It's been awhile since I've posted a story here. (two years!) But I'm starting this new story, as well as continuing my old story of Tyropolis. This story is a standard fantasy story, but I hope you all enjoy it!
**Protection Agencies and Necromancy
Chapter 1: What Kind of Name is the "Burly Brandy"?**
! Amyx Al’ta was freezing. Kashtar City’s winding streets and tall buildings felt like an unexplored cave to him, and only intensified the chills. In reality, it was a slightly crisp autumn night, but the dwarf couldn’t shake the feeling of cold from his beard. He still had a meeting with a client to attend, but the storm clouds and fog were giving him doubts. And why did his client have to choose a bar so out of the way from his lodgings?
! “The Burly Brandy?” He read the bar’s sign incredulously. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
! As he entered, the fog overtook the streets, and rain started to fall onto the city.
! The bar reeked of sweat and alcohol.
! Not that Amyx minded that much. It was warm, and he was used to these places. His clientele usually had these places in mind when they wanted to meet. Another protection detail, Amyx groaned. The trading company always sent the best Dwarfs, the cream of the crop, out to defend precious merchandise, but it was always so boring. As he trudged through the pub, he looked around. He didn’t see anything of interest at first glance. A couple of sailors were arguing about who was stronger. A cloaked man was sipping his brandy, clearly interested in something in the back corner. Amyx slowly edged around the man’s gaze, looking for whatever was holding his interest. After a few minutes, he caught a glance of another dwarf, eating his dinner voraciously, while attempting to hide a package.
! The dwarf had thinning gray hair, and had obviously seen better days. His beard was unkempt, his clothes worn, and his stomach had grown from years of complacency. His eyes, however, held a fire of pride that was unmistakable. Amyx sat across the table from the old dwarf. The old man looked up at the young dwarf, silently judging the youth in front of him. He finally spoke, his voice soft, but controlling.
! “Are you the Axe that’s gonna protect my caravan?” The old man spoke gruffly.
! “Probably, unless you’re another old dwarf that supposed to meet hired help.”
! The old dwarf snorted apprehensively. “I go out of my way to pers’nally deliver val’able packages, and I get a bratty chil’ as my protection?” Another snort, this one even louder, “Some thanks I get.”
! Amyx sighed. Was he going to get as stuffy when he got older? “I apologize for my… rudeness.” He conceded, his teeth clenched.
! Another snort. Amyx groaned internally; this was gonna take way longer than it needed to. “Sonny boy, I’ve been in more caravans than there are hairs in your beard.” The old man’s voice rose. “This package is way too valuable for you to be a spoil’d brat!”
! Amyx closed his eyes. Just breathe, he thought, keep your head together… After a minute of silence, he opened his eyes. “So… two questions.”
! The old dwarf looked up from his food. “Shoot.”
! “Who are you, and what am I supposed to be protecting?”
! “You work for the N’jir company?”
! Amyx paused. “Yeah, but I’m rarely around their businesses.” He said.
! “Well, you should still know who I am! I’m one of the board members.” The old dwarf snorted – yet again – and continued, “My name is Simr N’aar, boy. And this package,” he patted it for emphasis, “is a myst’ry, but the buyer is willing to pay up 80,000 pieces of gold for it, so the company decided to let it go.”
! Amyx was silent. If this man was really a member of the board, this just became a double protection detail. “Why did you decide to accompany this package?” Amyx asked. And if you’re a board member, why don’t you know the contents of your own package? He thought.
! “Well, if somebody’s willin’ to pony up 80,000 g’s, it’s best to have someone who knows what to do in charge, right?” the old dwarf chuckled a little. Amyx didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked behind him.
! The cloaked man was still there. The brandy was mostly untouched, and his focus was still on the two dwarfs in the corner. Amyx had more questions for Simr, many more questions. But they would have to wait until they were both clear of this bar. He cleared his throat, and motioned to his elder. “Look,” he began, “I have more questions to ask you, but… it looks like we might want to leave this bar.”
! The old man nodded, growing tense. He left some money on the table, and slowly picked up the package. The cloaked man tilted his head, as if humored. Amyx positioned himself between the two, and had a hand on his throwing knife. The two dwarfs silently shuffled through the bar, watching the cloaked man through the crowds of people. There were a few loud objections and threats aimed at the duo, but they never heard them.
