Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men do
I
Carltin Belldom sighed after downing his seventh mug of ale, oblivious to the loud conversations that were taking place all over the Lenlal Pub. After setting the empty glass onto the bar, he felt a numbing feeling go straight to his head. He slowly looked to his left, attempting to adjust his vision, which at the moment was making everything around the pub appear blurry and at an odd angle.
"That's it, I'm done for the evening," the young broad shouldered warrior whispered as he ran his hands through his dark brown hair.
"Oh come on lad," said a gruff voice from behind the warrior. "You've only had a dwarfling's serving of spirits this evening. You're as bad as the wizard over there."
Carltin turned his head back, seeing the black bearded dwarf named Sorbek Ironkegar, holding a Tallman's mug in each hand. Like all members of his stout race, the dwarf had a strong resistance when it came to ingesting ales and other alcohols.
After taking a long swig from the glass in his left hand, the dwarf pointed over to a small square table in the corner where a burly ork in dark blue robes appeared to be passed out. In front of the ork was a half-empty glass of thick Red-well wine.
"A disgrace to drinkers everywhere," the dwarf declared in a slurred speech. "I'm going outside." While Sorbek proceeded to walk towards the exit, the warrior shook his head, then slowly rose from his seat, taking small steps while also trying to keep the room from spinning.
After successfully avoiding any collision with the other patrons, Carltin reached the table. After unceremoniously planting himself next to his unconscious friend, the warrior gently shook his friend. "Rashil are you all right?"
"As okay as a disgrace can be," Rashil Firefingers mumbled as his yellow eyes looked up at his friend.
Carltin shook his head and gently patted the wizard on the back. "Don't...don't you listen to So..Sorbek, Rashil...you know how dwarves are about ales and owls...I mean alcohol...that wine looks delicious."
Smiling at his friend's words, Rashil's droopy eyes shifted to his drink. "It is all right...very, very smooth...the barkeep says that...a quarter of a glass can, it can knock out most humans for hours."
"Really?" questioned the human with a half-smile. "Well we will have to...just see...about that." Carltin reached out for the glass, but quickly drew back when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.
"Can I help you?' asked the warrior as his head turned to face the stranger, a tall and slender gentleman with light gray hair. He wore a dark leather vest over a white silk shirt.
"I suppose you can," answered the stranger with a sly smile as be brushed some dirt off of the dark leather vest he wore over his white silk shirt. "You two look like a couple of strong able lads who could assist me in a task."
Carltin glanced at Rashil, who lay his head back on the table. The warrior then leaned towards the stranger. "My name is Carltin...so...so what is this task...and who are you for that matter?"
The man leaned back as the strong stench of alcohol from the warrior's breath brushed past his nose. "I am Broose Sandrellus, a bard. A historian if you will. I am planning to visit an old acquaintance at the docks this evening and I might need someone to accompany me and carry the goods I am acquiring."
Normally Carltin would question such an offer, especially since the task the bard was speaking of sounded similar to stealing. Yet due to his impaired state of mind, the merely shrugged at the bard. "I'm in…what about you Rashil?"
Carltin and Broose looked at the ork, who immediately responded with a thumbs up, followed by," We have to get my staff...your sword....your armor back from the inn down the street."
Broose looked at his two new friends with a wide smile. "Well then Carltin and Rashil, let us get your gear, and then we will be on our way."
Just as Broose stood up, the wizard's hand shot into the air. "Wait...what, what about that rat of a dwarf? Are we going...to leave him here?"
Carltin nodded. "Yeah...Broose, we also have our rat of a dwarf friend."
The bard shrugged his shoulders, but then noticed someone sleeping in the opposite corner of the room. "I am sure he will be fine gentlemen. He is sleeping right over there." Both Rashil and Carltin looked over in the indicated direction. Through their distorted perceptions, they weren't able to really see if it was their dwarven comrade the bard was speaking of. Nevertheless, they trusted the historian's words.
"All right," whispered Carltin. "Let's be on our...way."
II
The Wenchius LaCran was a vast ship with tattered and torn sails, and a wooden exterior that appeared to be decaying from the inside. What caught the bard's attention was the ship's wooden figurehead, which resembled that of a one-armed mermaid.
"Carltin, Rashil. I present to you Wenchius LaCran," Broose spat. "Named after the captain himself, the arrogant bastard."
"Captain LaCran...that sounds like a story Archmage Magio once told me," Rashil spoke in a muffled voice as he pushed back the alcoholic barriers in his mind to remember his mentor's tale. ''Many years ago, his crew mutinied against him. The leader of the mutiny was a necromancer, who transformed not only LaCran, but also the few men who were still loyal to him."
