12
Rone had agreed to stay in Crag Moor one more night to give Trish time to prepare for their journey to
Dusk Haven. He told her where to find him at the Ham and Honey, and that he would wait there for her arrival.
He was sitting at the counter of the bar when Traijen Slapped him on the shoulder.
“Well, look at you, been to the Crimson Tower and still got use of your legs. I do believe you're growing tame in your old age, my friend.” To which Rone responded by shoving him a little.
“Who you calling old? I’m only forty-one.”
“I know, I know, but your nearly ready for a cane. You’ve got what another two and a half maybe three centuries left? I’ll barely be showing a wrinkle by then.” Traijen said, smiling as he ran his fingers through his hair in a mock attempt to brag.
“Still, I guess that’s better than most Mortalis, hell they barely get one fifty before they kick the bucket.”
“Your compassion is touching Tray,” Rone said as he ordered a second drink for his friend.
“Well, now, what’s the occasion? I normally have to con you out of a first drink.” Traijen asked as he sat down on the stool next to Rone.
“The mages agreed to help me; they told me where I needed to go next.” Traijen took a deep drink of his ale then sat the cup back on the bar.
“Then why are we still here?” He asked, looking at Rone curiously.
“Because they are sending someone with us,” Rone replied a little hesitantly.
“They're sending an initiate.” He added before his friend could ask.
“Oh, hell, no Rone, you know how I feel about mages. They’re sneaky, conniving, pretentious ass-hats who think they know everything.”
Rone just smiled and took a drink from his cup.
“You mean kind of like you?” he said with a smile.
“Hey!” Traijen replied in protest, but Rone cut him off before he could continue.
“Tray, I had to agree, it was the only way they would give me the piece of the map I need to find the heart. Without it, I’d never have located it.”
“Well, if they gave you the map, then we could be out of the city before they even noticed you’re gone,” Traijen said, shrugging his shoulders.
“The map is enchanted, and the elemental mage they’re sending knows how to work it. So, she has to come.” A slight smile creased Traijens lips when he heard Rone say the word she.
“She? They’re sending a female?” He asked with that grin growing broader on his face.
“Yep, a SolFae,” Rone replied, taking a deep drink of his ale.
“Well then, maybe I was too hasty with my words. It’ll be nice to have a pretty face to look at. Well, besides my own, that is.” Rone just shook his head and laughed. If nothing else, seeing Trish shut down Trays advances every ten minutes would be entertaining. Maybe she won’t turn his legs to stone, he thought, nearly laughing at the image his imagination invoked.
Rone was about to order another round when the sound of shouting caused him and Traijen to both turnaround. At the back of the inn, several men had surrounded another somewhat more massive man and were shouting racial slurs and threatening him. They looked at each other, then stood up in unison and moved for a better view of what was happening.
To their surprise, the large man that was being shouted at was a HoloSpawn, a half-Orc in common tongue. This one wore unusually large dwarven armor, that was plainly crafted for one of his size. His broad-sword resting in front of him with its tip on the floor, and he was holding its hilt more like a cane than a sword.
The big man never said a word or responded to the shouts and threats of the gathering crowd. Instead, he just watched them as they goaded and threw insults at him.
When one of those being the loudest stepped to close, the half-Orc jerked his sword upward, crashing the hilt into the man's nose, breaking it on impact. The man screamed and grabbed his face as the blood poured from under his hands.
The others all backed away and reached for their own weapons when a crossbow bolt whizzed through the crowd and embedded itself in the wall next to the half-Orcs head. He never even flinched, but those around him all turned to see where the shot came from.
To everyone's surprise, it was the inn keep Feral who had made the shot.
“The next one to draw a weapon gets a bolt in their head. He said, glaring out at the crowd. This is my inn, and as long as I own it, all people are welcome here if they act civil. So either sit down and order something or get the hell out of my inn.”
The crowd grumbled, and some even spit on the floor to show their displeasure, but in the end, they all sat back down, and the fight was over.
Before opening the Honey Ham, Feral had been a watch captain for the city. Everyone knew he was a good man, but not the kind you wanted to test either. He only said what he meant and always meant what he said. So they knew he would put that crossbow to work if it had come to that.
After Feral had put away the crossbow and drinks had started flowing again, Traijen walked over to the half-Orcs table and sat down. The big man eyed him suspiciously and took a sip from his mug.
“Well, now, you’re an oddity, aren’t you?” Traijen asked with a smile. Rone just shook his head, hoping Traijen didn’t get them into a brawl.
“I am Craiger No-Tribe, not an oddity.” The big man said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword again.
“Easy big fellow, I meant no offense. I’m just saying we don’t see many HoloSpawns in Crag Moor, that’s all.
Craiger huffed and looked around the room,
“I can see why. Your cities hospitality is somewhat lacking.”
“Maybe, but ole Feral there makes the best roast pig this side of the Crystal River,” Traijen replied, licking his lips.
“So, what brings you to our little corner of the world?” The big half-Orc was about to reply when Rone and Fang came up to the table. Rone did not miss the tightening of Craiger's hand on his sword when Fang stretched and yawned at Traijens feet.
“Don’t mind him, he’s house broke,” Rone said with a smile. Traijen couldn’t help but laugh as Fang growled his displeasure.
“A unique pet you’ve got HoloFae,” Craiger said, observing the blink wolf.
“And he is no pet,” Rone said quickly.
“He is my friend only.”
Craiger nodded his understanding, then turned back to Traijen.
“To answer your question, I am here with my father. He is a blacksmith from Dun’Larkin. We come here twice a season to deliver orders.” Rone and Traijen both looked at each other curiously.
“Dun’Larkin? Your fathers a dwarf?” Traijen asked.
“He is the dwarven master smith, Peckle ThunderForge.
Traijen nearly spat his drink out when he heard the name.
“Your father is Peckle ThunderForge?” He asked, making sure he had heard the name correctly.
“He is,” Was Craigers simple reply.
“How the hell did that happen?” Traijen asked, smiling at the course of this conversation.
“He took me in as a boy, raised me, and taught me the ways of the forge.”
“Well, I do believe I’ve heard everything now,” Traijen said, gulping down the last of his ale.
“Rone shook his head at his friend, then offered a handshake to Craiger.
“I’m Rone, and this here is my friend Traijen Moonshade. And this is Fang,” Rone said, rubbing the fur around Fang’s ear.
Craiger hesitated a moment watching the two companions then gripped Rone’s hand firmly.
“Pleased to meet you,” He replied earnestly.
The three of them spent most of the night drinking and sharing stories of their homes or adventures.