! The cloaked man never got up, and Amyx never did see his face. But what Amyx imagined to be his stare was invasive. Both Amyx and Simr tensed up as they felt his gaze look them over as they reached the exit. As they closed the door, the gaze still held them in its grasp.
! Simr was the first to speak. “My… lodgin’,” he gasped out, “not too… far away.” He started to stumble towards the city.
! “Y-yes.” Amyx stammered out. “Let’s get out of here.” He supported Simr’s hobbling body as they walked off into the foggy night. The rain and fog covered any trace they had even existed.
! --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
! The bar had started to quiet down. Many of the patrons had also felt the cold stare of the cloaked man, and felt obligated to leave. The bar was quickly emptying out through the mutters of ‘I feel cold’ and ‘What the hell was that?’. In a half hour, the bar was completely empty, save one patron. The cloaked man remained sitting on the stool, sipping his brandy once again.
! The bartender approached him. “Is something wrong, man? You haven’t put a dent into your drink.” and I want to go home soon.
! “Nothing’s wrong.” He stated calmly. “But it is getting stuffy in this cloak.” The man sighed, and took off his cloak, his hair was mussed up from the cloak, but still retained a bright blonde color. His eyes were a cold icy color. But what stood out were his ears, namely that they stood in points.
! The bartender smiled. “An elf, huh? Not the usual patron.” He glanced around before whispering. “So was that why you were staring at those two dwarves?”
! “What makes you say that?” The elf asked. His voice had a naturally fiery overtone to it, which made the bartender more than a little uncomfortable.
! “Well, I just hear stories, but don’t elves and dwarves have a sort of… history?” He squeaked the last word out.
! The elf grinned mischievously. “We do, actually. But this,” He slammed his hand down onto the bar, “is strictly business!”
! The elf moved his hand, revealing a mark burned into the bartop. The bartender whimpered. “My b-b-b-bar!” He wailed. He threw his body onto the burn scar, desperately trying to erase the burn using his body.
! The elf blinked in surprise. “Um… Wow, man. I’m really sorry about that.” He paused, and continued when he heard the man sob again. “Look, sometimes I like to make dramatic entrances, and I guess… I got carried away?” The elf tried to smile. The bartender whimpered. “Hey… Could you at least not writhe on your bar for a second?” This time, one could sense a hint of pity in his voice.
! The bartender sniffed, but got up. The elf smiled. “That’s the spirit!” He cried. “It’s all gonna be okee dokee!”
! The bartender solumnly looked at the brand in his bar. His baby had been scarred. And yet… there was something familiar about the brand. He squinted through his tears. “Wait a second,” he gasped, “Thi… this is the symbol for the Wizard’s Guild!” All of a sudden, a different kind of fear overtook the bartender. “The Wizard’s Guild?” He squeaked again.
! The elf nodded triumphantly. “That is correct!” He shouted proudly. “I am an officer in the Wizard Guild Magic Enforcement Division!” His voice quieted significantly, “And I think those dwarves have some sort of magical contraband with them.” He put a finger to his mouth. “But we should keep that hush-hush between us.”
! The bartender looked up at the elf. “So what can I do to help, officer?” He mumbled.
! “Unless you know where those two were headed, then probably not.” The elf replied lazily. Flames danced around his fingers in an elegant motion.
! “I know that the old one was planning to leave town tomorrow morning, going…” He paused, squinting at the map. “He kept asking me about the weather in Ravenwold…” The elf stiffened.
! “That would be east.” The elf interrupted. “And you have just helped me get closer to my suspects!” He shook the bartender’s hand vigorously. “Thank you soooo much!” The bartender could only stammer. I can't even follow where this guy is taking a conversation! He thought.
! The elf got up from his stool and started to walk out. He paused for a second, before turning around.
! “Oh, and those burns should disappear within an hour.” Another pause. “And don’t worry, the brandy was excellent.” The bartender could only stare at the doorway, still processing the intense and distracting discussion he had just been a part of. The elf smiled, nodded his head, and headed off into the fog, whistling until his silhouette was out of sight.
Friday: Chapter 2: Hunger Pains in an Exorcism