Post by askytos on Oct 13, 2024 8:49:16 GMT 1
Chapter 1: A normal day at The Laughing Troll
In the bustling capital of the Order Land, New Heaven, a round little Lightfoot named Askytos was busy behind the bar of The Laughing Troll, his beloved tavern. The dimly lit room, filled with the murmur of conversations and clinking mugs, exuded a kind of comfortable chaos. Askytos, the owner, polished his stained wooden counter with a rag that had seen better days, while patrons crowded around tables to enjoy their drinks. The scent of roasted meats and warm bread lingered in the air, blending with the rich aroma of ale.
The walls were adorned with mismatched trophies of old battles—rusty swords, a dented shield, and most notably, a skeletal dragon’s head mounted above the bar. Once a fearsome relic, the dragon had become something of a joke. Someone, perhaps after too much ale, had jammed a half-empty mug between its teeth and draped a crooked party hat over its scaly brow. Part of its tail, looped along the ceiling, had colourful lanterns strung along it, and the ribbon dangling from one of its hollow eye sockets added a ridiculous touch. The poor creature seemed more bewildered than fierce, forever caught in the revelry of the tavern.
In one corner, a band played lively music that filled the air. The musicians played with vigour, but the star of the show was Rashena Vali, a stunning Kiith lady with flowing silver hair. Her voice, smooth as honey, drew the attention of the entire room. Dressed in a vibrant gown that shimmered under the flickering torchlight, Rashena had every patron in the tavern enchanted. A small group of Leafborn—Mazus, Legolas, and Long—sat at a nearby table, swaying drunkenly, their eyes fixed on Rashena, admiring both her voice and her presence.
At a nearby table, Skadi, the helpful Dwarr mayor of New Heaven, sat deep in conversation with Phage, an old but sharp-eyed Kiith lady, and the town's wisest advisor. Phage sifted through a pile of parchments, her hands moving with the ease of someone accustomed to sorting through complex formulas and battle plans. Together, the two were discussing strategies for the future, their tones low but serious.
“Skadi,” Phage said in her soft, raspy voice, “we’ll need more supplies if we're to hold the southern passes. And those farms by the Spine... if the Forsaken keep moving eastward...”
Skadi nodded, scratching his thick beard. “Aye, the Spine’s a tough spot. We’ll need a proper scout down there soon. But first, let’s deal with the matters here.”
Skadi lifted his head just as Askytos approached with a fresh mug of ale. "Another one for you, Skadi," Askytos grinned, sliding the mug across the bar.
“Aye, thank ye!” Skadi bellowed, taking a swig before smacking his lips. “Askytos, just the man I needed to see.”
“Oh no, what now?” Askytos asked with a sigh, eyeing the parchments spread in front of Skadi and Phage.
Skadi chuckled, wiping foam from his beard. “Rwandi’s asked for a detailed manual of all the creatures in the Oasis. And who better to do the job than you, eh?”
Askytos groaned. “The Oasis? That place has turned into a swamp! I swear Rwandi just likes torturing me with these assignments.”
Phage chimed in with a grin, “Well, better you than me, Askytos. At least you can handle a bit of mud.”
The barkeep rolled his eyes. "If I die, Skadi, who will serve ya beer?"
“You won’t die!” Skadi laughed, raising his mug. “Besides, I'll keep it running for ya, just in case."
The door to The Laughing Troll swung open with a bang, and a gust of cold wind swept in, causing the candles on the tables to flicker. In stumbled Mungo, a younger Lightfoot and a notorious drinker, looking more dishevelled than usual. His face was flushed, his shirt stained with spilled ale from wherever he had been before. His entrance barely stirred the crowd, who were too engrossed in their own conversations or in Rashena Vali's enchanting song.
Mungo’s bleary eyes scanned the room until they landed on a familiar sight: a table where two beautiful Lightfoot ladies, Asphodel and Angel, sat quietly sipping their drinks. The two were reliable warriors, though they kept to themselves more often than not. Both were well-known for their beauty and skill with blades, and it was rare to see them out of their battle gear, now wearing simple, elegant dresses.
With a wide grin plastered across his face, Mungo swaggered towards their table. “Ladies!” he slurred, leaning heavily on the edge of their table for support. His breath reeked of stale beer, and Asphodel’s nose wrinkled in mild disgust.
“Mungo,” Asphodel greeted, her tone neutral but clearly not thrilled to see him in his state.
“Angel,” Mungo added, trying to give what he thought was a charming smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. He stumbled over his own feet and knocked into the edge of the table, causing the mugs to rattle.
“Careful,” Angel said dryly, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of pity and amusement.
