165 - “Sending Another Message” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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To my dear friends DeFrantis and Antonerri-- 

Granthurg wrote the words, then looked skyward in thought. He sat on the edge of the steering platform of his barge as it drove steadily up the southern Wynne River. Travelling against both the current and the slope made the going slower. He could hear the water churning behind him, under the influence of the nature oculus hidden beneath the stern. Granthurg was no wizard, but he had learned how to activate the power of the oculus stone to drive the barge upriver.

The trees of the Umbrawood Forest had been fading from view in the eastern distance. Gentle meadows and occasional groves had turned into rolling hills. He pulled his cloak over him as the twilight gathered. The nights in Dirae had been warm and happy, but the weather had gotten a little cooler as the summer started to prepare for fall. In addition, the closer he got to the Graemal Mountains in the west, the more brisk the climate became.

Graemal, a giantish city in the shadows of the mountains, was his home. It had been the middle of spring since he had last been there, and it would be wonderful to see his family again. It would not be solely a reunion, however. So much in his life had been shaken up in the last few months, and he definitely needed some time to sort out the changes.

But before he got to Graemal, there was a small wayport town. He would stay the night there, and find a riverrunner to carry this letter back to Dirae. He dropped his gaze back to the almost empty paper on the crate before him. He sighed, unsure where to start.

Finally, he forced his hand to move.

I hope this letter gets to you, and I hope it finds you both and the children all well. I, too, am well enough. I wish I could say I was happy and safe, but I don’t feel either one. I feel mostly fear and sorrow.

I’m assuming that by now, you’ve probably heard much about the events in Twynne Rivers. Yes, I was there, and I helped defend the churches, as did Thissraelle and Eddiwarth, I believe. I won’t talk about the details of that night partly out of the heavy feelings I associate with my own failure, and partly because I don’t fully trust those who might end up carrying this letter.

I have lost Thissraelle. I have no idea what happened to her, nor Eddiwarth or Karendle. Yes, the last mental contact I had from Thissraelle indicated that she had found Karendle. I, myself, was gravely wounded in the attack and spent at least a week recovering. Afterward, I searched for them all in vain. My only hope for their safety rests in the fact that they were not among the recovered dead, either, and no one I spoke with had seen anyone of their description since then.

Because of these and other attacks, I’ve been in fear for my own safety as well, and for this reason, I chose not to return to you in Dirae. I didn’t want to bring further danger to you, the children, or the brothers at the abbey.

At some point, I plan to return to Twynne Rivers. I have much I need to learn about the dragons and their history. Some dark things are happening, and I have a feeling that our experiences are merely the snow-covered top of a much, much deeper mountain. When I do, I hope to be able to visit you, if you are still in Dirae.

With all of my affection,

Granthurg.

Granthurg folded the letter, sealed it with wax, slipped it into a leather pouch, and tied it closed. He stood and took hold of the rudder and looked out as the river flowed past him. Through the darkening evening, he could see the faint glimmer of the lights from the docks of the wayport town appearing in the distance. Without even thinking about it, he began to nudge the barge toward that side of the river.

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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150 - "Searching” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Interludes

Granthurg stepped with a slight limp down the pier to his barge. It was very early in the morning, still dark. He breathed in the familiar stale smells of the river. He’d not been to his barge except for a few times in the three weeks since the fight in the chapel, partly for practical reasons and partly out of fear. Life in Twynne Rivers had definitely changed. And not for the better.

After dredging himself out of the river that night, he’d collapsed, half dead, on the bank. The following morning he’d shambled through alleys and side streets to get to the RiverFront quarter and the Old Steersman Inn. The steady rains still kept most people inside. Along the way, he’d passed the burned out ruins of the Grand Cathedral. It was surrounded by City Guardsmen, and there was no sign of Thissraelle, Karendle, or Eddiwarth. They were still sorting through the damage, but nobody remembered seeing a young elven girl, or a half-dwarf in the thick of the fight. The good news was that they weren’t among the recovered bodies, either, at least not yet.

He hadn’t stayed there long, weakened by the loss of blood. When he finally arrived at the kitchen entrance to the Old Steersman, the innkeeper rushed him upstairs to his room, where Granthurg spent the next week and a half lying under sweaty sheets, fighting off the fever from the infection in his leg.

He’d called out for Thissraelle, but the innkeeper just said they couldn’t find any magical healers. The inn staff kept changing his bandages and bringing him herbal treatments. Finally, as he had rested, his fever had broken, and he had begun healing.

As he walked along the pier he glanced back up at the quay of the RiverFront, looking for... Anyone. He wasn’t sure who might be there, but he wanted to be sure he’d not been followed. He felt the white dagger against his ankle in his boot. It felt safer having it to weild, but, considering how many wanted it, he was also vulnerable carrying it at all. He stepped down onto the deck and untied the bow lines securing the barge to the dock. He began to slowly walk aft, inspecting the barge as he moved.

About a week ago, once he had healed sufficiently, he’d come here to make sure it was secure. The storm had scattered several of the tarps, but otherwise, it had been well. He’d suspected that a few of the cargo crates had been either stolen, searched, or both. He didn’t really care if they had. That was the least of his worries. He’d squared those that remained all shipshape and tied them down again. Now, as he walked the deck, they looked to be all still in place.

His mind drifted. Memories of the past months came to him. Memories of running the river with Rinkmorr. Memories of defending the barge against what he’d thought were river pirates, then those that were after the white-bladed dagger. The dagger that Rinkmorr had left with him. The dagger that Rinkmorr had been killed for. Memories of new friends all fighting to defend Thissraelle.

Thissraelle.

His brow furrowed with worry. He untied the starboard stern line, and stepped up onto the steering platform. He’d never had a friend like Thissraelle. In just a few months, they had connected to each other like they had been friends their whole lives, like she was his little sister. A VERY little sister, to a giant like me!

I can’t let myself believe she’s gone. There were no bodies.

She had to have survived the attack, somehow. They’d gotten through battles together, before, and Granthurg knew how strong she could be. He couldn’t accept the idea that she hadn’t survived.

However, the two weeks he’d spent searching for her had turned up nothing.

It hadn’t been easy to search, either. The Church pulled all of their Holy Guard from other posts to stand and protect the burned out shell of the Cathedral, and no one was allowed onto the site. Somehow, thieves and looters still managed to scavenge the ruins, making off with gold and oculi. The leadership of the Church was nowhere to be seen. Many said the councils were killed off, and others said they were all in hiding. When Granthurg had first became well enough to leave the Old Steersman, there were still angry mobs shouting outside the Wizard’s Guild, clamoring for vengeance from the King. The Royal Guard stood watch, but did nothing to stop them, nor to calm them. Finally, the Royal Guard and the City Guard together raided the Guild Hall, and arrested what few wizards remained there. Mages of the Guild were never very common in the streets of the city, but since the attack, they’re not seen at all.

Granthurg himself was in fear. He didn’t know who knew about the blade, nor why they wanted it. But someone knew he had it, and they would eagerly kill him to get it. He he didn’t want to be seen by them, and didn’t want to lead them to his friends, once he did find them. He’d gone out, mostly by night and early morning, to try and find Thissraelle, Eddiwarth, or Karendle. He’d checked in on his barge, but never saw them there. He’d asked at the Inn they had chosen, and in the streets nearby, but nobody had seen them since the attack. It was like they had vanished.

Where do I go, now? His mind’s eye pictured Antonerri and DeFrantis romping with the kids of the orphanage. They would want to know what happened. But what if the men who want the dagger follow me there? We’re only starting to see the reach of the Dragon’s Flame. 