Carltin shook his head in disbelief. "Interesting, though I highly doubt that Broose's friend is some undead captain, who travels in his ship, going from port to port." When he was done speaking, Carltin noticed the determined look on the bard's face.
"I hate to break this to you my young friend, but the story is true," Broose said in a cool voice. Drawing his sword from his belt, the bard stared at the warrior. "The ship we are on is the same one that was captain by Wenchius LaCran. He takes his ship to different ports, waiting for some fool hardy treasure seekers to take his goods, which are bound to his spirit. That is why the necromancer and his followers mutinied and transformed the captain. Because if Captain LaCran wouldn't give him the treasure, then no one else would have it so long as the ship sailed this world."
Carltin drew his own sword. "I guess we find out what the necromancer transformed LaCran into."
Broose looked at him. "It's like I told you Carltin. I needed some help acquiring the goods. Don't worry, you and Rashil will get your fair share."
The warrior was about to comment the bard's words, when a fierce gust of wind whipped past his face, causing him to almost fall over. Rashil closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on a spell. Broose turned his attention forward, waiting patiently.
"Foolish adventurers," echoed a hollow voice. 'You board my ship to take my treasure. Like all of your predecessors, you will be tested, and most likely you will fail."
A ghostly creature, who could only be Captain Wenchius LaCran, materialized in front of the bard. Tall in stature, the captain wore faded silks. Dry strips of skin hung from his bones while small sprangs of hair dangled from his exposed scalp. The captain's empty sockets focused in the bard's direction. His hand extended forward, and from the bones spring a slender black bladed rapier.
"That is a nice sword," Carltin heard Broose say as he and the captain began circling one another. The warrior was about to aid the bard, when he felt a surge of throbbing pain go through his skull. Whether this was an ability LaCran possessed, or the early stages of the hangover he so righteously deserved, Carltin ran back to Rashil. "Do...do you think we should help him?"
Rashil, who had been suppressing the urge to expel his insides, looked past Carltin and noticed six walking skeletons, all dressed in similar attire as the captain. "This must be LaCran's loyal crew," he guessed.
After channeling some of his energy, Rashil made a sweeping motion with his arms, unleashing what he thought would be a group of small fire darks, but actually turned into a massive wave of shimmering flames that quickly engulfed the skeleton crew.
Moments after casting his spell, Rashil slumped to the groan, shivering from the freezing pain that began flooding his body and insides. Carltin looked down at his friend with concern, rememberring how a spell caster's body can sometimes be affected by what elemental spells they cast. Two charred skeletons walking towards him, one three feet away and the other two feet behind.
Once again suppressing the pain, Carltin darted towards two charred skeletons and drove his right shoulder into the ribcage of the first skeleton, then quickly brought down the pommel of his weapon into the same spot, breaking the skeleton’s ribcage upon impact.
As the first skeleton toppled over, the warrior moved towards the other skeleton. Rather than attack with his sword, the warrior slammed the top part of his head through his foe's chest cavity, causing the skeleton's upper body to shatter like a priceless vase.
Despite defeating the skeletons, Carltin felt the pain in his head manifest greatly from one side to the other. "That was a bad idea," he remarked The warrior stumbled over to the ork, who was now starting to get back to his feet.
Together, they looked over to where Broose was still fighting Captain LaCran.
Unaware that he had an audience, Broose parried the next two sword attacks that came from LaCran. When the captain decided to go for a low thrust, the bard stepped left and tapped the hilt of his sword against the captain's head, then followed through with light back handed slash that went across LaCran's face.
Wenchius LaCran stepped back and wiped his bony hand across his face, as if the bard had drawn some blood with his last attack. He flicked the rapier's sharp end at the bard's face, but Broose countered it by slapping the black blade with his the smooth edge of his sword.
Grinning, the undead captain closed his eyes and began an unearthly chant. As LaCran's voice flowed through out the deck, large wooden pieces ripped themselves out of the ship's mast and flew at the bard with incredible speed.
Six feet away Rashil raised a shaking arm towards Broose. "I'll burn that wood away with some fire darts." Remembering what happened before with the skeletons, Carltin quickly put his hand on his friend's arm, hoping to interrupt the spell, but the large flame had already launched itself from the ork's arm.
Both the warrior and the wizard waited for the flames to devour the bard, but to their relief, much of the fire and wood pieces deflected off of Broose, who was now beginning to sing a song of his own.
"What in the hell is he doing?" asked a confused, yet astonished Carltin. The warrior watched as the wood that LaCran had enchanted to attack the bard, was now being combined to form the shaft of he guessed would be a very long spear. The fire darts thrown by the wizard also came together to form the tip of the spear.