Without warning, Mungo's stomach churned, and before he could stop himself, he leaned over the table and vomited right in the middle of it. The contents of his stomach splattered across the wooden surface, sending Asphodel and Angel’s drinks toppling over.
The tavern briefly went quiet as all eyes turned toward the spectacle. Mungo, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, looked up with a sheepish grin. “Eh... guess your drinks are on me tonight, huh?” he muttered, trying to sound witty but failing miserably.
Asphodel rolled her eyes while Angel just sighed, both of them too used to his antics to be truly angry. “That’s one way to ruin a perfectly good night,” Asphodel muttered, pushing her chair back as if distancing herself from the mess.
It wasn’t long before Mungo, overwhelmed by his own inebriation, slumped under the table, unconscious. His snores soon became part of the background noise of the tavern, as if nothing had happened.
A few moments later, the door swung open again, and in walked Knutn. He looked like a gigantic, hulking version of a Norsk warrior, though with distinctly too much hair on his arms and legs, tangled together like an unkempt forest. His bald head reflected the light of the tavern’s torches, shining brightly against the room’s shadows. But the most distinctive feature of Knutn, aside from his size, was his smell—a powerful musk, a mix of sweat, ale, and the unmistakable scent of Yeti.
Knutn’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on the unconscious Mungo beneath the table. He grunted and shook his head, his thick brow furrowed in frustration. “Mungo… again,” he muttered in a deep, slow voice.
He trudged over to the table where Asphodel and Angel sat, still eyeing the mess Mungo had left behind. Knutn bent down, effortlessly scooping Mungo up as if he weighed nothing. With one arm, he slung the limp Lightfoot over his broad shoulder and stood back up.
“Sorry,” Knutn grumbled, his words few and simple. “Mungo’s... dumb.”
Asphodel shrugged, wiping a bit of vomit from her dress with a napkin. “Not the first time.”
Angel smirked, looking up at Knutn. “He’s lucky to have you, Knutn.”
Knutn nodded, grunting again. “Yeah. Lucky... dumb.”
The tension broke as both ladies laughed softly, shaking their heads at the absurdity of it all. Knutn gave them a small, apologetic grunt before heading toward the door, Mungo still snoring loudly on his back.
“Next round’s on me!” Knutn rumbled as he pushed open the door and stepped out into the night, carrying Mungo off like a sack of grain.
The door closed behind him, and the tavern quickly returned to its usual rhythm. The band resumed their song, the conversations picked up again, and soon, the chaos of The Laughing Troll continued as though nothing had happened at all.
In the bustling capital of the Order Land, New Heaven, a round little Lightfoot named Askytos was busy behind the bar of The Laughing Troll, his beloved tavern. The dimly lit room, filled with the murmur of conversations and clinking mugs, exuded a kind of comfortable chaos. Askytos, the owner, polished his stained wooden counter with a rag that had seen better days, while patrons crowded around tables to enjoy their drinks. The scent of roasted meats and warm bread lingered in the air, blending with the rich aroma of ale.
The walls were adorned with mismatched trophies of old battles—rusty swords, a dented shield, and most notably, a skeletal dragon’s head mounted above the bar. Once a fearsome relic, the dragon had become something of a joke. Someone, perhaps after too much ale, had jammed a half-empty mug between its teeth and draped a crooked party hat over its scaly brow. Part of its tail, looped along the ceiling, had colourful lanterns strung along it, and the ribbon dangling from one of its hollow eye sockets added a ridiculous touch. The poor creature seemed more bewildered than fierce, forever caught in the revelry of the tavern.
In one corner, a band played lively music that filled the air. The musicians played with vigour, but the star of the show was Rashena Vali, a stunning Kiith lady with flowing silver hair. Her voice, smooth as honey, drew the attention of the entire room. Dressed in a vibrant gown that shimmered under the flickering torchlight, Rashena had every patron in the tavern enchanted. A small group of Leafborn—Mazus, Legolas, and Long—sat at a nearby table, swaying drunkenly, their eyes fixed on Rashena, admiring both her voice and her presence.
At a nearby table, Skadi, the helpful Dwarr mayor of New Heaven, sat deep in conversation with Phage, an old but sharp-eyed Kiith lady, and the town's wisest advisor. Phage sifted through a pile of parchments, her hands moving with the ease of someone accustomed to sorting through complex formulas and battle plans. Together, the two were discussing strategies for the future, their tones low but serious.
“Skadi,” Phage said in her soft, raspy voice, “we’ll need more supplies if we're to hold the southern passes. And those farms by the Spine... if the Forsaken keep moving eastward...”
Skadi nodded, scratching his thick beard. “Aye, the Spine’s a tough spot. We’ll need a proper scout down there soon. But first, let’s deal with the matters here.”
