The clouds hung low in the valley that was wall to wall with thick green brush and trees. The foggy mist rolling out of the sky in a slow motion water fall drenched the bushes along the trail that the two men traveled. Each time the man in the lead spot would bump against a tree or bush a small cold rain would fall on them from the leaves and his companion would grumble and complain.
“I think you are doing that on purpose, he said as he wiped the moisture from his face.
“Why would I do that? I’m getting wet too you know, the bigger man shot back.
“Well it’s different when you are doing it to yourself. At least you know when it’s coming. Just when I’m starting to feel a little dryer you give me another cold shower
The leader stopped and turned around smiling. "You know," he grinned "for a tough guy you sure are a pussy!"
“Let’s just get moving, we’re burning daylight."
Dripping wet, exhausted, surly, and on the run, the two men pressed on trying to put as much room as possible between themselves and the Inn they were both staying in the night before. The Inn where they both went separately and for very different reasons, but in which events transpired that would change their lives forever and put them on a path of friendship and mutual respect for years to come. They were events which would pit two kingdoms at each other’s throats, but would begin with a wink and a smile.
The road to the ruins
There are many different kinds of drinking establishments. There are the town pubs where all the locals hang out to tell tall tales, escape their wives or husbands for a while, and drink their favorite ale, stout or whiskey. There are the trendy clubs where fashions from faraway lands get tried out; fancy drinks get drunk by young people experimenting with novelty and progressive ways. There are the roadside inns where travelers gather as nigh falls to get warm, get fed and get to sleep. Then there are darker places where men with bad intent and ill design gather in dark corners to scheme new ways in which to line their pockets with other people’s money, or hatch plans that end in slit throats or knives in backs. This is the kind of place that Benjamin found as he came over the last hill on the long road that was his twelfth day of travel to the burial site of his grandfather.
He had been pushing his luck. The last couple of days the inns and houses had been getting fewer and farther between, but he had been passing up perfectly good quarters late in the day hoping to make it just a few more miles. The night before he ended up walking through very dark passages with nothing more than a torch and a few glimpses of moonlight before he happened onto a lonesome looking house well off the path and up a steep hill. After a brief standoff with a mean looking dog the size of a small bear, the resident of the house came out with a lantern to ask him what he wanted. A widow with young children, she wasn’t about to let him sleep in the house so she let him use the loft in the barn where he slept soundly on semi-fresh straw until bear/dog woke him up early with a great wet morning face washing from his tongue.
These woods at night were not for the weak or timid, and Benjamin was neither, but there are things that roam in the night that even a great mountain of a man like him can’t face alone in the dark. Among these creatures of the dark forests were the highway robbers and cut throats. But Benjamin could handle this riff raff easy enough and aside from the odd skilled assassin turned thief most of these guys would back down from a skillfully slung crossbow and his deep rumbling bellow of warning. The skilled assassin/thief would just end his days with a bolt through his Adam’s apple. No, it was the other creatures he was wary of; bears, packs of wolves, the various and sundry big, medium and small hideous things known as Ogres.
So on the night he rounded the top of the last hill on that 12th day, the sun was nearly setting. The dark inn with the sneaking clientele and the mean looking innkeeper would have to do.
Looking at the property Benjamin could tell that it was once a handsome establishment with detailed woodwork and stained glass. Shrouded by tall willow trees on all corners it didn’t see much daylight at any time of day and the paint, once white, was a dingy looking gray now. He pushed on the crystal door handle, chipped and cracked through, barely remaining attached and the door opened with a creaking sound. He walked in scanning the tables in the tavern as he always did. At the bar, which had a large furry cat sitting on it as if he owned the place, Ben asked the Innkeeper if he had any rooms.
“One left, you’ll have to share,” the Innkeeper growled.
“How big is the bed?” As he asked, Ben took off his thick wool cloak, turned and hung it on a hook making sure to give everyone in the tavern a chance to see how massively large and muscular he was as well as the crossbow slung from the shoulder. With a tug on a strap the weapon fell straight down into his expertly waiting hand while in a single motion he raised the heavy item onto the bar causing the cat to stir momentarily.
Without appearing to notice any of the stagecraft the Innkeeper growled “The bed will suffice. Your bunk mate is small.” He directed his pointed nose to the far end of the bar where a very small man, looking a little out of place in this den of thieves, was sitting with a tin mug of ale.
“Hello down there! I suppose I ought to introduce myself since you are going to be sharing two thirds of your bed with me.”
The small man looked up from his drink and casually replied “Will you be paying 75% of the fee as well?”
“No,” Ben gave a good natured laugh at the well timed joke. “But I’ll pay for whatever it is that you are drinking there. Barkeep, give me one of those and him another one of the same.”
