215 - "What Is This Thing?” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Interludes:

It was snowing again in the Graelmal mountains. Not a fierce, harsh blizzard, just a steady snowfall where millions of flakes quietly float down through the still night air. Even though the city wasn’t high up the slope, nestling in the gentler foothills, it still got a lot of snow each winter.

Winterfest was only a week away, and many celebrations had already been going on. As the long dark of winter nights settled over the city, the Giants of Graemalan had begun hanging their lights and banners. The lights were small shards of gems, tiny oculi, dropped in the bottom of small glass jars. A wire was looped around the neck and it was set dangling over a door or window. Most houses had one or two, the most they could afford, but some of the wealthier families had dozens. They kept the snow in the narrow city streets glowing.

One of these lights shone through the thin curtain of a window onto Granthurg, stretched out long in his bed. He had been glad to get home so many months ago. After several years in the human-run world, it had been nice to not have to stoop in a house, squat on a chair, or curl up on a bed.

His mother and two younger siblings had been thrilled to see him, and had embraced him fiercely when he had surprised them with his arrival. That first dinner home had filled him with joy and melancholy. He missed his father who had passed many years before, and his older brother was away working the river.

He also carried a heavy heart whenever he thought of Thissraelle and Karendle. Every once in a while, he would raise his eyes to the sky and ask The Creator to watch over them.

He turned in his bed. His mattress was soft, but also a bit worn. He felt a familiar discomfort from under the mattress, a rigid stiffness. He knew what it was. He kept it there, hidden, but accessible. Occasionally, he pulled it out and thought about it. He did that tonight. He reached under his arm, under his mattress and grabbed the sheath. Holding it in the cool night air, he unsnapped the strap and drew the blade. The shiny, short white dagger glistened a little in the soft light coming in through the window.

What ARE you?

The point and edge were very sharp. He knew it well. He had pricked his finger on it many times, trying to feel it, to learn its powers. The only time he’d ever been surprised by it was the one moment when he’d used it to fight the drake while thrashing in the river. So many people seemed to want it, even though most people didn’t even know it existed. It frightened him, baffled him, and fascinated him. He wanted to find out about it, its history and function.

You’re a fool, Granthurg. Get rid of it. It will be the death of you.

He slid it back into its sheath and snapped the strap again. He reached under his mattress and replaced it. It wasn’t so comfortable, but that reminded him that it was there. Really, its very existence made him a bit uncomfortable.

He turned back over and resettled his blanket.

Now to just get some sleep.

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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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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!

<<<>>>

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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147 - "Burning Down the Church" - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Granthurg stood, staring in horror at the fractured and flaming main facade of the Chapel of St Mardon. Many of its stones were strewn on the ground, along with scattered burning fragments of wooden support beams and roofing. From inside, he could hear screaming and strange, unfamiliar shrieking noises. He ran up the steps to the main entrance. He tossed off his cloak and reached behind his back with both hands, one overhead. He grabbed his hammer, unstrapped it, and swung it forward into his hands before stepping over the debris into the chapel.

It was dim inside, the only light coming from the flames of the burning pews and tapestries. It looked about the size of the chapel in Dirae, maybe a little larger, and much more ornate. The walls and pillars were glowing with the erie dancing orange and red of reflected firelight. The vaulted ceiling was rapidly filling with smoke. Out of that haze rushed a black form, wailing and flying toward him.

Granthurg barely had time to react before it slashed a claw into his arm and flapped away. A drake! Why...?

A screech to his right made him spin and raise his hammer just in time to deflect another strike. I can’t see them coming! He ran to a nearby pillar and laid his back against it, crouching a bit in readiness. A small gaggle of monks fled the sanctuary, racing to find an exit. The drakes swooped down to attack them.

Granthurg lunged from his safe place and in a few giant strides was near the terrified brothers. He swung his hammer with full momentum at one of the drakes, but it snaked its body in the air, avoiding the hit, then flapped its wings hard to gain air. There wasn’t much room for it in this corner of the chapel, so it dropped and landed across the back of several of the unburned pews. They creaked under its weight. It flipped its head around to face Granthurg.