Granthurg untied the port stern line, setting the barge fully free of the pier. It was his boat, now. Debt-free and beholden to no one. He had no obligations and no commitments. Only questions.

So why don’t I feel free?

He also had no direction and no friends. He had almost no hope of seeing them again. He stepped back onto the steering platform and lifted the hatch over the oculus, half expecting it to have been stolen as well. But the latch was locked, and the stone intact. He held his hand out above it, closed his eyes, and searched deep in his being for the will to go on. His face burned and his eyes watered as he’d remembered learning this step from Thissraelle. Slowly, he felt it swell inside him, and heard the water churn underneath him. The boat began to move backward, out of the berth, and away from the dock.

Where do I go, now? I need to get far away. I need to escape, to think things through, to find some answers.

After clearing the docks, and moving into the center of the river, he turned the barge to the Lesser Wynne, the southern fork, then westward, toward the Graemal Mountains.

I’ll go home.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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148 - “Why?” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Granthurg lurched onto the balcony just after the wizard in black. The man turned around and faced Granthurg with only a snarl and a dagger. He slashed out, but the giant easily stepped back and deflected the strike with his hammer handle. Granthurg could see fear in the man's face as he spun around and ran away, heading down the balcony. Granthurg swung the hammer at his retreating back. The wizard was quick, however, and the hammer only smashed into the wooden floor. The man dashed away in the dark haze, coughing.

Granthurg took up his hammer and gave chase. His heart pounded with determination, and his mind, with questions. Why did they attack? Why a chapel? And a cathedral, too? Why is he fleeing instead of fighting? Why isn’t he using his powers? 

Granthurg stumbled onto another ascending stairway, this one much more narrow. His will is spent! That’s why he’s running. His companion is down, and his own will is gone!

As Granthurg stepped into the stairway, it felt wrong under his feet, unsteady. This was the central spire, the bell tower of the chapel. The walls below were stone, but this structure was made of thick timbers and daub. Its foundation had probably been weakened by the first explosion that the striking wizard had thrown. This doesn’t feel safe. But I’ve got to get him. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. He pressed on upward, in spite of the creaking and swaying of the structure. It seemed to go higher than it had looked from below.

He reached the landing, and found a ladder leaning up the final way to the bell platform. He looked up through the gap to try and see the wizard, but couldn’t. Climbing up the ladder would make him an easy target. He shifted on the narrow platform, and felt it sway. He listened for the wizard, but only heard the crack of lightning and the response of thunder, mixed with screeches of drakes from down below.

Granthurg moved to the base of the ladder and looked up. “If you come down before this tower crumbles, maybe we can both come out of this alive!”

He heard no response.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I’m just defending innocents,” Granthurg continued. “Come down and we’ll talk!”

The mage blew out three sharp, shrill blasts on a whistle. Its loud tone cut through the noise of the storm and the burning below. Who is he signaling?

Granthurg hefted his hammer close to the head in one hand, and grabbed an upper rung of the ladder with another. He ascended as quickly as he could, trying to rush the top. The opening wasn’t very big, but he got through it well enough, and climbed up onto the bell ringer’s platform. The wind through the open sides blew rain onto him, making his grip unsteady. The mage ran on him from behind and jumped on his back, slashing into his shoulder with his dagger. Granthurg shouted and twisted his back, throwing them both against a pillar.  The mage grunted with the impact, and the tower lurched and groaned just as loud. The bell swung and clanged hard with a deafening toll. The two both fell to the wet planks of the platform. Granthurg reached out to steady himself, and his hammer slid away. He reached for it, but the tower shook again, and the hammer fell through the gap under the bell. It clattered against the stairway below.

The wizard was crawling toward the ladder opening, and whistled his signal again. The wet boards and the angle of the platform were making it difficult for him to move quickly. Granthurg lunged onto him, punching into the ribs of his back. The man grunted and gasped for breath.

“Tell me why you attacked this church! What’s going on?”

The mage just coughed and wheezed.

Granthurg pulled his head back by his wet hair and snarled, “TELL ME!”

Granthurg heard the flapping of huge wings and an unearthly screech coming closer. The tower shook and leaned as the drake hit the side and gripped the timbers tight. It snaked its head and shoulders into the opening of the tower and snapped its teeth at Granthurg. The lurching tower and the clanging bell made it difficult for the drake to hit a solid bite, but its teeth raked across his arm muscles as he tried to deflect the attacks.  He flailed and punched to keep the dragon’s jaws away, and brought up his feet to kick at its throat. Its breath was a horrible acidic haze that made it hard to breathe and see. His ears were filled with the sounds of clanging bells, shrieking drake, and cracking timbers.

The drake reached in with one of its front feet and grabbed onto Grathurg’s thigh, digging its talons in deep. Granthurg screamed in pain. The tower shook and shifted again. The drake pulled him through the opening and rain washed over him. He suddenly felt light, even weightless. They were falling. The tower was collapsing out over the street. The mage was screaming as he fell, and the drake began furiously flapping its wings.

The drake tried to fly, but didn’t let go of Granthurg’s leg. The pain was unbearable and hanging upside down in the air was making him dizzy. Granthurg reached up to grip the drake’s arm. He didn’t want to be carried off, but he didn’t want to fall, either. The drake flapped its wings furiously, trying to go higher, but the weight of a giant was too much. It flew out, over the street, still flapping, still struggling, but slowly dropping.

Shrieking and struggling, it flew out past the barges on the riverfront and the two of them splashed hard into the deep center of the river. Granthurg struggled for breath. The beast began writhing and twisting in the water, jerking Granthurg around. For a moment, it flipped over and Granthurg was above the surface. He gasped a fast breath before the drake’s spinning plunged him under again.

Granthurg reached through the cold water, over the drake’s gripping talon, along his leg, and to his boot. It was difficult in the shifting and splashing motion. He shoved his hand in and pulled out the white-bladed dagger. Gripping the hilt tightly, he plunged the curved blade into the upper leg of the beast.

The drake thrashed and twisted harder than ever, and Granthurg could almost hear its screams even from below the water. Then, it stopped. The head and tail splashed into the water, the death grip of the talon on his leg eased, and the beast began to sink and drift with the flow of the river.

Granthurg shook his leg free and pushed off the beast with his other foot. He broke the surface of the river, gasping for breath. He tried to swim away from the drake, but with an injured arm and leg, it was difficult even to tread water and stay afloat. The drake bobbed motionless in the river, slowly sinking. Granthrug looked around to see the city passing by as he flowed downstream. The flames from the chapel were growing more distant off to his left. He floated under the CentreTown wall bridge, and saw the conflagration that was the great Cathedral. He looked on in awe as people ran, screaming and confused.

Thissraelle!

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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129 - “Shaking Stones” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

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Karendle sat, waiting, nervous.

The small round pub table was wooden and worn. It was also empty but for a small metal mug of ale and a single lit candle in a cheap glass jar. There were three more wooden chairs around the table, also empty. She reached for her mug with her left hand and took a drink. Her right hand and arm was bandaged and held tight to her chest by a wide cloth sling. She had actually cut her hand slightly, to draw a little blood to smear onto the bandage, hoping to make it look more believable, more realistic. That scrape was hurting a bit now. Maybe that hadn’t been such a great idea.

Underneath the bandage, her right hand held onto the sapphire oculus. Back at the monastery, she had been using the gemstone to practice telekinetically moving rocks and barrels with her mind. She had used it while she and DeFrantis had been held captive in the old manor house, to reach out to contact Thissraelle. With the power of the stone, she had reached out from the wharf of Dirae to the men in Twynne Rivers who had originally hired her to hunt wizards. Finally, it had occurred to her that she could use it to read impressions from their minds as well. Maybe, with her will and the gem’s magic, she could finally find out who those men were, and why they hated mages so much.

