had on a well-loved, off-white apron over a typical tunic. Behind him was a rack of 12 barrels; four across, three high, all bung-tapped.

"What can I get you two gentlemen? A drink? Rooms?"

"Drinks!" both of them cried. 

The barkeep smiled, his twinkling eyes accentuated by the crows feet around them. "I take you two for some dark ale drinkers, am I wrong?"

"Tonight, I'll take anything you've got in those barrels behind you!" Stirling cheered, as he hung his heavy rain-drenched cloak on a sturdy rack near the door. Thingguy followed suit, and the two plonked down at the bar with a gold piece each.

"Tis a variety, but I will start you all off with two dark ales," the Barkeep confirmed, as he filled two tankards.

Stirling sighed, turning to his travelling buddy. "Man, what a stroke of luck!"

Thingguy grinned. "Of course! See, these things always work out."

Stirling shoved him playfully. "For you, maybe."

"Well, that's why you stick with me!"

"Definitely not for your good looks!"

Thingguy gasped in mockery. "You're not going to insult my facial hair again?"

"That facial hair is not much more than a frozen burning bush."

"It's masculine!"

"It's a bush on your face."

"Oh, and it's better to have a 9'o'clock shadow?" Thingguy asked, pointing at Stirling's own face that was in dire need of a razor.

Stirling stroked his chin. "I like to keep it clean. It doesn't itch then." He glared at Thingguy. "Except when I look at yours!"

Thingguy turned it around on the Barkeep as he handed them their tankards. "Let's ask a third party: Good sir, what is better? A proper beard, or a baby face?"

The Barkeeper turned from one face to the other with a piercing and critical gaze. Back, and forth. Back and forth.

Suddenly, a flicker of emotions arose in the eyes of the Barkeeper.  However, he blinked twice, and and the twinkle and amusing smile was back.  "It depends!" he replied. "Are you trying to be respectable or rugged?"

"Honorable!" replied Strling

"Dependable!" announced Thingguy.

"Then you are both portraying yourselves correctly. Drink up!" The barkeeper said, turning away to some other matter.

Stirling raised an eyebrow, before turning back to Thingguy. "Smooth operator, your third party."

Thingguy just thrust his tankard forward in toast, to which Stirling responded in kind, knocking them together before they tilted them back to drain them.

From the side, the Barkeeper watched them carefully...

His gut told him that these were good men. Rough, yes. But kind. He wouldn't let them finish the barrels. Not before he knew more about them. The price was too high to be uncertain. But perhaps... Perhaps if they turned out to be good people... they knew those who were not. Those who *did* deserve to pay the price...

All this was assuming that he knew the price. 