“Run!” Granthurg yelled to the monks. “I’ll hold it back!” He didn’t look, but he heard their sandals scraping across the floor.

The drake’s body was about the size of a man, though slightly smaller than Granthurg. Its neck was long, probably a good three to four feet of flexible strength. Its long tail whisked through the air, raising up behind its body. It opened up its maw and hissed at him menacingly, then Granthurg noticed it churning and gagging its belly and neck. Oh, that doesn’t look good.

Granthurg dove for the relative cover of the pews as the drake spit flames across the chapel where he had been standing. He crawled to the left on the ground for a space, then jumped to his feet and rushed along the benches toward the drake. He swung his hammer and landed a solid blow directly on the beast’s shoulder with a crunch. The drake howled in pain, it’s mouth still dripping flaming drool. It thrashed across the chapel and swung its long tail, hitting Granthurg and sending him tumbling over the backs of cracked benches.

He sat up and shook his head. As his eyes cleared, he saw his hammer laying on the floor not to far from his feet. He reached for it, making his shoulder hurt from the smaller drake's claws.

He saw a dark figure running along the other side of the chapel. In a moment, he realized that it was one of the wizards he had seen in the street, the one in black. Another man in a white tunic, a guard or soldier, pursued him, but not as quickly. What happened to the other mage?

Granthurg wasn't going to let him escape. There were too many questions. The giant scooped up his hammer, leapt to his feet, and ran to intercept. He thundered around the clutter of the main entrance just in time to face the wizard.

The mage turned around and ran, dashing up a spiral staircase behind him. Granthurg gave chase just as the guard limped into view.

“I'll catch him!” Granthurg shouted, “Where do these stairs go?”

“To the balcony and the bell tower!”

Granthurg sped up the stairs.

<<<>>>

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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140 - "Flames in the Rain” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Granthurg? Thissraelle's faint thought-voice nudged it's way into his consciousness. Are you there?

He smiled, in spite of the cold and the rain, sensing the familiar patterns of her thoughts in his mind. He'd hoped she would reach out and let him know how she was doing. It had been a long morning, and the early dark made it seem even more so.

Yes! I'm walking along the RiverFront back to the Inn. They had all split up early that morning, Thissraelle and Eddiwarth to go look for Karendle, and Granthurg to secure the barge in the storm. He'd found it to be still well-moored, but a few of the tarps had come loose and were flailing in the wind.

His boot splashed into a puddle on the street and he pulled his cloak tighter over his shoulders. He had his heavy warhammer strapped across his back, underneath the cloak, so it didn't quite close in front. The front of his shirt was getting quite wet. The pubs and shops along the river all had lanterns lit inside, shining out of windows into the cloud-dimmed streets. A few people walked past, huddled under the roof overhang.

We found Karendle. He could sense hesitation.

Excellent! How is she?

I don't know. We're across the street. Eddiwarth was trying to reach out to you when he sensed her. He found her in the cathedral, of all places. There was a long, heavy pause in his mind. He could tell that something was going on in her mind, worry, perhaps, or even fear.

Are you OK, Thiss? 

The pause went on, and he stopped walking for a moment. All he could hear was the rain on his cloak hood.

Thiss?

Yes, I'm fine. We're leaving the pub to go talk to her now. Where are you? 

I’m on the RiverFront. I just passed the Chapel of St. Mardon. 

Can you get to us quick? She’s in CentreTown, in the Great Cathedral. She hesitated. Granthurg, I'm not sure how to do this. I'm not good at apologies.

Granthurg laughed and started walking again. He shook some of the water off his shoulders

It's not funny! 

I know. I'm sorry, he thought, though he still shook his head and chuckled. See? There! I said it. Now you can.

The tone of her mind got sharp. It's not the same! I have to--GRANTHURG! OH NO! OH NO! MERCIFUL CREATOR! Her mind shrieked with fright and he felt a chill rush through his spine.