She had spent several days in the inn’s common room, practicing with the stone. She couldn’t read people’s thoughts or dive into their minds. She wasn’t that good yet, but she could sense images, impressions, and feelings.

Finally, she had used the stone to contact the men and set up this meeting. Hopefully, they would arrive soon, and get this over with.

She anxiously reached across her shoulders and felt her long red braid, twirling absently in her fingers. For the hundredth time, she inspected her arm’s disguise. Is it convincing? I can't let them see the oculus. I’ve got to remember not to move it. 

They’ll be here soon. I should get the stone ready.

She dropped her head and tried to focus her thoughts on it. She could feel the warmth in her hand almost immediately. It wasn’t that difficult for her to activate anymore. She looked down at the bandage. Is it glowing? It’s dark in here. It’d better not shine through the bandage!

“It’s good to see you back!” The elf exclaimed, extending a right hand out to Karendle. Her focus shattered, and she raised her head with a start. In a moment’s fraction, she recognized the two men standing by the table. One was an elf, and the other, a taller human. Both were finely dressed in dark, rich tones of linen and silk. She stood up from the inn table and offered him her left hand. There was a moment of awkwardness as they tried to figure out how to shake her opposite hand. Finally, Karendle turned her left hand over and they did a makeshift grip. Then, they all sat down.

The elf looked at the human. “Should we get drinks?”

Shaking stones, my connection went out! Now I have to reactivate it.

They gestured a count of 2 over to a barmaid, and then returned their attention to Karendle.

The elf spoke first. She noticed he always did most of the speaking. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s nothing. I got into a fight. It will be fine in a week.”

“You should find a healer. They would fix it right up.”

Karendle smirked, “I thought you wanted those with powers locked away...”

He looked at her a bit sideways, then chuckled quietly. “You could always entrap them afterward. Right?” The barmaid set their drinks on the table. “So, what do you have for us?”

Karendle reached into her pouch with her free hand and began rummaging. It was hard to focus on activating the oculus while holding a conversation. This would have been easy for Thissraelle. Like a morning meadow stroll.

She drew out a polished granite stone and set it on the table. It was the dimensional oculus that held the mage she had captured so many weeks ago. She pushed it slightly forward, as if offering it to them, but not giving it away for free, either.

The human nodded approval, and exchanged a glance with the elf. “Well done.”

The elf also smiled. “Is this,” he asked, uncertain, “the elven girl? The one from the Wizard’s Guild?”

Karendle narrowed her eyes and looked at the stone on the table. Her mind, however, was on the gem in her hand. Why isn’t it working? I practiced this!

The elf leaned forward, a bit of concern on his face. “Is this the girl?” he asked again, “Are you with me?”

Karendle jerked her head up. “You mean Thissraelle?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s who I mean.” He was hesitant, looking Karendle over. “Is she in the stone?”

This stupid oculus isn’t working! What are they thinking? What do I do?

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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128 - “Remembering Rinkmorr” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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“Rinkmorr was always an ornery cuss. He’d complain and whine all the time.” The old giant lifted his tankard and tapped the base of it against an empty ceramic jug in the middle of the round wooden table. “But if he’d made a good run, with lots of cargo, he was quick to buy everyone a drink.” There were a half dozen or so giantish rivermen seated around the table at the Old Steersman Inn, including Granthurg, the innkeeper, and the ones who had helped them in the fight.  Each had a large tankard of ale. Next to the jug was a small, lit candle, and a leather pouch, the one Granthurg had sent to the inn with a letter to Rinkmorr. It had been delivered, but never opened.

“Aye!” They all called out and took a drink.

Once the fight was over, the tables reset, and the defeated mercenaries carted away- one to the guard tower in the wall and another to an undertaker-  those who had been friends of Rinkmorr gathered to talk.

Another tapped his mug against the jug. He was a lot younger than most of those there, with even a few winters less than Granthurg. “Many times he tossed an extra load to me and my barge. Especially when times were lean.”

“Aye!” Another drink.

“He wouldn’t give y’ a copper t’save his life, nor would he loan it to y’, but he’d share his work t’ keep y’ afloat.”

“Aye!”

Granthurg thought a moment. “All these years I knew him, and worked for him. I never knew any of your stories.” He flexed his arm against the soreness of the cut. “I wish I knew more about the troubles he got himself into.”

The table went quiet. Glances flew from face to face.

Granthurg finally spoke. "Are we even sure he's dead? I mean, here we are, drinking to his memory, and no one knows what really happened?" He looked over the men.

The innkeeper drank, then mumbled, "He was here a lot. He was almost like one o' the tables. Every two t' three weeks, he'd come through n' stay f'r a few days." He took another long draw of his ale. His eyes rested with an empty stare on the jug in the center.

"He wasn't a rich man, but he never seemed out of work 'r money. He tossed lots like any'ne else, winning some n' losing others." The innkeeper's eyes grew sad and old. "Toward the end o' springtime, while you two were on a run, from th' homelands, I think, some men, humans, came lookin' f'r him. They said he had stolen something o' theirs."

I remember that run. We were attacked by river pirates. I thought they were just trying to rob the boat.

The innkeeper continued. "I didn't think Rinkmorr'd actually STEAL anything. I figured he'd won it tossin' lots, and maybe they'd caught him cheating."

"When he came back int' the inn, I told him about th' men. He acted afraid, said he had t' go find y', and I haven't seen him since. Others have come and gone, looking f'r him, and f’r you, but he's not been back."

Granthurg nodded his head. He had feared this. He hadn’t wanted to accept it. He’d hoped it wasn’t so. Now, he saw that it was really the only likely conclusion. He slowly lifted his tankard, now barely a quarter full, and tapped its base against Rinkmorr’s jug. All of those at the table followed his motion, tapping their own against the jug, then they all drank.

The innkeeper stood. “Bless your steps, friend.”

Granthurg nodded in silence as the other giants, one by one, stood, clapped him on the shoulder, and left.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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126 - “Looking for Trouble” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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As Granthurg walked up the pier to the quay, then to the street, he idly wished that he had brought a cloak with him. The darkening skies brought a damp wind, especially near the river. Normally, he wasn’t bothered by chill in the winter or spring, but it was a bit uncomfortable in the summer when he expected it to be hot. It also wasn’t typically that dark at this time in the afternoon, but already some of the oculi raised up on poles along the street were starting to glow.

He walked east down the RiverFront street. Not too far from the berth where he had docked the barge would be The Old Steersman Inn. If anyone knew where to find Rinkmorr, someone there would tell him. Every time they had passed through Twynne Rivers, which was at least once every couple of weeks, Rinkmorr had stayed there, while Granthurg had slept on the barge as a guard. The last couple of nights he had done the same, partly out of tradition, and partly out of a more intense sense of a need for security. Some people had been willing to kill to get that strange white dagger. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, still, but he wasn’t willing to risk anyone of friends getting hurt over it.

He looked up at the clouds. Maybe I’ll actually get a room tonight, instead of sleeping on the barge.

He, Thissraelle, and Eddiwarth had spent a couple of days looking for Karendle. They’d had to be careful about how they dressed and where they went, to keep Thissraelle hidden from the eyes of the Wizard’s Guild. Thissraelle was tense and on edge, looking with suspicion at almost every passerby and every market vendor. She was certain that her father, the Wizard’s Guildmaster, was still looking for her, even if it had been several months since she first ran away from her tower in the guild hall. She and I first met a couple of months ago, here on the RiverFront. ‘Course, that was further downriver, where we were docked then. Karendle was there, too, when she suddenly appeared in that fight...