Rashil leaned towards Carltin, his teeth chattering. "I remember reading that bards can be very powerful when they are singing, storytelling, or playing instruments. It looks like Broose has learned tto manipulate objects and the elements with his singing. Rather interesting...if I do say so."
Though he was concentrating on maintaining the power of his song and maintaining the shape of the spear, Broose couldn't help but smirk at the ork's comment.
While on the chorus of his tune, the bard stared at Captain LaCran, waiting for some sort of retaliation or taunt. Yet Broose would have to deal with disappointment for LaCran was at a loss for words.
"Time to finish this," Broose said as he looked at the captain. With a snap of the bard's fingers, the spear drove through the captain's stomach. The flames that made up the spear's tip were now consuming La Chan's body.
The bard looked up as the corpse of Captain Wenchius LaCran was burning to ashes. And yet Broose swore he could see the captain's jaw twist into a smile.
Closing his eyes, Broose began singing another song. With a wave of his left hand, the burning corpse was thrown into the air and tossed overboard, into the cold sea below.
"Well that wasn't too hard," Broose said softly," but he did have a nice weapon."
Laughing to himself, the bard looked over at his companions. Rashil appeared to be vomiting into the water while Carltin cradled his head in his hands, muttering to himself to never again head butt a skeleton.
III
The morning light that came through the pub windows brought pain and irritation to the warrior's eyes. Like a might storm in the middle of the ocean, the hang over Carltin had anticipated on getting, came in full force.
Carltin wasn't alone in his suffering. Rashil had too received a terrible headache along with a rotten feeling in his stomach. Despite the success of the mission he and Carltin had taken the night before, the ork had considered going to a local priest and asking if the gods would be so kind as to smite him, in order to end his pain.
"Gentlemen, I hope you both got some rest," greeted Broose as he approached the table Rashil and Carltin were presently occupying. In each hand, the bard held a small glass containing a thick lavender liquid. With a smile, he gently set the glasses in front of his two friends.
"It's drizzalberry juice," the bard explained. "It won't necessarily cure your hangover, but it will help make things a little less drudging."
Rashil and Carltin downed the juice in one shot, then set their glasses down with a loud thud. The flavor of the juice was a little bland, but both warrior and wizard began to feel better on the inside.
"Not too bad," commented Carltin. "Usually Sorbek makes us drink some ale, or throws water on us."
The ork's eyes perked up. "Speaking of the rat, we forgot about him."
Broose stroked his chin. "I asked the barkeep about him when we arrived the other night. Apparently your friend caused quite a riot. Luckily the barkeep threw him in the back before the night was over."
"I can't believe that," whispered Carltin.
"I can," muttered the wizard.
The bard nodded, then tossed a small brown bag onto the table. "My friends, there is your share of the treasure like I promised. It isn't much, but it's yours. And now, I must be going back to the docks to retrieve something I left on the ship, then I am off to Tartaris. Farewell." With that, Broose Sandrellus got up from the table and bowed to his friends. He whistled a sweet song as he proceeded over to the door, and walked out.
"There goes an interesting man," Carltin said. "I hope he finds what is looking for." Next to the warrior, Rashil nodded, then quickly dumped the contents of the bang onto the table.
"Not much huh?" remarked the ork as a vast pile of gold coins and gems rained down on the table top. Following the coins and gems were six large maps, a silver flute coated in rubies, a dark blue orb, and a dirk. The dirk was made of elven steel while the bronze handle resembled that of a knight piece from a chess set.
"I will keep this," the warrior said as he placed the dirk in front of him. The wizard grabbed the orb and flute, and placed them inside of his robes. "We will have to split up the rest later. I will look at these maps when we return to the Abbey."
Just as Carltin was about to suggest they get their dwarven friend, a voice rang out," There be you two." Carltin and Rashil looked over, seeing Sorbek standing behind the bar, holding a dish rag and wearing a white starch apron.
"If you're wondering why I'm back here," the dwarf began," let me just say that while you two were probably slumbering back at the inn, I was having one interesting night. Drinking, dancing, and starting brawls, and all I have to pay for it is seventy silver."
"Seventy silver?" asked Surloc and Carltin in a tone that made them sound like they were unimpressed.
Sorbek crossed his arms. "What do you mean 'that's it?' What did you two do that was so impressive?"
Rashil reached into the bag and threw three small gems on the table. "Give these to the barkeep. Tell him they will pay for the damage."
The dwarf's eyes lit up upon seeing the gems. "This seems like a bit much for just a small amount of damage. Why give him the rest?"
Carltin smiled. "Because Sorbek, when we tell you what you missed out on last night, you'll probably be doing more damage to the pub."
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