What? What happened?

Silence. He stopped walking again, frozen in place. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

Thissraelle! What's happening?

GRANTHURG! Thissraelle's thoughts jarred him. GRANTHURG! The Great Cathedral is on fire!

In a heartbeat, a huge explosion ripping through the dark, rainy air behind him and a rush of hot wind blew past him. He spun around to see a billowing rumbling cloud of flame and smoke riding up from the shattered facade of the chapel just down the street. The orange light from the blaze shone on two figures in red robes standing in the rain with their hands held high, gesturing at the building. Debris from the exploded structure began to rain down around them and he could hear people start to scream inside. The spire leaned precariously forward, the wooden supports underneath it weakened, like it was about to topple out into the street.He could hear the two wizards laughing. They reached out to each other with their fists and pushed the backs of their wrists together in salute, swinging their arms up high. Then, they ran into the chapel, parting the flames with gestures of their hands..

Someone’s attacking the churches! That’s what’s happening! 

<<<>>>

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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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.

<<<>>>

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127 - “A Dangerous Dagger” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Immediately, instinctively, Granthurg scanned the hall. He had no weapons, no friends, and the only exit he could see right away was the main door which was blocked by a third man. He was the bigger and stronger of the three, a towering stone wall of intimidation.

The two giants stopped before him. One, on the left, was about Granthurg’s height, maybe a little taller, and the other had a full foot and a half on Granthurg. They both wore simple tunics of gray and green and leggings tucked into short boots.

“Y’re Rinkmorr’s hand, aren’t y’?” The shorter one spoke first. The taller one slowly drew a shortsword, but in his hands it looked more like a dirk or a dagger. “There’s a high price on y’r head.”

He stepped forward, then added, “Actually, I couldn’t care less ‘bout y’r head. The high price is on the dagger. So, if I have t’ take y’r head to get it, I will.”

The taller giant said, “So, you can tell us where you’re berthed, and we’ll go search it.”

Granthurg’s eyes narrowed. “And no one has to get hurt, right? I know the story.”

The taller one shifted his sword in his hand. "Well, we've been waiting here for so long, we might have to hurt you anyway," he smiled a gap-toothed grin, "just for fun!"

The dagger they want isn't on the barge. It’s the only weapon I have with me. I might have to use it, but I’m not so sure that drawing it and showing it is a good idea. Granthurg stood in a defensive posture, tense and set.

"How about y' take y'r arguments out int' the street," the innkeeper said in a nervous voice, "so my tables don' get smashed." Nobody moved.

Except that Granthurg caught a motion in his peripheral vision. Someone had stood up next to the far wall and was carefully moving toward the giant guarding the door. He carried a long and twisted staff in his hands. He looked directly at Granthurg and quickly nodded his head.

Granthurg glanced away and saw others across the room trying to catch his eye as well. He breathed in relief. I guess Rinkmorr had some friends here after all!

The tense moment hung in the air, everyone waiting for someone else to move first. Suddenly, Granthurg sucked in a breath and looked past the taller giant’s shoulder, making a face of alarm and surprise.

The taller giant turned his head to see what had happened. Granthurg seized the moment that his ruse had bought him and lunged to his left, jumping to the far side of the firepit. As he did, he saw the man with the staff swing it in a wide arc at the face of the man guarding the door. The mercenary saw the blow coming and raised his arms to block. The stick caught him against his forearms with a hard crack and he wailed in pain.

The shorter giant ran around the fire to face Granthurg. He swung his fist wide in a hook to Granthurg’s face. Granthurg ducked his head and raised his left arm to block the hit. His heart raced. He stepped in and swung his right hand low and up into the man's gut. His attacker stumbled back with a grunt, but didn't drop.

Granthurg backed away and hazarded a look over his right shoulder. The taller giant had followed him around the pit and loomed large as he lunged, sword stabbing forward.