The search for Karendle was also difficult because they had no idea who she was wanting to meet or where she would look for them. Granthurg had quietly asked a few of the other rivermen if they’d ferried a half-dwarven girl with red hair to the city from Dirae, but nobody said so.

Oddly, none of them seemed to remember Rinkmorr, either. Even the ones that had recognized Granthurg said that they didn’t know his old boss. It doesn’t make sense. I know he had lots of friends in the RiverFront Quarter. Now, it’s like everyone’s afraid to admit they knew him.

Up ahead of him he saw the familiar shape of the Old Steersman, the carved wooden namesake statue in front of the inn. It was of a tall old giant with a bowed back and a long beard. The wood itself had aged and its paint had faded and chipped, adding to the overall look of tiredness in the carved giant’s shadowed face. Light from a large window shone across its back giving it an almost heavenly look.

The Old Steersman Inn. Granthurg recognized the statue and the inn. The entirety of the building was bigger than those next to it. The door was taller and wider and the windows higher. The stone walls of the ground floor were easily three to four feet higher than those of the buildings next to it and the whitewashed wattle and daub upper level towered up high. He had been here many times but had never actually been inside. Rinkmorr had been the one to stay here and Granthurg had stayed with the barge on the docks. Granthurg stepped through the heavy wooden door.

The main hall was huge, with a sunken floor and a high ceiling. He stepped down off the entrance porch onto the floor. It was planked, much like the deck of a barge. As he stepped down, he straightened his back and smiled. He didn’t have to lean or stoop! This inn was built for the river running giants!

The tables were all taller and the chairs stouter than any he had seen in a pub before. There were, perhaps, a dozen or so other rivermen, also giants, sitting at the various tables drinking ales from huge steins. The room was lit by various lanterns and a few oculi, all hung over each table using the same poles and hooks that were usually found on the bow of a barge. Nets and ropes hung from the pillars and rafters above. There was a round central fire pit, lined with large, jagged stones. Above it was a metal cone to direct the smoke into the flue.

Granthurg took in a deep breath of the smell of the roasting pig that was being turned above the pit as he stepped past on the way to the bar. He leaned on the counter and the innkeeper stepped up. Granthurg recognized his face but didn’t recall his name. He’d seen the man on the dock talking with Rinkmorr many times. The innkeeper was taller than Granthurg, by at least a foot, a bit broader around the middle, had thick, wavy gray-black hair, and a long beard full of thin braids. Under the beard was a dark shirt and a messy white apron. The lines in his face showed how many years he had spent himself on the river. A slight glint of recognition may have crossed his face as well as he asked Granthurg what he was to be drinking.

“Just an ale will be fine.”

“One ale!” He poured a tall drink for Granthurg.

Granthurg smiled. “Now, THAT’s a good tankard for a giant. Humans might as well drink from teacups!”

The innkeeper laughed as he set it on the bar. “I think I’ve seen y’ on the docks before, friend. Haven’t I?”

“Yeah. I’ve worked the river as a deckhand for a few years. My boss used to stay here a lot.” Granthurg took a drink.

“But now y’ve got y’r own craft?”

Granthurg set the tankard down and sighed satisfaction. The innkeeper nodded a thank you. “Yeah, I do. At least I think I do. I’m not really sure.” Granthurg looked at the eyes of the innkeeper, wanting to see if he could be trusted. “Actually, I’m looking for my barge’s owner. I haven't seen him in a while and I need to talk to him.”

“I’ll bet I know pret' much every giantish river runner that passes through Twynne Rivers. What's his name?"

"Rinkmorr."

Immediately, the old innkeeper hissed through his teeth, looked out over Granthurg's shoulders, then leaned in closer to whisper, "Get out."

Granthurg leaned back, shocked.

The innkeeper repeated, with greater urgency, "Get out. Now!"

"I- Ah- I'm sorry..."

"Don’t be sorry. I'm not angry. I'm helping y' get away." He tried to nudge Granthurg away. "There'r dangerous people that’ve been looking for Rinkmorr. They say he's got somethin' of theirs. They may've killed him already. Now go on!"

"Wait. Who is looking for him?"

"No time for-" The innkeeper was backing up. "Nope. Too late."

Granthurg spun around. Two large Giants were walking towards him, past the fireplace. A third was standing with his arms crossed in front of the door.

...And, of course, I left my hammer on the barge.

<<<>>>

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119 - “Rolling on the River” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

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Part 10: Cityscape

In the previous part: Tonklyn and his guards traveled overland from the burned out manor house to the city. Tonklyn remembered how, two years before, he had journeyed to the Western Mountains to find the lost palace of the Dragon Kings. While there he had encountered the dragon Kirraxal. After dodging firey spit and angry teeth, Tonklyn had convinced the dragon not to kill him, but that they could work together instead.

At the monastery, Thissraelle had some troubles with her friends. Nobody seemed to want to go where Thissraelle did, and she was upset at Karendle for leaving. She had a dream visitation from St Ivarr, a great champion of the Creator, who told her she must gather her friends and take a message to Heathrax, even though she didn't want to. Then her friends all rallied around her, and she, Eddiwarth, and Granthurg set out on the barge to find Karendle in Twynne Rivers. Maybe, just maybe, they might be able to figure out who this Heathrax is!



119 - “Rolling on the River” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

The trip down the Wynne River from Dirae had been uneventful for Karendle. She’d immediately booked passage on a barge, and had spent a long and cold night sleeping on the hardwood cargo deck as it bobbed about in the riverwater at the pier. She knew that she could have gotten a room at an inn, but she didn’t have many silver pieces, and she knew she’d have to have a safe place to stay once she’d gotten to Twynne Rivers.

The riverman driving the barge had nudged her awake with his foot that morning. “We’re heading out!” he had announced in a gruff voice. She had frowned, and gotten up. The boat had lurched away from the dock and soon they were floating with the current toward the city.

They had been floating for most of the morning in silence when she finally got too hungry to wait any longer, and had asked the giant if he had any food for lunch. He’d grunted and told her to look in a storage trunk at the bow. She had gone and found some stale hardbread and a dry crackly cheese. She had become way too accustomed to Granthurg’s generous and helpful disposition, and had forgotten just how ornery most of the riverrunners could be.

Still, something made her bring some of the food back to him as well. He took it and made a grunting sound in his throat. I guess I’ll take that as “Thanks”. 

After the day faded to night, she tried to sleep again, but wasn’t able to. The gentle motion of the barge rocking her back and forth should have relaxed her, but it just made her more tense. She lay on her back and looked up at the stars as they floated along.

She shifted uncomfortably on the flat, hard wood. Lying on her side was even worse. Granthurg would have at least made sure that I had a pillow and a blanket. He didn’t charge me as much as this guy did, either.

Her thoughts drifted back to Granthurg, then to DeFrantis. I already miss her. I should have talked to her before I left. She hadn’t thought anything through once she’d decided to leave. She wouldn’t have even talked to Thissraelle if the elf hadn’t interrupted her packing.

Thissraelle.

Karendle shook her head and closed her eyes. I don’t want to think about her.

Once she had the thought in her mind, however, she couldn’t move away from it. She just doesn’t get me! She’s never had to struggle. Life has always been handed to her. 

Too bad it’s not so easy for me.

She sighed and opened her eyes again. As she thought those words, she could hear them ringing hollow in her mind. She really didn’t know Thissraelle. How could she say what kind of struggles the elf had in her own story?

Her eyes flitted from one star to another, thoughtlessly mesmerized by the tiny glowing spots. There were no clouds tonight, just a vast panorama of points of light.

She caught a motion in her vision and glanced to her right. What was that? She shifted her head and focused on that part of the sky, but saw only a black and white speckled void. She rolled her head back.