He'd let them have a few more drinks. Then start asking questions.

~~~~

Stirling and Thingguy were thoroughly impressed with this inn. It had some of the best spirits they'd ever tasted. And they'd tasted quite a few in their travels.

"Say! Barkeeper!" Stirling said as the man refilled his tankard for a third time. "I'm afraid we didn't catch your name."

"John. You can call me John," John replied casually.

Stirling rose his cup to John. "Got a last name, John?"

"Smith. But please, call me John."

Thingguy rose his cup as well. "To John!"

The wooden tankards met again with a 'Klonk!' and the two drank to John's health.

"Aaah. John, your establishment is the best we've ever been, isn't that right, Thingguy?" Stirling asked.

"That's what we were just saying!" confirmed Thingguy.

"What I can't understand is, 'Why arn't you more busy???" Stirling said.

John smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid your my first customers in a very long time. I'm just so... remote, I suppose."

Stirling raised an eyebrow as he began fishing into his pack.

"Really?" Thingguy asked, leaning over the bar. "Well, that may be true. Where's the nearest town from here, you'd say?"

Stirling fished out the map and unrolled it on the bar. He pointed at the Northern mountain range of the Athelas Mounts "We're 'round here somewheres," he muttered. "Seems to me like the middle of the wilderness."

John leaned over and 'Hmmm'ed deeply. "Well, which way did you two come upon me?" he asked.

Thingguy put two fingers on the map and walked it up from the south to the north. "Thataway."

"Well that explains it!" John replied. "There's a small logging camp just north of here, but there's no one there now. They've gone away for the season. Back down-- I mean, up- to Aquila." He added.

Stirling hiccuped. "Ah. I see."

"But tell me, what brings you two veteran travelers so far into the mountains this year?" John asked.

Stirling turned to Thingguy with a questioning contorting of his face. "Hrrrmmm?"

Thingguy shrugged languidly.

Stirling motioned back with his tankard and began drinking.

Thingguy shrugged again and turned back to John. "We're looking to get to Aquila. Hoping to find some allies."

"Allies?"

"Or news on my family," Stirling said, having drained his tankard.  He looked at the bottom of the wooden vessel before looking up at John. "Have anything stronger?"  

Thingguy nodded. "I'm matching whatever he's having." He took a moment to listen to the weather outside. "It sounds like we're shut in for awhile yet."

John nodded jovially to Stirling and turned around, snagging a new tankard and filling it from a different tankard on the wall behind him. "I don't expect it will get any better, Sir Thingguy," he replied. 

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

Turning back and sliding the tankard down past Thingguy to Stirling, and filling a second one for Thingguy, he sighed. "Oh, just a feeling."

Stilring and Thingguy looked at each other, and both shrugged. 

"You get weather like this often?" Stirling asked. 

"All the time," was John's reply. He handed Thingguy his tankard and the two patrons drank.

As they brought them down, not quite able to finish the stiffer stuff in one go, John stood right in front of them pouring a small cup of the same drink himself.  

"You two must have some fascinating stories."

Thingguy grinned stupidly. "Oho? What makes you think that?"

John took a dainty sip, as if he was drinking tea. "A few things. One is your camaraderie. Another is your collective battle scars. Another is your apparent ability to hold your liquor."

Stirling raised his eyebrows yet again. "Yer a very osbervant type, John..." 

John shrugged. "It comes with practice."

Thingguy nodded. "You defin'tly seem the type to have practice."

The Barkeeper shrugged again, before listening to a thunderous crack of lightning.  "As you said before, Sir Thingguy, it seems we will be stuck in here a while. Why don't you regale a bored old barkeep with a story of your heroism?" He set down his 'tea' and rummaged underneath the bar, pulling out a menu. "It would earn you some free appetizers!" he said, pointing at the menu.

Thingguy laughed. "Ah, very well, John Smith! I shall regale you with a tale from Elephaira!" 

~~~~

It happened a few years back, that I, Sir Thaddeus Nathanael Thingguy, the Second Thing of Guys, found myself walking the south road into Elephaira, when I met a strange old woman sat upon the side of the road. She was dressed in black rags, and held out a beaten oil lamp without it's lid. 

 "Asseblief, meneer. Het u enige geld wat u kan spaar vir 'n arme vrou?" 'she asked. 

 Clearly, she was asking for money. I searched my pockets, and found a small copper coin of Morcia. "M'lady, I'm afraid the only currency I have is of Morcia, but you are welcome to it!" I said gallantly. I showed her the copper coin, and she simply stared, pushing the oil lamp forward. 

That's when I realized the woman was blind. So I dropped the copper into the battered oil lamp and... it made a wet, plooping sound.

Then...

~~~~

Thingguy stopped his story. "You'll never guess what she did next, this crazy lady."

Stirling blinked heavily as he munched on a chicken wing. "Did she fish for the coin in the lamp oil?"

John pursed his lips. "Or perhaps light the oil?" Then he held up a finger. "Is that 'ploop'ing sound even oil?"

Thingguy shook his head at the first two guesses and shrugged at John's last one. "We'll never know, because then...

~~~~

...she turned the lamp around three times in her hands, muttering under her breath, before putting the spout in her mouth and draining the contents of the lamp!

So surprised was I that I simply stared at her in confusion and, I'll admit, slight curiosity.

A few awkward throaty gulps later, she smacked her gums and sighed. 

