“Boy things have
changed.” Muttered an ancient looking gray haired, scruffy looking man seated at the
bar. “It used to be, that a man could turn in any direction and
find someone he could trust. Nowadays, there’s nothing but dirty
rotten good fer nuting gutter slime.”
“Easy old man,
this night’s not good fer yer ramblins’.” The barkeep
cautioned. He glanced quickly about. “There be strangers about, a
rough lot they be. I’ll not be wanting trouble in me place now.”
“Rough?” asked
the man. “I’ll show ya rough...Where is this shit for brains who
thinks he’s tough? I’ll show him...Why in my day, I stood at
Fallows Pass and single handily held it against the maraudin devil
orcs.”
Carver had been
working at this bar for three years and had heard the story several
times. Not even a free drink would stop him now. He turned from the
bar and went to clean the tables. He reached for a half full mug, but
as if in a daze he overreached and tipped it onto the floor. Cursing
he bent to retrieve it.
With a splintering
crash the inn door collapsed onto the floor. Four men dressed similar
enough to be soldiers forced their way through the entry. “Bah
this ones fer the gutter… Too old, lets stick em and git.” His
companions roared their agreement.
All of a sudden
the old man came alive, whirling in a blur. His cloak flew off into
the faces of two of his tormentors and a stool took a third in the
face sending him reeling backward into the wall where he slid to the
ground. A mug took the first man free of the cloak and the second
never got free. Carver was in complete shock. It had happened in
seconds. The remaining man stood in shock as the old man towered over
him.
“Hmmm, you’ll
have to change those trousers boy!” The old man turned and shuffled
back to the bar. The young soldier helped his comrades out into the
street.
Carver slowly made
his way back to the bar. As he was rounding the corner he could hear
the old man muttering just loud enough to here.
“They was dumb
em orcs. Near every one thought they was facing an army, but they’d
come only later. 400 died afore I fixed one with me blade. Another
twenty died afore they turned and fled fer the first time.” He
paused and looked at his hand. In it was the handle of a mug.
Confusion passed across his face for only a moment before he resumed
his story.
Carver slipped
into the backroom, fearing the soldiers return. He had never put any
belief in the old mans story. Until now! He poured a full measure of
his finest rum and brought it out to the old man. Carefully, he
placed the rum on the bar in front of the old man..
The old man
stopped talking the moment the rum was placed in front of him and
inhaled deeply. A tear formed at the corner of his eye. “Ah lad,
this is the finest rum I’ve seen since my wedding night to the
Queen of Tri is tam. It’s too bad about that slaying their
husbands’ thing after ya knock em up.” He snorted in mirth,
spraying the bar with mucus. “Probably still looking fer me…
Apparently they can’t give birth less the daddy’s dead.” He
brought the rum to his lips and sipped. “Yup, she should be with
child nye on 80 years now.”
Carver had never
heard this story before. He only wondered a moment if there was a
place called Tri ist Tam. Then he smiled to himself. Of course there
was, right across the bar from him.