Granthurg braced himself, unsure how defend against both the incoming blade and the first attacker. The man who had been turning the pig on the fire leaned his shoulder into the taller giant, knocking him off his balance and into a table. The legs cracked and chairs tumbled away.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the shorter giant tackled Granthurg and the two of them hit the floor hard. The impact winded Granthurg, and the attacker rolled over and straddled Granthurg's chest and pulled a blade out of his belt. Granthurg, his eyes wide and fearful, flailed his arms up trying hard to block the blade and grab his opponent's wrist. He felt a slashing pain on his right forearm that shot through his shoulder and made him jerk back. A warm trickle ran down his arm.

The attacker shouted in anger and raised the knife up high, pointing it for a plunge down into Granthurg’s neck. Granthurg winced through the pain in his arm and jabbed his right fist straight up into the other man’s belly and ribs. He grunted and dropped the knife, which scratched a line on Granthurg’s cheek and clattered to the floor.

Granthurg punched with his left, then twisted to his side. The giant fell off of him, and they both scrambled to their knees, breathing hard with exertion through gritted teeth and angry faces. A quick flash of bloodied steel appeared in between them, and Granthurg scrambled back, out of breath. His startled gaze followed the hand on the hilt, up the arm, to the scowling face of the man that had been tending the meat on the fire. He pointed the sword at Granthurg’s attacker and yelled at him to stay down. Granthurg looked across the room. The giant guarding the door was not there anymore. Behind him, he saw the third attacker rolling on the floor in pain, over a widening smear of blood.

“Thanks!” Granthurg wheezed through his heavy breathing. The man with the blade kicked hard on the back of the attacking giant’s head, knocking him out cold and dropping him flat on the floor. He smiled and nodded to Granthurg.

Granthurg crawled to the injured giant and rolled him over. His face was twisted in pain and there was a deep gashed stab wound through his side. His blood covered his shirt and pants. “Is there a healer in here?” Granthurg shouted. “Anyone with jade gemstone?” He looked around, into the quizzical faces of those around him. Nobody spoke.

He turned back to the man before him, then shed his own vest and his tunic. He wadded his shirt and pressed the linen hard against the wounded man’s side. The pressure made him wince slightly, from the pain, before he eased and dropped limp.

Granthurg leaned back on his legs and sighed, then stood, taking a deep breath. Everyone in the bar stood in a bit of a daze, but gradually began to rearrange the tables and sit back down. The innkeeper called to a barmaid, a tall girl with strong shoulders, and pointed at Granthurg. She grabbed her towel and moved to his side, taking his arm and wrapping it in the cloth.

“Thanks.” He said softly, then more loudly, “Thank you all!”

<<<>>>

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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.

<<<>>>

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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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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117 - “That Fool Stupid Dream” - Thissraelle - A Tale of Heroes

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“A dream?” a familiar voice said, from behind Granthurg, “Lot of that happening lately, I guess.” Eddiwarth stepped into the lantern’s glow, followed by Antonerri and DeFrantis.

Thissraelle and Granthurg looked back toward the open library door. DeFrantis stepped in front of the table to answer the question on Thissraelle’s face. “We just came in. We’re not trying to eavesdrop. You’ve been... well... troubled the last few days.”

Antonerri moved behind DeFrantis. “We’re just a bit worried about you. And”--he took a breath-- “Karendle, too.”

Thissraelle nodded and looked away. DeFrantis quietly took the open chair opposite Granthurg. Thissraelle could feel the kindness and the concern of her friends, but right now it also brought an oppressive awkward silence crowding around her in the dim light.

Eddiwarth coughed, making everyone look. “So, uh... what’s this dream?”

Tension broken, breaths taken, Thissraelle explained, “Oh, nothing, really. This knight appeared to me and told me things.”

“A knight?” Antonerri said, with curiosity.

“Yeah! Tell us about it!” Eddiwarth nudged, glad to have the heaviness of the moment broken. He leaned his elbow up on Granthurg’s chair and crossed his ankles.

“Well, it’s nothing, like I said. I was flying through a storm, with lighting flashing all around me. Suddenly this knight in armor appears, and he’s glowing and everything, and he tells me that I should go take a message to someone. Then he gives me some advice and goes away.” She shrugged. “Just some fool stupid dream from my subconscious.”