There it was again! A shadow moving quickly across the sky, interrupting the starlight as it passed, moving east. What is that? When she looked again, it was gone.

Now fully alert, she sat up and scanned the skies. She wanted to tell the lapping water and the endless chirping of the crickets to be quiet so she could focus her attention. There it was again! No, wait. That came from the same direction. That’s a second one. That one was bigger! Or maybe just lower.

“Hey!” she called out to the riverman. “Did you see that?”

“Huhn?” he growled, “See what?”

She sighed, “Never mind.”

She began scanning the sky again. East, west, and then to the north and south, but she saw nothing. Finally, she lay back, and rested her eyes.

“We’ll be docking in Twynne Rivers soon.”

“Thanks.” she replied, without really caring.

<<<>>>

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118 - “Returning!” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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With a creak and rattle, the carriage rolled to a stop on the cobblestone street along the Dirae waterfront. It shook from side to side, as Granthurg stood and jumped off the rumble in the back. After steadying themselves, two of the monastery’s brothers climbed down off the perch. While one went forward to tie the horses, the other came back to open the door. A cool breeze of the late morning off the river swept through the car.

Inside the carriage, Eddiwarth smiled at Thissraelle, sitting next to him. Antonerri and DeFrantis sat across from them, facing the rear. The carriage had a small interior, so they’d all had to sit pretty close for the long ride through the woods. When hearing of their decision to go, the Father Abbott had greeted them, thanked them, and insisted they take his carriage. Eddiwarth hadn’t minded. He got to sit, pressed close up to Thissraelle. It was nice, but it had been kind of awkward, especially with Antonerri and DeFrantis right there.

Antonerri got out first, then turned back to the door as DeFrantis rose and stooped through. He held her hand as she easily took the steps to the street.

Eddiwarth shifted forward in his seat, then half stood, half stooped to exit the carriage. Now what do I do? I should help her down, too, like Antonerri did. Right? Would she like that? Or would she be mad at me? She could easily get down by herself. I should let her. But then, I would be ignoring her. Oh, this is complicated!

He spun around to face the carriage door just as Thissraelle walked past him toward DeFrantis.

Oh, well... I guess that’s OK, then...

The monastery brother walked around from the back of the carriage bearing a number of bags, bundles, and bedrolls. Granthurg was already halfway down the pier toward his barge. Thissraelle and DeFrantis embraced, tightly, gently swinging from side to side. Thisraelle wore a simple travelling tunic with clean, but plain leggings and boots. DeFrantis was in her normal daily working dress.

“I’m so sorry I can’t go, Thiss.”

Thissraelle broke the embrace. “No! Don’t be sorry. I understand.”

DeFrantis gently held on to Thissraelle’s arms. “I’ve told you how I grew up on the streets. I didn’t have any sisters. Thank you for being my sister.” They embraced again. “Stay safe.”

Eddiwarth stood and waited, not sure what to say or do. He leaned over and picked up a couple of the bags and slung them over his shoulder. One of them slipped off as he bent down to pick up another.

Thissraelle stepped away and wiped her cheeks. “Take good care of Antonerri, and the kids.”

She stepped onto the pier with reluctance. Eddiwarth stumbled after her, carrying several bags and dragging another behind him. Antonerri stepped up to the other bags and called out, “I’ll help with those.” He picked up a few and followed after them.

When they got to the barge, Granthurg had already untied the lines holding the barge to the dock. They stepped on board and dropped the bags in the mostly empty cargo space in the middle. I guess Granthurg hadn’t had time to get any loads to carry. This whole trip was pretty sudden.

He watched Thissraelle step up onto the steering platform at the stern. Granthurg was there, kneeling over something under the floor. Thissraelle sat down next to him, focused on the same thing. “Watch this!” Granthurg said and held his hand out.

Eddiwarth’s focus was on Thissraelle. As had happened so often, he stared at her, following her long white hair flowing easily over her shoulders and her back. Yes, I’m watching! 

The barge suddenly lurched in the water and Eddiwarth almost lost his footing, shaking him out of his trance. It moved backward, floating away from the dock. Thissraelle laughed and clapped for Granthurg, then patted him on the shoulder.

“Hey! Wait for me to get off the boat!” Antonerri shouted, then jumped the short distance to the planks. DeFrantis had walked down the pier and joined Antonerri as they waved and called out their farewells.  Eddiwarth waved back, then went to sit on the platform. He smiled as Thissraelle sat next to him, but saw that her attention was on the dock, on DeFrantis.

Finally, she did look at him and smiled, but it was a kind of sad smile. What does THAT mean?

She spoke. “I’m hungry. Is anyone else hungry?”



End of Part 9

<<<>>>

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112 - “The Dragon Scholar” - Tonklyn - A Tale of Heroes

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As Tonklyn's horse nosed out of the woods and onto a gently sloping and rolling meadow, the mid afternoon sun was already casting shadows of the tall trees of the Umbrawood Forest before him. He nudged his horse forward, then stood still to look ahead. Three other riders followed out of the trailhead in the woods, and waited beside him.

The grasses of the meadow were mostly green, but yellowing slightly in the summer sun, spotted with red and blue wildflowers. An occasional tree or rock outcropping broke up the trail. Below them, in the far distance, they could see the city of Twynne Rivers, surrounded by a ring of shanties and farmland. To the north and to the south, they saw the two branches of the Wynne River, called the Lesser, and the Greater, respectively, flowing into the city where they merged, giving the land a name and livelihood.

Tonklyn breathed in, allowing himself a moment of memories. It had been several years since he had left the city, and he hadn't been back since. It looks like nothing has changed, but everything has changed for me.

“We can probably be there before dark,” one of the riders near Tonklyn suggested, to prompt him into motion.

“Yes. We can.” Tonklyn signaled his horse with his legs and started ahead down the trail. It wasn't really much of a trail. Months of disuse had allowed the grass to overgrow the path, but it could still be seen.

Tonklyn had never liked riding, or traveling at all. He had always been accustomed to living and staying in one place. For his childhood and youth, that had been Twynne Rivers.

He had been apprenticed after ten winters to the librarians and historians in King Twynnham's council halls. For two years, he had swept and scrubbed the floors, dusted the tables, and polished the metalwork all day while learning to read at night. Then they taught him how to file the books, scrolls, maps, and records, and he became a page, fetching and reshelving whatever the great sages of the King demanded.

His eyes swam with images remembered as his horse walked down the meadow.

As he grew in the library, his education had continued, and he learned how to scribe for the sages. They had required him to stand for hours at a time at small and narrow tables built into the walls and shelves of the library. There, he had written as the sages had dictatef the ideas and conclusions of their studies. Words of philosophy, history, and geography had flowed from his pens as the greatest minds of the kingdom spoke. Tonklyn had absorbed it all, fascinated.

The scribe's nooks were scattered throughout the huge library, and the sages had often paced up and down the shelves, forcing Tonklyn to scoop up the papers and scurry to the next nook to keep up and continue writing.

Afterwards, he had spent hours compiling and copying the pages so they could be cataloged, shared, and further debated by the others. Often, one of the wise men would dictate something that confused him. When that happened, Tonklyn would dig out other works from deep in the stacks and study the topic until he understood.

Despite all of the shelving, searching, and chasing, the work in the library had been mostly sedentary, and, since it was the Royal Library, they had all been fed well. During this time in his life, his belly had begun to fill the robes of the the scribe, just as his mind filled the role. He hadn't paid any attention to that, however. He’d been focused on learning.

As Tonklyn and his men rode on through the afternoon, he recognized shapes in the spires and towers of the city. Twynne Rivers was truly a vast and expansive mass of populace.