Skadi lifted his head just as Askytos approached with a fresh mug of ale. "Another one for you, Skadi," Askytos grinned, sliding the mug across the bar.
“Aye, thank ye!” Skadi bellowed, taking a swig before smacking his lips. “Askytos, just the man I needed to see.”
“Oh no, what now?” Askytos asked with a sigh, eyeing the parchments spread in front of Skadi and Phage.
Skadi chuckled, wiping foam from his beard. “Rwandi’s asked for a detailed manual of all the creatures in the Oasis. And who better to do the job than you, eh?”
Askytos groaned. “The Oasis? That place has turned into a swamp! I swear Rwandi just likes torturing me with these assignments.”
Phage chimed in with a grin, “Well, better you than me, Askytos. At least you can handle a bit of mud.”
The barkeep rolled his eyes. "If I die, Skadi, who will serve ya beer?"
“You won’t die!” Skadi laughed, raising his mug. “Besides, I'll keep it running for ya, just in case."
The door to The Laughing Troll swung open with a bang, and a gust of cold wind swept in, causing the candles on the tables to flicker. In stumbled Mungo, a younger Lightfoot and a notorious drinker, looking more dishevelled than usual. His face was flushed, his shirt stained with spilled ale from wherever he had been before. His entrance barely stirred the crowd, who were too engrossed in their own conversations or in Rashena Vali's enchanting song.
Mungo’s bleary eyes scanned the room until they landed on a familiar sight: a table where two beautiful Lightfoot ladies, Asphodel and Angel, sat quietly sipping their drinks. The two were reliable warriors, though they kept to themselves more often than not. Both were well-known for their beauty and skill with blades, and it was rare to see them out of their battle gear, now wearing simple, elegant dresses.
With a wide grin plastered across his face, Mungo swaggered towards their table. “Ladies!” he slurred, leaning heavily on the edge of their table for support. His breath reeked of stale beer, and Asphodel’s nose wrinkled in mild disgust.
“Mungo,” Asphodel greeted, her tone neutral but clearly not thrilled to see him in his state.
“Angel,” Mungo added, trying to give what he thought was a charming smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. He stumbled over his own feet and knocked into the edge of the table, causing the mugs to rattle.
“Careful,” Angel said dryly, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of pity and amusement.
Without warning, Mungo's stomach churned, and before he could stop himself, he leaned over the table and vomited right in the middle of it. The contents of his stomach splattered across the wooden surface, sending Asphodel and Angel’s drinks toppling over.
The tavern briefly went quiet as all eyes turned toward the spectacle. Mungo, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, looked up with a sheepish grin. “Eh... guess your drinks are on me tonight, huh?” he muttered, trying to sound witty but failing miserably.
Asphodel rolled her eyes while Angel just sighed, both of them too used to his antics to be truly angry. “That’s one way to ruin a perfectly good night,” Asphodel muttered, pushing her chair back as if distancing herself from the mess.
It wasn’t long before Mungo, overwhelmed by his own inebriation, slumped under the table, unconscious. His snores soon became part of the background noise of the tavern, as if nothing had happened.
A few moments later, the door swung open again, and in walked Knutn. He looked like a gigantic, hulking version of a Norsk warrior, though with distinctly too much hair on his arms and legs, tangled together like an unkempt forest. His bald head reflected the light of the tavern’s torches, shining brightly against the room’s shadows. But the most distinctive feature of Knutn, aside from his size, was his smell—a powerful musk, a mix of sweat, ale, and the unmistakable scent of Yeti.
Knutn’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on the unconscious Mungo beneath the table. He grunted and shook his head, his thick brow furrowed in frustration. “Mungo… again,” he muttered in a deep, slow voice.
He trudged over to the table where Asphodel and Angel sat, still eyeing the mess Mungo had left behind. Knutn bent down, effortlessly scooping Mungo up as if he weighed nothing. With one arm, he slung the limp Lightfoot over his broad shoulder and stood back up.
“Sorry,” Knutn grumbled, his words few and simple. “Mungo’s... dumb.”
Asphodel shrugged, wiping a bit of vomit from her dress with a napkin. “Not the first time.”
Angel smirked, looking up at Knutn. “He’s lucky to have you, Knutn.”
Knutn nodded, grunting again. “Yeah. Lucky... dumb.”
The tension broke as both ladies laughed softly, shaking their heads at the absurdity of it all. Knutn gave them a small, apologetic grunt before heading toward the door, Mungo still snoring loudly on his back.
“Next round’s on me!” Knutn rumbled as he pushed open the door and stepped out into the night, carrying Mungo off like a sack of grain.
The door closed behind him, and the tavern quickly returned to its usual rhythm. The band resumed their song, the conversations picked up again, and soon, the chaos of The Laughing Troll continued as though nothing had happened at all.