No one was quite sure how to react. DeFrantis just reached out and put a kind hand on Thissraelle’s shoulder.

“What did he look like?” Antonerri asked, thoughtful.

“What?” Thissraelle shook her head back to the moment.

“What did he look like?” he repeated, then, “How was he dressed?”

“Oh, well, uh, he had silvery armor. It was nice, but it was scratched and dented a lot, like he’d been in battle for years. He wore a tunic over it, a lot like the one you used to wear, and the ones the brothers here have, with the three lights symbol on it. Like I said, it’s just a silly dream.”

Antonerri shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

All of the group shifted their eyes to him. “He appeared to me, too.”

Thissraelle’s heart skipped at this revealation.

“I was helping the brothers tend the sheep in the hills and meadows east of the forest. This was not long after we returned from the summerfest. As I wandered, trying to keep an eye on all of the herd, this knight rode up and greeted me, introducing himself as Ivarr. He was dressed as you described. I assumed he was travelling to Twynne Rivers, so I pointed him to the path, to the main road. He dismissed that, and we talked.”

Eddiwarth pressed, “Talked? About what?”

Antonerri hesitated, and looked at DeFrantis, “He said that certainly the Creator was pleased with what I had done to help free the children. He blessed me to have a happy life.” Antonerri took DeFrantis’ other hand. “Then he bowed in his saddle and rode away.”

He continued, “It left me feeling both wonderful and a bit confused. Later, the brothers celebrated the feast of Saint Ivarr and I wondered.” He looked directly at Thissraelle. “But this happened to me in the middle of the waking day. This was not a dream. It was real.”

Thissraelle looked at each of their faces, feeling the kindness, and knowing what she had to do. She saw them looking to her for a decision. Am I their leader? The strongest leader is better the servant.

She took a deep breath and straightened in her chair. “So, I guess we go after Karendle. She is one of us, and she will need our help.”

<<<>>>

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116 - “Not Much Help” - Thissraelle - A Tale of Heroes

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The evening sun was tossing its last rays over the horizon and past the trees, barely making the trip through the monastery’s open windows to dimly illuminate the shelves along the walls in the library. Crickets and tree frogs sang a quiet chorale of chirps and whistles that faded into Thissraelle’s empty mind. She slumped low in the large, cushioned chair, with her legs crossed up in front of her. She had so much to think about, so many questions that she’d been asking herself all day. Now, she was tired of it all.

She mindlessly twirled her hair around her finger, then unwound it. Twirling, then unwinding. Granthurg will be up here soon, right? I need to sort through all of this. He’ll help me clear it all up in my head. She smirked and laughed to herself. Hopefully, Eddiwarth won’t try to bring me dinner again!

She let go of her hair and waved a pointed finger in the air. A small point of light formed above it, and slowly rose, shining around her and brightening the room a bit. Absently, she swung it back and forth with her finger, making the shadows in the room sway. He called me a Wizard of Light. Nobody’s named me a wizard, before. At least, I can’t remember it. The only other times I’ve been called a wizard is by people who are afraid of me.

She dropped her hand to her knee, and let the light fade out. For now, she preferred the dark.

The door clicked open and a ray of lantern light swung into the library as Granthurg stepped in. He paused for a moment when he saw her sitting there, waiting for him, then said, “I was hoping I’d find you here. Everyone missed you at dinner.”

She smiled. “Yes. I’ve been hiding today.”

Granthurg stepped in and carried his lantern to the table near her. He shifted some of the books on the table and set the lantern down. Thissraelle sat up in the chair as he approached, then asked, “Is everyone mad at me?”

He turned a raised eyebrow to her. “Mad? Why would we be mad at you?” He sat down in the chair next to hers, making it creak under his weight.

She shifted in her chair to face him. “For chasing Karendle away.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, and dropped her head to her hands. “She sure thought so. I was only trying to help her learn!”