" Dankie, reisiger. 'U weet nie hoe lank ek nie gedrink het nie!" She chattered happily.

I was very confused still, and I tried to get a look into the lamp, and from what I could glimpse, it was entirely empty. No liquid, no coin.

"M'lady..." I began, but she interrupted me.

"Het u toevallig meer muntstukke?" she asked, putting the lamp forth again.

I felt in my pockets. Well, yes, I did happen to have more coins... but did I really want to throw it away to see this phenomena once more?

Yes. Yes I did. 

So I pulled out a single gold coin, decided not to think about it too deeply, and plonked it into the lamp. Once again, it made a wet sound instead of a tinny sound, and the woman greedily drank. 

Only this time, the effect was noticeable.

Before my very eyes, the old woman became... a younger one.

"Aaaaah." She blinked, and her eyes were clear and gray, with long eyelashes. 

She smiled wide, showing her clean, straight, white teeth. "Geagte meneer, u het die lewe aan my teruggegee. Laat my toe om die guns terug te gee. "

I will admit, I was impressed, though extremely cautious. I watched her carefully as she took off a strange necklace that she wore, with little bitty bones and feathers tied all along it. She proffered it towards me, and I reached out a hand. As much as to stop her from putting it on me as to accept it.

She began speaking quickly, but reverently, apparently explaining something about the necklace. "Hierdie ketting bestaan uit die bene en vere van die klein voogde van die Olifante. Die bosluisvoëls." She pooled it into my hands and clasped both of mine over it. "Ek wil hê jy moet dit hê. Dit sal u beskerm." 

I watched her intently, looking for any hidden malice. But I could find none. So I smiled back and said thank you. Then, she turned, whistled, and seemingly out of the middle distance came a single gazelle-like creature, with long, straight horns. Without stopping, it loped past the woman, who used her newfound grace and agility to swing onto it, leaving me there with her gift... and a very interesting tale to boot!

~~~~

Thingguy finished his tale, and his drink.

Stirling leaned back, having already lost count of how many wings he'd eaten or how many drinks he'd imbibed. "Allright. So where's the necklace?"

"Pardon?"

"Where's the necklace that this woman gave you?"

"Oh!" Thingguy patted himself down, trying to remember where he might have put it. 

John blinked languidly as he too sipped from a tankard that he had traded his cup for at some point during Thingguy's story.  "If it's a necklace, arn't you wearing it around your neck?"

Thingguy shook his head, and instantly regretted it, moaning from the dizziness it brought on. "Oof. No. It smells funny and it's rather prickly with those feathers and bones. Aha!"

Having taken off his boot, he unlooped the thrice-looped necklace from his sock-wearing ankle. "here it is!" he said, holding it aloft.

John politely coughed and leaned away from the Bar. "Smells like feet and dead pigeons."

"Bosluisvoëls, actually. Tick-Birds."

Stirling leaned forward. "Good Lord, that does smell offensive." He examined the tiny bones and downy feathers. "Though I have to say, those bones are definitely not pigeons."

"Ha!" Thingguy exclaimed. "Of course not; why do you doubt me!" he grinned. "I actually found a dead tickbird later and was able to compare the bones. That's how I know."

Stirling nodded. "That's a good story."

John waved a hand at the necklace. "Please put that thing away before some of it gets in the chicken wings."

Thingguy chuckled, and wrapped it back around his ankle. "Ah, very well."

Finding it safe for his nose to lean forward onto the bar again, John followed Thingguy's gaze back down to his boot. "So, has it done you any good?"

Thingguy shrugged. "Not that I know of."

Stirling snorted. "Sounds like superstition to me... Then again..."

"She performed magic, right in front of my eyes, Stirling," Thingguy said. "I have more than just superstitious reasons to hang on to this thing."

Stilring seemed unconvinced, but didn't say anything further.

John turned to Stirling. "What about you? Do you have any good stories?"

Stirling tossed a arm up into the air. "Bah! Of course!" He slammed the tankard onto the bar. "Hit me with another, and I'll regale you with a tale from Somna, city on a hill!"

~~~~