One topic that had come up repeatedly in the histories was the reign and fall of the Dragon Kings. It had fascinated him. Some historians regarded that era as glorious, civilized, and noble, and others labeled it tyrannical and oppressive. I guess it all depends on who’s writing the book. 

Tonklyn had read them all, obsessed, particularly as he read of the dragon’s decline. None of the histories had been clear on what had led to it. Over the course of a few years, Dragons had interacted with their subjects less and less, isolating themselves. Finally, the various races of mankind, the humans, elves, dwarves, and giants, had all banded together and slain the Dragon King. His wyrmkind ministers and nobles had all been slaughtered, and his palace hold in the western mountains had been laid waste and plundered, and what remained of his treasure had been scattered.

By late afternoon, the meadow trail brought his travelling party near the southern Greater Wynne River. He smiled as the breezes brought him its familiar smell. He recalled travelling on that river. Two years ago, he had applied for, and been granted, a Field Research Quest, to find the lost and abandoned palace of Maxinn III, the final Dragon King. He had left the city on a westbound barge, flowing upriver, driven by the nature powers of the riverman giant, heading to the mountains the Giants called “Dragon’s Teeth”. How appropriate! All of the scholars had seemed to assume that was because of the tall, sharp peaks towering into the clouds, like teeth with smoky breath. Tonklyn had known better.

He had sailed up the river, traversed the mountains, and found the palace.

It was, however, not lost, nor was it abandoned.

<<<>>>

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97 - “Making the Magic Work” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Granthurg leaned forward on his knees, leaning over the gem set into the stern of the barge. Rinkmorr used to make this work. For him, it was so easy. I always wanted to know how, but he never wanted to tell me.

He remembered Thissraelle explaining how magic worked, and how the Oculi Creator, the “Eyes of the Creator”, helped. She had been teaching Karendle, and not getting very far. Granthurg had seen them, and listened in.

“Magic is all around us. Most people know that it exists, but have no idea where to find it or how to access it. But it’s there, all the time. Wizards and mages learn how to use the force of their own will to draw out the power and use it. If you focus and concentrate, you can make it do almost anything.”

“Anything?” Karendle was more than a bit incredulous.

“Yes, well, some things are harder than others, and they require more will. Once you use up your will, you’re done with magic until you rest up and replenish. The more a wizard grows and learns, the deeper their will grows, too, so they can do more and more.”

Granthurg had stepped in. “When we first met, you talked about different kinds of magic, but I didn’t really understand it then...”

“Yeah, there are six different powers. Usually, a mage will study one, or at most, two.  I can do a bit in three of them right now. The power of light is my personal favorite.” As she spoke, she’d held out her hand and a brightly glowing ball of light formed in her upturned palm. Karendle averted her eyes from the brightness, but wanted to stare into it. “I mostly use it to heal and to bless, but it can be used in a fight, too. It’s what Antonerri used to light up his sword as we were battling in the manor house last month.” She had flicked her wrist and the light was gone.

Granthurg had asked about the other powers, and she had explained them all. She said that she had used her mental powers when they had fought the slavers outside the market. That’s how she had levitated herself into the fight, and the powers of her mind had thrown them down. That was also, she had explained, how she had found DeFrantis and Karendle, when they had been captured and reached out to her. Then, she had used her dimensional power to open a portal so they could step into the fight and join in.

She had also explained that Eddiwarth had used striking power to start the fire in the manor, and that was also how the evil slaver mage had attacked Antonerri so fiercely. DeFrantis, she had said, knew how to use shadow power, and had used the darkness’ influence over life and death to heal Karendle when she was dying on the floor of the slave market.

“Eventually, I want to learn them all.” Thissraelle had said, “I know the least about natural powers. That allows you to shape and use the things of nature around you, like water, trees, life, stone, air...”

It clicked for Granthurg. “That’s how Rinkmorr healed me, and how he drove the barge!”

“Yes. And the oculus gem in the back of the barge serves as a focus, as a boost of his own will.”

“That’s what I need to learn!” Granthurg had said, “Can you teach me that?”

Now he knelt over the hatch in the platform, looking down at the stone. He took a deep breath, sighed and held his hand out over it. Thissraelle had said that it sometimes helps your concentration.

Granthurg closed his eyes, and let his consciousness sink deep. His mind focused on the stone. He wanted it to work, to make the water move beneath the barge. He wanted it to move the barge. He wanted it to...

Nothing was happening. He opened his eyes and looked down past the oculus into the water below. The water flowed with the normal run of the river under the docks.

He repositioned himself, closed his eyes again, and focused, seeing his own will. Thissraelle had said to find that first, then to flow it through the stone.

He suddenly felt a sharp warmth inside him, as an awakening, or a brightness. That’s it! That must be it!

He directed that out of his chest, through his arm, and down at the stone. He could feel it course through him. Opening his eyes, he could see nothing. His arm was tingling with the warmth, but it looked the same.

Then he heard the churning of the water below the barge, and felt the barge move underneath him. It jerked toward the stern, then yanked the tether lines taught jarring Granthurg off his knees and almost toppling him into the water.

He laughed out loud! By the Creator, it worked! It worked! He leaned over the stern of the barge and could see the water splashing as the magic moved it, and tried to move the barge.

A nervous thought crossed his mind. Now how do I stop it?

<<<>>>

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96 - “An Old Friend” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Granthurg stepped off the pier and onto the barge. This was the boat he knew, that had been his home for so many seasons, so many years. He and Rinkmorr had driven it up and back, east and west, all along the two Wynne rivers. Granthurg had loaded crates, bags, and barrels, only to unload them and sell them in the next town along the river. He could say it was his barge, but he didn’t dare call it his own.

The sun had set, and the only light was from the one forward oculus gem hanging from a pole on the bow. The river gave off a familiar musty smell that ne only noticed when he thought about it, or, like tonight, when he hadn’t been to the waterfront in a while.

He slowly walked along the side railing, running his hand across the smooth and weathered wood. It was not a new barge, by any means, but it was still sturdy. Its timbers creaked as the river water rocked it gently in its sleep by the pier.

He had done some work on it since it had been berthed there at Dirae. He had cleaned up all of the broken and scattered crates and cargo, after someone had tossed through it all, looking for the dragon dagger. The few boxes remaining were now neatly secured under new tarps, awaiting a chance to be sold in another town.

Another town? Where will I be going? Thissraelle said she wants to go further west, to get to Emberfire. She doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to leave the monastery, though.

His hand felt a change in the railing as he moved sternward. He paused, feeling the difference. Here was a bit of new wood. This was a section of the railing that Granthurg had replaced, after the fight. That was when they left Twynne Rivers, when the men came looking for Rinkmorr. That was the last time he had seen Rinkmorr.

I had just barely met DeFrantis and Antonerri. Then, suddenly, we were all swept away into trying to find the children. He chuckled to himself. It’s odd how things change.

He stepped up onto the steering platform, and looked back over the barge. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Rinkmorr, but it was strange looking at the barge and thinking that it might not see his friend and boss again. He shook that possibility out of his mind.

It’s odd how things change.

He knelt down, and unlocked the hatch on the floor at the back of the platform. He lifted up the small hinged plank and peered into the shadows below. In the dim light, he could barely make out what he knew was there, what he had seen dozens of times. It was a green and brown gem of finely polished jade, just a little smaller than his fist. It was braced in place over the water by a crosspiece of wood, and held there by a band of iron, bolted to the boards.

Alright, let’s see if I can do this.

<<<>>>

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95 - “Sending a Message” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Late in the day, the hot summer sun was finally drooping down behind the horizon, sending reds and purples across the bottoms of the few high clouds in the sky over Dirae. The last of the street vendors along the waterfront were gathering up their wares, and the glow of lanternlight was starting to shine in the windows of the pubs and inns along the street. The few trade barges that were there at the docks that day were being tied securely in place.