Granthurg just shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“But now, only a day later,” she continued, “I miss her. I’m worried about her.”

The giant nodded his head in agreement.

“I mean, we fought a lot, and she frustrated me, but she’s one of us! She’s part of our team! I don’t trust those men she’s going to meet! She told me all about them! She’s going to get hurt! I know it! Should we let that happen!?”

“So, are you saying we should go find her, help her?” Was there a hint of something in his voice?

“Granthurg,” she whispered, “What are you saying?”

“Well,” he said, looking away, uncertain how to proceed. “Well--ah--honestly, I, myself, wouldn’t mind if we--uh, that is-- we went back to the city.”

Her face drew back in the dim. “Granthurg!”

“I would like to find out what happened to Rinkmorr!” Granthurg breathed the words out quickly.

“Go back!? Granthurg! I can’t go back to Twynne Rivers!” She was almost shouting. “The Wizard’s Guild has eyes all over! I would be locked up in that old tower in a heartbeat! And whatever happened to our plans? You were going to ferry me upriver! I still want to get to Emberfire!”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, “I just... I keep wondering...”

She slumped back in her chair and the two sat in sullen silence. She absently played with the hem of her shirt. He wiped his forehead.

“Do the others,” she said, with a shaking voice, “want to go, too?”

Granthurg shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody has talked about it.”

She let out a long sigh. “Some team. Some leader.” She shook her head and mumbled, “The strongest leader is better the servant.”

“Hmmm?”

She looked back down and ran her hand through her hair. “Nothing. I heard it in some fool stupid dream.”

<<<>>>

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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109 - “Jabbing the Hornet’s Nest” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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Eddiwarth walked with careful steps down the hallway to the library, trying hard not to spill either the ale in the tankard in his left hand, or the food piled up in the plate in his right. After the meal, he had put a plate together to take to Thissraelle. He wasn't sure what she would want from the meal, so he had just loaded it up with a bit of everything. He had wanted to take it to her, but she hadn't been in their dormitory. DeFrantis had said that she would sometimes spend the evening in the library with Granthurg.

Granthurg? Eddiwarth actually snorted. Why Granthurg? I'm a handsome guy, aren't I? He held up the tankard to his face to try and check his reflection. The curve of the cup made his nose look really big. He snorted again. Well, anyway, I am! Besides, I'm an elf. Well, half of me is, anyway...

In a moment, he stood in front of the door, and suddenly realized that he couldn't open it with his hands full. He tried to shift either the plate or the huge mug into one of his arms, but quickly abandoned that idea. Shaking earth, how am I going to do this?

Balancing for a moment on one foot, he tentatively raised the other to tap his shoe on the baseboard of the door. It banged loudly, and he almost lost his balance in surprise. Oop! Too hard!

He heard familiar heavy footballs behind the door, and it opened quickly with a short squeak. Granthurg stood there, towering over Eddiwarth.

Eddiwarth smiled with a bit of embarrassment and held up the food. “Hi! Sorry to bother you. Is Thissraelle in there?”

Granthurg smiled down at him and stood aside. Eddiwarth stepped in, glancing around the room. She was sitting in one of the large, comfortable chairs deep in the long library. She slouched low, unlike her normal high, straight posture, and her eyes were full and even a bit red, and hidden behind a bit of her white hair. Near where she sat was a table covered in books and scrolls. The yellow sun of the early evening was gradually turning red, and shone through the windows, keeping the room well-lit.

Eddiwarth hesitated, taking in a sharp breath, then walked up and showed her the meal. “We missed you at dinner. Are you hungry?” She looked up at him and managed a sort of half-smile. He held the plate for a moment, but she didn't stand, so he looked for a place to set it. He nudged a book aside with his elbow, clearing a space on the table, then set his burdens down. Granthurg hurried over to move the books away from the possible spill.

“Karendle's not up here, either, huh?” Eddiwarth asked. “She wasn't downstairs in your sleeping room. I checked for you there first.”

Thissraelle and Granthurg glanced at each other, then back at Eddiwarth.