The Innkeeper ignored the request but before Ben could ask again the small man advised “If you’re buying then you should buy something else, this Ale tastes like piss. At least with the whiskey you are bound to get a glass of water.” Ben knew he had found a worthy companion even if he was a little short.
“I think you are doing that on purpose, he said as he wiped the moisture from his face.
“Why would I do that? I’m getting wet too you know, the bigger man shot back.
“Well it’s different when you are doing it to yourself. At least you know when it’s coming. Just when I’m starting to feel a little dryer you give me another cold shower
The leader stopped and turned around smiling. "You know," he grinned "for a tough guy you sure are a pussy!"
“Let’s just get moving, we’re burning daylight."
Dripping wet, exhausted, surly, and on the run, the two men pressed on trying to put as much room as possible between themselves and the Inn they were both staying in the night before. The Inn where they both went separately and for very different reasons, but in which events transpired that would change their lives forever and put them on a path of friendship and mutual respect for years to come. They were events which would pit two kingdoms at each other’s throats, but would begin with a wink and a smile.
The road to the ruins
There are many different kinds of drinking establishments. There are the town pubs where all the locals hang out to tell tall tales, escape their wives or husbands for a while, and drink their favorite ale, stout or whiskey. There are the trendy clubs where fashions from faraway lands get tried out; fancy drinks get drunk by young people experimenting with novelty and progressive ways. There are the roadside inns where travelers gather as nigh falls to get warm, get fed and get to sleep. Then there are darker places where men with bad intent and ill design gather in dark corners to scheme new ways in which to line their pockets with other people’s money, or hatch plans that end in slit throats or knives in backs. This is the kind of place that Benjamin found as he came over the last hill on the long road that was his twelfth day of travel to the burial site of his grandfather.
He had been pushing his luck. The last couple of days the inns and houses had been getting fewer and farther between, but he had been passing up perfectly good quarters late in the day hoping to make it just a few more miles. The night before he ended up walking through very dark passages with nothing more than a torch and a few glimpses of moonlight before he happened onto a lonesome looking house well off the path and up a steep hill. After a brief standoff with a mean looking dog the size of a small bear, the resident of the house came out with a lantern to ask him what he wanted. A widow with young children, she wasn’t about to let him sleep in the house so she let him use the loft in the barn where he slept soundly on semi-fresh straw until bear/dog woke him up early with a great wet morning face washing from his tongue.
These woods at night were not for the weak or timid, and Benjamin was neither, but there are things that roam in the night that even a great mountain of a man like him can’t face alone in the dark. Among these creatures of the dark forests were the highway robbers and cut throats. But Benjamin could handle this riff raff easy enough and aside from the odd skilled assassin turned thief most of these guys would back down from a skillfully slung crossbow and his deep rumbling bellow of warning. The skilled assassin/thief would just end his days with a bolt through his Adam’s apple. No, it was the other creatures he was wary of; bears, packs of wolves, the various and sundry big, medium and small hideous things known as Ogres.
So on the night he rounded the top of the last hill on that 12th day, the sun was nearly setting. The dark inn with the sneaking clientele and the mean looking innkeeper would have to do.
Looking at the property Benjamin could tell that it was once a handsome establishment with detailed woodwork and stained glass. Shrouded by tall willow trees on all corners it didn’t see much daylight at any time of day and the paint, once white, was a dingy looking gray now. He pushed on the crystal door handle, chipped and cracked through, barely remaining attached and the door opened with a creaking sound. He walked in scanning the tables in the tavern as he always did. At the bar, which had a large furry cat sitting on it as if he owned the place, Ben asked the Innkeeper if he had any rooms.
“One left, you’ll have to share,” the Innkeeper growled.
“How big is the bed?” As he asked, Ben took off his thick wool cloak, turned and hung it on a hook making sure to give everyone in the tavern a chance to see how massively large and muscular he was as well as the crossbow slung from the shoulder. With a tug on a strap the weapon fell straight down into his expertly waiting hand while in a single motion he raised the heavy item onto the bar causing the cat to stir momentarily.
Without appearing to notice any of the stagecraft the Innkeeper growled “The bed will suffice. Your bunk mate is small.” He directed his pointed nose to the far end of the bar where a very small man, looking a little out of place in this den of thieves, was sitting with a tin mug of ale.
“Hello down there! I suppose I ought to introduce myself since you are going to be sharing two thirds of your bed with me.”
The small man looked up from his drink and casually replied “Will you be paying 75% of the fee as well?”
“No,” Ben gave a good natured laugh at the well timed joke. “But I’ll pay for whatever it is that you are drinking there. Barkeep, give me one of those and him another one of the same.”
The Innkeeper ignored the request but before Ben could ask again the small man advised “If you’re buying then you should buy something else, this Ale tastes like piss. At least with the whiskey you are bound to get a glass of water.” Ben knew he had found a worthy companion even if he was a little short.