Granthurg sat at a public table above the piers along the waterfront, just above his own barge. They had been built and set there by the town for the convenience of the river runners. These were the ones that drove the trade barges up and down the Wynne River, from the elvish lands in the northwestern forests and swamps, through the city of Twynne Rivers, and on to Portstown on the eastern coast. The southern fork of the Wynne, or the Lesser Wynne, also came from the west, but further south, out of the mountains.

His thoughts drifted along the river. I miss Graemalan. My city. I need to go back. I need to see my family, my home.

The Graemal mountains were high, sharp, and rocky. Granthurg pictured them in his mind. The sight of them is probably what inspired the name. It meant “Dragon’s Teeth” in a more ancient version of the Giantish language. Many times, as he and Rinkmorr rode the waters of the Lesser Wynne upriver toward them, he would see the peaks rise up over the hills and meadows of the landscape.

Rinkmorr. My boss, my friend, my brother. Where are you? What’s happened to you?

Granthurg looked down at the table before him. It was small and uncomfortable. It would probably have been fine for a human, but it was a bit clumsy for a giant. It had been built by humans, to be used by the river runners, who were mostly giants, like Granthurg and Rinkmorr. He smiled as he thought about it. Humans don’t always think things through that way.

The magical oculus gem on a tall post above him began to glow in the encroaching twilight, shining down over the street and the table. On the table before him was a single sheaf of paper, unrolled. Next to that was an unrolled leather pouch with Granthurg’s writing supplies.

With a breath, he twisted open the tight cork lid of the ink jar and set it aside, picking up the reed pen.  He dipped it and wrote.

Rinkmorr.

Greetings. I hope this letter finds you well. 

I am also well, if a bit confused. The last time we spoke, you were quite worried about something, and told me to take the barge west, along the northern Wynne. You told me that you would meet up with me. You were a bit rushed at the time, and I was a more than a bit baffled, so I didn’t have the presence of mind to set a meeting date or place. 

I’ve been waiting for you upriver in Dirae for over a month, now, and have not seen any sign of you coming this way. I’ve asked a few of the rivermen that have come from Twynne Rivers if they’ve seen you, and none of them have, or they didn’t know you.

I fear for your safety. At the time of our departure, you said that there was something that someone wanted. I’ll not talk about that in detail, since I’ve learned that there are people willing to kill for it, and I don’t want to put you in any further possible danger. At least, no more than you’re possibly already facing.

Dirae is, for the moment, peaceful. I would encourage you to make your way here and rest, and we can come to decide what you would like to do next.

Your friend and help,

Granthurg.

He let the ink dry for a moment, then rolled the paper into a thin scroll, pressing it flat. On it, he wrote: Rinkmorr, Riverman, The Old Steersman Inn, the WaterFront Quarter. He slipped the letter into a folded leather cover and tied the binding cords tight.

He stood, and carried it down the pier.

Granthurg called out to one of the other giants on a barge. “Hey, friend. You said earlier that you were traveling to Twynne Rivers. Do you do courier work?”

“I do, for a silver shard.”

Granturg stepped forward and handed him the pouch and a half-coin. “Here you go. Thanks.”

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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“The Story So Far” - A Tale of Heroes

Welcome to "A Tale of Heroes"! In this entry, you can catch up on the story so far, before you dive into story arc 3. This will introduce you to the characters and help you understand the story, before we start introducing even more characters! Also, here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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Story 1 - Getting It All Together

DeFrantis, a rogue with shadow magical powers, lives on the streets of Twynne Rivers with some other homeless kids. One rainy night she tries to steal some chickens for everyone, but is arrested by the city guard. While in the guard tower, she meets Antonerri, who has been charged with heresy. Together they escape, but are chased by Karendle, who has been hired to hunt and capture wizards.  Meanwhile, Thissraelle, the daughter of the Master of the city’s wizard’s guild, has run away, and met Granthurg, a giant and river runner, driving commerce barges up and down the Wynne Rivers.

DeFrantis finds that the children she had been protecting have been sold off into slavery while she was gone. She and Antonerri book passage on Granthurg’s barge to go upriver to look for them, meeting Thissraelle. Some ruffians attack the boat to get an item that Granthurg doesn’t know about, at the same time that some wizards attack, trying to capture Thissraelle and bring her home. They all fight to defend themselves, and Karendle joins in, capturing one of the wizards. They float the barge west, upriver, to escape.

Story 2 - The Kids Aren’t Alright

The group docks in Dirae, west of the big city. Karendle decides to take her captured wizard back to Twynne Rivers for payment. She’s told to stay and capture Thissraelle as well.  The pouch with her magical gems (called “oculi”) is stolen, and she pursues the thief.

The rest of the group decides to help DeFrantis find her kids. They split up and begin looking for the slavers’ dark market. DeFrantis and Antonerri get into the market in the guise of slave sellers, Granthurg and Thissraelle creep up outside. Karendle is there, also, having followed the thief. She attacks the thief, throwing a fireball at him, and the market erupts in chaos. Karendle is wounded, and DeFrantis heals her. Antonerri is separated from DeFrantis, and, in trying to find her, saves a few slave children with some help from Granthurg and Thissraelle. DeFrantis and Karendle are captured by the slavers and taken away.

The kids that Antonerri rescued are not the ones DeFrantis was looking for, but now they have to rescue her and Karendle as well. The two captured ladies use the oculus to contact Thissraelle, and she, Grathurg, and Antonerri set off into the Umbrawood forest to find them. While held by the slavers in the abandoned manor house, DeFrantis and Karendle release the wizard captured in the oculus, who helps them break free. The find the children they were looking for and begin to fight for their freedom. Thissraelle opens a portal into the manor, and Granthurg and Antonerri step in and begin fighting as well. Thissraelle joins them, healing the wounded. Antonerri finds the power of his light and they defeat the slavers.

They return with the children, and at the summerfest, DeFrantis and Antonerri finally declare their love for each other. But life is starting to get difficult for wizards and those that use magic...

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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“It’s Not Just a Dagger” - A Tale of Heroes - Scene 69: Granthurg

It was mid-morning, but it was still dark and gloomy outside of the cathedral hall. Where normally the rising sun would have streamed bright colors through the eastern stained glass windows, like it had just the day before, now thick rainclouds made it almost as dark as the night. Rain streamed down from those windows, beating with the winds against the panes.

Granthurg sat at a table that had been set up in the back of the sanctuary, strewn with scrolls and a few books. The corner was lit by a few oculus lanterns, creating a glow that made the pages shine and fed his hunger for understanding.

The Dragon’s Flame. The Dragon’s Flame... He leaned back in the chair and heard it creak with strain under his huge weight. He wiped his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.

He reached over and picked up the ivory dagger. He hefted it, musing. Why does everyone seem to want you bad enough to kill for you? 

When he and Thissraelle had gotten back from the barge late last night, he had wanted to break open his scrolls immediately. Thissraelle had convinced him to get some sleep first. He agreed, but didn’t sleep that much, and got up early anyway. The few resident monks were already moving about and attending to their daily lives, and helped him to set up the table.  As he began to spread out his scrolls, they had mentioned that the Father kept a small library in his chambers there at the cathedral.

Granthurg set the blade back down and turned a few more pages in the tome he had been looking through. It seemed to be records and observations kept by the Father about religious influences in the south of Wynne.

He turned another page and looked at its title: How Can We Justify the Sacerdotis Confesoris? What? He read about the tortures used to extract confessions by some in the city of Twynne Rivers. Intrigued, he turned the page again, but there was no more on the topic. I wonder if this is why Antonerri and DeFrantis didn’t want to come here to the cathedral.