“What?” He asked, “Where is she?”

Thissraelle dropped her head. After a pause, Granthurg explained, “Karendle left today.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she and Thissraelle had another argument, and she picked up her things and left. I guess she’s heading back to Twynne Rivers.”

Eddiwarth was surprised. But then, they’re constantly bickering over things; magic, duties, room space... Maybe I’ll finally get some time with just Thissraelle. He strode over to the chairs and dropped into the one next to her. “So, did you finally drive her away?”

Thissraelle looked at him, her brows knit and her eyes wide and a bit firey.

Oh, no. What did I just say?

“I didn’t drive her away!”

“Well, you two are always mad at each other!”

Thissraelle gasped. “I’m trying to help her!” She stood up, bending over Eddiwarth. He sank down low in the chair, avoiding her glare.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem to be working out...” he stammered, shielding himself, “I mean, didn’t she say she was trying to capture you?”

“SO WERE YOU!” She was close, shouting in his face.

“Yeah, but, I apologized...,” he mumbled.

She grunted with frustration and turned her back, looking at Granthurg for support. He only shrugged and gestured at Eddiwarth. Thissraelle shook her hair. Her hands tensed in fists at her side.

Eddiwarth took in a breath to try and break the unnatural silence. He sat up a bit, then suggested, “I brought you some dinner...”

“Oh, by the Creator--” Thissraelle hissed, and strode out of the library. The door swung loose after her.

Eddiwarth lowered his arms, and glanced down the narrow library, then looked up at Granthurg. The giant raised an eyebrow and folded his arms before him.

Eddiwarth stood up and straightened his shirt. “That didn’t quite play out how I’d planned it.”


The End of Part 8

<<<>>>

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108 - “Empty Chairs at the Table” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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The brothers of the monastery had been in a happy, celebratory mood. It wasn’t often that there was an occasion for such a big meal. Not that any other meal wasn’t time for good company. The abbey wasn’t one of the harsh, austere orders, with oaths of poverty, silence, and sorrow. Still, tonight’s feast was particularly brisk with laughter and conversation. The Father Abbott led the feast, frequently calling for more trays of the venison to be brought out, and praising the brothers that had roasted them.

Eddiwarth ate, and even enjoyed the food. He’d helped prepare it and serve it, as it was his turn for kitchen duty. Not that he’d had an important role. He had mostly just peeled potatoes and carrots. Slicing the onions had proven to be a particularly emotional experience, or at least so the brothers had teased.

Where could she be? Every time there was any kind of motion near the main door of the hall, Eddiwarth’s head snapped to look. Each time, he was disappointed. Either a monk was just walking past it, or someone was leaving to do an errand for the Father Abbott.

He stared down into his almost empty bowl, wondering.

“More ale?”

He didn’t respond at first, not realizing someone had spoken to him.

“Hey!” someone nudged his shoulder. Eddiwarth looked. It was Granthurg. “More ale?” he said, offering the pitcher.

Eddiwarth shook himself back to the moment. “Sure,” he responded, but without enthusiasm.

Granthurg set the pitcher down in front of Eddiwarth, and pushed his chair back, getting ready to stand. Eddiwarth looked around, suddenly aware that dinner was ending, and many of the brothers had gone on with their evening. The monks of the day's kitchen crew were starting to gather plates and the meal’s remnants. He hadn’t even noticed that Antonerri and DeFrantis weren’t sitting there any more. He reached and picked up the pitcher that Granthurg had left, but didn’t pour. He set it back down.

“She didn’t come.”

Granthurg paused, not hearing. “What?”

“She didn’t come to dinner.”

“Who? Thissraelle? Karendle? No, I didn’t see either one.” Granthurg stood. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just that...”

“What?”

I wonder what happened. I guess it’s not so strange that they would miss a meal, but... Eddiwarth looked around, then finally stood. One of the monks nudged him, gesturing toward the table and the plates. He nodded and began his cleanup duties. Granthurg shrugged, slapped him on the back, and left the table.

