Chapter 2:
It was the last sun before Queen
XenShr would be performing her sacrilege sacrifice. Rath
was quenched with fatigue, from crown to sole. The dirt
had worn away at his leather shoes and his shins ached, however,
sleep tonight would only be a fleeting sweet sorrow.
However, as dusk approached, he neared a small village just
beyond the outskirts of the Castle walls. Golden
Moon, a village inn, was small but that was better for Rath, for
he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. Over the
past few years, rumors of the LoMet family still living had
reached the Queen, and she began the head hunt for them again.
After having pushed his way through the Golden Moon’s front door
and locating a table off in the corner, Rath sat down, making
eye contact with no one. He placed his knapsack on the
table and began to unwrap the contents. A portly little
elf, who strangely spoke with a dwarven accent, approached and
in a stressed but friendly voice asked, “Something t’ eat, o’r
perhaps sum Ale fur ye lad?” Still not looking up, and in
what seemed like a shy tone of voice, Rath whispered, “Both…and
hurry!” The portly elf went through a door behind the bar
and disappeared into the back of the inn and Rath was back to
going through his knapsack.
Rath noticed in his sack a letter he had
not seen before. He began to read to himself, “Most Noble
Son, great is the task you have undertaken. Remember,
Queen XenShr is immortal, and it is the sacrifices that keep her
that way. If we miss this opportunity it will be another
10 years before this time comes again. This is when she is
the most weak. Also remember, my valiant son, the dagger
must first be thrust through her heart. That will remove
her life sustaining power from her neck only. You then must use
the dagger and remove her head, and hold it up for all to…”
**SLAM**
Rath jumped in his seat as a war axe came smashing down and sunk
into the wood of the table where he sat. Everyone in the
bar stopped what they were saying and doing and looked in the
direction of Rath and the stranger in front of him. He
peered at the axe for what seemed and eternity, then began to
examine the thing who stuck it there. He was much to short
to be an elf. “Must be a dwarf,” Rath thought to himself.
The dwarf had a thick mustache and beard that melted together
and hung about half way down his chest. It was a dark
color with a tint of red. He had a backpack on himself,
and a brown broad brimmed hat with a feather sticking out.
The backpack was filled with what looked like traveling goods.
He was not the sort of dwarf one would say was looking to pick a
fight. He had on stout clothes and a layer of old worn
robes. The shoes he wore seemed to have 3 spikes coming
out the end, "Probably some sort of last resort," Rath thought.
His belt, however, had something very interesting on it.
Rath had only heard of them before, but had never seen one.
The dwarf caught Rath staring at his gun and said in a hardy
voice, “They call ‘em a goon Lad, G - U - N, goon. Pertty
litt-el things arnt they Lad?” Rath did not speak, and did
not make eye contact with this strange and seemingly un-cordial
dwarf. In a raspy happy voice the dwarf continued, “They
call me Brann…,” the name came out with a hard dwarven
drawl, "and yur sitt'en in me spot 'ere!" Branns face
lightened up a bit and he continued, "Never mind that though,"
and he stuck his hand out to jester a shake. Again, Rath
remained motionless. “Ye don’t say er do much do ya Lad?
I tell ye what, ye buy for me a round of ‘ems best ale,
and I leave ye alone?”
Still, without making eye contact, Rath twitched his head at a
neighboring chair to his and motioned for Brann to sit.
Brann removed the axe from the table leaving an obvious mark in
the grain of the wood, and sat down. The folks in the inn
now were calmed back down and back to their own conversations.
“There, ya see now, twern so bad was it? What be ye
called?” Brann could tell, his new accomplice was not
planning on saying a lot. “For Shorn sake, ye er buyen me
ale, shouldn’t I least know yer name Lad?” Brann sounded
incredulous. Finally, slowly and steadily Rath lifted his
eyes and head, and looked right into Brann’s eyes and just held
the gaze for a few moments then whispered, “I am Rath, LoMet
Rath.” Brann could feel the sharp penetration of Rath's eyes but
managed to push the feeling aside. “Raf, be a pleasure to
know ye!” Brann spat out.
The inn keeper then came waddling over to Raths table and placed
a fresh cut of roasted ham and a pitcher of ale on the table and
began to walk away. Rath spoke up quickly, “Inn Keeper…”
“Aye,” the reply came back. Rath continued more softly
now, “A pitcher of ale for my friend, and slab of ham.” “Alright
Lad,” and the inn keeper waddled off back into the back of the
inn. Rath was finding it difficult not to break
concentration; an elf who spoke like a dwarf, who had ever heard
of such a happening. Brann returned his gaze to his new
friend and noticed he had already eat almost all the ham.
“Slow ye a bit down…ye’ll choke if ya et that fast,” Brann said
amazed. “If you had done a 2 days journey in one day, you
too would eat as I…” Rath said as he finished his meal. He
then continued, “And if you had tomorrows journey ahead of you
that I have, you would eat twice as much.” “What great journey
are ye on Raf of LoMet?” asked Brann with a half cocked head.
Rath was now drinking his ale, head tilted all the way back and
eyes closed, and he made no motion of stopping to answer the
question. Brann waited for him to answer still in
amazement.
Rath, in one swift move, slammed the pitcher on the table and
brought his head back to an upright position. Then he
shook it quickly left and right twice, as if that would dull the
burn of the ale in his throat. Rath turned to his friend
with his head now hanging down and spoke very softly but
resolutely, “I am LoMet-Rath, Great Great Grandson of King
LoMet-Gath. I go to fulfill an Oath of four generations.
I go to repay my Great…,” the words were coming slower now, “
Great Grand Father’s death.” Brann’s eyes grew wider as
the elf in front of him spoke. Brann could see the look in
the elf’s eyes grow more and more distant with every passing
word. At that time the inn keeper came out with Brann’s
food, but he could tell it was no time for an interruption, so
he placed the food on the furthest edge of the table, snorted at
the slash in his table and left quickly. Brann glanced at
his food and slid it over to himself, then looking back at his
pensive friend said in hushed, serious voice, “Shorn be with you
LoMet-Rath, Shorn be with you…” With that Brann began to
eat his meal. Rath then quickly wrapped everything back
into his knapsack; left enough silver on the table for the both
of them, then was gone quickly and stealthily out the door.
Brann began to think to himself, “Was he real, or did I dream
him up…” However as sure as Brann was sitting there; there
was silver on the table, an empty pitcher, and an empty plate.
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