He turned a page, then another, skipping ahead to see if there were more on the topic, then stopped, staring at a drawing on the page. That’s it! That’s the dragon breathing flame! It was a drawing of a dragon with spread wings holding its head up, blowing tongues of fire up into the sky, the whole image surrounded by a circle. He picked up the blade and turned it to place the pommel next to the drawing. The dragon’s tails were curled in different loops, and the flames flickered with differing tongues, but they were too similar to be a coincidence.

The door to the sanctuary creaked as it swung open. Brother Mathazar stepped in. “I’m sorry to bother you. It’s so good to have company here, so we love to accommodate whenever we do!”

Granturg looked up, distracted. A man stepped in behind the Brother, the man Granthurg had fought in the field the day before. He walked with a bit of a limp and soreness, and his hands and feet were chained. His face was down, and he didn’t look nearly as threatening as he had then. The fact that he was flanked by two armed and armored town guards ready to take him into custody made him even less so.

Brother Mathazar shrugged. “He said he wanted to talk to you before he left.”  He stepped back, and nodded to the two guards before gently closing the door. It clicked in the heavy, awkward silence.

Finally, without looking up, the man spoke. “You brought me back here and had me healed.” Granthurg just looked at him closely, until he continued. “I couldn’t move. You could have easily left me there in the meadow, in pain, for the wolves. Now, I’m alive. I can walk.” He looked at the shackles on his wrist.

He looked up at Granthurg and the things on the table, seeing the dagger. He smiled a little. “I guess you do have it, after all.”

Granthurg laughed and picked it up. “This isn’t mine. My boss--My friend owns it. I had no idea this was what all of you were after. I don’t know what it is, still.”

The man shrugged. “Others will still come after it. Lots of people want it. Lots of powerful people. Lots of people who aren’t powerful enough, yet.” He looked at Granthurg and smiled. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell them you have it. I’ll tell them it’s gone. I owe you that much.” The guards looked at each other with uneasy glances, then pulled on the chains, moving him toward the door.  “Looks like I’ve got to go.”

“Yes,” Granthurg replied, adding, “Bless your steps.” The man nodded, accepting the blessing, and stepped toward the door, chains clinking on the floorboards. The guards opened the sanctuary door with a creak.

“A question for you!” Granthurg blurted. The man stopped and looked back. “You said I was going to sell this to The Dragon’s Flame. Who is that?”

He nodded. “I only know what I’ve heard. I was sent from Twynne Rivers and I don’t know Dirae very well. But it’s said that they’re a dark and dangerous cult that worships dragons. I think they were tangled up with the slavers at the old inn. Don’t let them know that you have that blade. I’ll bet that won’t go well for you.” He took in a breath, then bowed his head slightly toward Granthurg. “Bless your steps.”

Granturg nodded, and the man stepped through door. As it closed, Granthurg looked back down to the image on the page.

Worships dragons?

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox!

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“The Dragon’s Flame” - A Tale of Heroes - Scene 66: Granthurg

The rain wasn’t hard, but it was steady, forming pools and streams in the street. Grathurg and Thissraelle held their cloaks tightly as they moved through the dark from the cathedral to the wharf.

“Slow down a little!” Thissraelle complained, “Where are you going?”

“Back to the barge. And I don’t want to be seen.” He said, glancing back over his shoulder. She ran a few steps to catch up to him.

“What’s at the barge?”

“Answers, I hope.” He kept up his stride. Assuming everything is still there.

They approached the wharf. The waterfront in Dirae was pretty long, and there were several docking ports for boats and barges. There were crates and boxes all along the street above the docks, and Granthurg slipped between them to cover his movement. It wasn’t easy, as tall as he was. Thissraelle followed suit.

“You OK?” He asked, as they paused behind some cargo at the top of the dock.  She nodded.  He looked up and down the riverfront, illuminated by a couple of bright oculi suspended on poles high above the wharf structure. He moved quickly, but carefully down the slippery dock to his barge. When he got there he stepped onto it, and helped Thissraelle. He immediately moved past their own cargo toward the steering platform at the stern. As he did, he saw that the boxes and crates had been untethered and tossed around. Many had been opened, with their contents strewn over the deck, now soaked and ruined. He heard Thissraelle say, “What happened here?”

Granthurg stepped over the clutter and said, “They’ve been here. I knew it. They probably searched here when their man didn’t come back from the dark market. I’m glad we were safe up in the Cathedral.”

He stepped up onto the platform, under the tarp. The noise of the rain beating on it was oppressive. One of the barge’s lighting oculi had been taken, and the other was dim, making it hard to see. Before him on the deck was his trunk, opened and overturned. He sighed and bent down, turning it upright. He knelt and began putting scrolls and clothing back into the trunk. Thissraelle knelt next to him and helped. “Some of these got a little wet from the rain. Still, it looks like they’re not badly damaged.” They latched the trunk closed.

“Is that what you wanted? Your scrolls?” Thissraelle asked.

“Yes, partly.”  But there’s more. Before she could ask, Granthurg had turned around and stepped off the stern of the barge, landing in the river with a huge splash.

“Granthurg!” Thissraelle scrambled to the edge of the platform, and looked over just as his head bobbed up out of the water. He spat and shook the drops from his face, a gesture that was a bit useless in the rain. Then he rose up and stood on the bottom. The water was just below his shoulder. He smiled up at her. “It’s not that deep here.” He stepped forward, then ducked his head as he passed under the barge, between the long floats that kept it buoyant. He felt along the floats as he moved further into the darkness, his hands searching.

“Are you OK back there?” Thissraelle was leaning over, with the rain falling on her head, trying to look over the edge.

His hands hit the box, and he reached up to untie it. Once it was freed, he held it over his head and moved through the water back to the stern. His boots were slow on the slippery, muddy riverbed as he ducked to come out from under the barge.

He handed it up to Thissraelle. It was a small, wooden box, only a few feet long and a half a foot wide. She set it on the platform.

“Can you lift me up?” Granthurg said with a smile.

Thissraelle laughed a little at the irony, then extended her hand. Nothing happened. Granthurg looked up, blinking in the rain.

“Hang on”, she said, and refocused. Her hand began glowing slightly with a shade of blue, and Granthurg raised up, dripping, until he was even with the platform. He hovered there, and shook most of the water out of his shirt and pants, then stepped onto the barge. He knelt and reached for the box, being careful not to drip on it.

“What is it?” Thisraelle leaned in to look.

“I don’t know. It’s Rinkmoor’s. I suspect it’s what these attackers have been after, so I hid it that night that everyone else slept in the inn.” Granthurg set it in front of him. “It’s not mine, so I didn’t want to open it. But if our life is at risk, I need to know what we’re dealing with.” He looked at her, as if for approval, or reassurance.  She nodded.

He reached to his right and grabbed a small metal wrench from the deck, and easily twisted off the lock. Gently, he raised the lid.

Inside was a beautifully ornate dagger, with a curved white blade and a finely stitched leather hilt, set on soft black velvet. Granthurg picked it up and turned it in his hands. The blade looked like ivory, but not like any he had seen before, and was etched with intricate and overlapping lines. The crosspiece was a dark metal and shaped like two arms with clawed hands. The pommel at the end was a large disc with a pattern carved into it. Granthurg turned it in the dim light to see it better, and sharply drew in his breath. “Oh, Rinkmorr, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“What?” Thisraelle asked, “What is it?”

He turned the blade to show her the design. It was a dragon, breathing fire.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!


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Start the whole story from the beginning. Start from where this current story arc begins.