I hope nothing’s wrong. Maybe I’ll make her a plate after cleanup. He pushed back his own chair and began stacking bowls from the table around him.

<<<>>>

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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107 - “Late to Dinner” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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“Dinner’s ready!” Eddiwarth proclaimed, bursting through the door from the kitchen. “Roast venison with potatoes and cabbage!” His thin, mostly elvish frame was covered in a long apron, which was damp, dirty, and scattered with vegetable peelings. He had pulled his hair back to keep it out of his eyes, and out of the food as he’d worked. In his arms, he carried flat baskets full of bread loaves into the large hall and set them on the table. Behind him came several of the brother monks bearing steaming trays and bowls full of meat and vegetables. The final two brothers brought out pitchers of ale.

The other brethren of the order sat, eagerly waiting, on either side of the long table. Next to them were Granthurg on one side, and Antonerri and a very tired DeFrantis on the other. Eddiwarth pulled his chair up next to Granthurg, between him and the monks.

“Venison!” The Giant shouted, taking a deep smell as the tray of seasoned meat was carried past him. “What’s the occasion?” The brothers set the trays and bowls on the table, then turned to retrieve more.

One of them paused on the way. “It’s the feast of St Ivarr! Our Father Abbot will be celebrating a special Mass at midnight, but now, we feast!” He hurried after his companions, to bring out more food.

Granthurg looked quizzically at one of the monks seated next to Antonerri. “Who was St Ivarr?”

The brother smiled broadly. “He’s a Defensor Creator, or a Champion of the Creator, and the patron saint of our order! Once a year we celebrate his great sacrifice by feasting, prayer, and a special service in the chapel!”

DeFrantis looked confused. “A celebration? Nobody mentioned this before!”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddiwarth jumped in, “While we were making dinner, the brothers were all talking about it. I guess he’s kind of an unpopular saint.”

A brother said, “Many, many years ago, he saved the Church of Three Lights from an evil demon who was trying to take it over! He died fighting for the Lights.” Antonerri’s eyebrows rose in interest, before the monk continued, “But in recent years, the church councils and archbishops have kind of disgraced him, swept him aside. But we, here, in the woods... We remember what he did. So, we don’t make a big fuss about it, but we feast!”

Eddiwarth smiled, shrugging. “So, what is he the saint of?”

The Father Abbot and his assistants entered the dining hall, brown robes flowing. In instant, everyone jumped to their feet. As he rose, the brother whispered with a smile, “He’s the patron saint of heretics!”

The monks all stood with their heads bowed and their hands before them in a praying posture with the right hand’s palm cupped over the back of the left. Antonerri did it as well. After a moment, DeFrantis joined them.

The Father Abbot began pronouncing a blessing in a language Eddiwarth didn’t understand. Eddiwarth glanced over at Granthurg, who simply bowed his head. They were guests of the monastery, and were not required to participate in the rituals, but sometimes Eddiwarth wondered. Does Granthurg actually believe in The Creator? Maybe he’s just being respectful. Antonerri obviously does. He goes right along with it all. DeFrantis, I don’t know. 

The priest finished the prayer, and pronounced, “Salvator, Servus, Sui.” As each of the words was spoken, the monks held their right palms forward, first, before their heads, then to the right and slightly lower, and finally, with the final word, to the left and just a bit lower still, mimicking the placement of the three lights in the Church's heraldry. Eddiwarth watched as Antonerri followed the pattern. Yeah, he believes it, that’s for sure. I wonder if--Wait--Where’s Thissraelle?

The ritual complete, all of the monks sat and began sharing the food around the tables. The friends did also, except for Eddiwarth.

“Hey, where are the other two girls?” He pointed to the empty spaces next to Granthurg and DeFrantis, where Thissraelle and Karendle usually sat.

Granthurg shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure the ladies,” he said, raising his brows at the emphasis, “will be along soon. Here! Sit down. Have some potatoes.” He handed a bowl to Eddiwarth.

Yeah. Maybe they’re just running late...

<<<>>>

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