Warning: This is a piece of fan fiction. It has no relation to actual events in Vantacor. It is a story made up for fun, and should not be in anyway taken as official lore. If you have a problem with the way your character has been treated please let me know and I can edit/omit upon request. All copy write goes to Hero’s Odyssey and the owners thereof. Mistvale Manor Chapter 4 Let’s move to the place where all stories start… What? No! Not the beginning! Don’t try to be smart! This was a reference to a particular place in Vantacor. The place where all stories start… What? Well obviously except for this one because we’ve passed the start now haven’t we? We are sort of beginning to get into the main plot line! Now could you please stop interrupting so that I may continue! So where was I… oh yes! The place where all stories in Vantacor start, except, of course, for this one… drum roll please… The Yak!.. Ta daa!.. Well actually this took place much earlier in the day, so you could almost argue that it was in fact the start of the story. I know it seems weird to have it come about in the fourth chapter but it all seemed perfectly sensible back when we started, back at the beginning which was actually, time wise, after the event that about to take place now… you might be a little confused, or I might be, why didn’t we start the story at the beginning you may be asking, shut up, that’s why! Anyways the Wooden Yak! To be honest it had seen better days. In recent times the Yak crew had split away from their former Darken masters to try and forge their own place in the harsh lands of Vantacor. The horde had not been happy about this split, and that had very much left the few Yak members out in the cold for any bandits or highwaymen that came their way. But they prevailed. Forging together becoming stronger. Securing their place amongst the other clans. Things were slowly building for the Clan of the Wooden Yak until they were faced with a new threat. A threat they had never seen coming. A threat so big that now they faced a fate worse than death. A threat that I could possibly drag out for another sentence before coming out with the reveal. Competition! The Rusty Axe Tavern had opened their doors, and boasted somewhere new to those in Vantacor looking for a place to kick back and drink, or even pick up some work. If nothing Else the novelty drew the crowds, but there was more to it than that. The Yak had declared themselves a Clan and their promise of neutrality inside their den was questionable at best. They promised safety inside their walls and behind their doors, but truth be told most questioned that promise. If not verbally then definitely internally. Too many times had clansmen been beaten to a prize, by the wooden Yak clan. Or been refused an alliance with them. Or even on some rare occasions been betrayed by them, mostly because of the drunken mood swings of a certain monk who shall remain nameless, because we wouldn’t want to drag Dargon’s name through the mud more than it already had been. Whatever the reasons you had, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you did in fact have them, and that generally gave people pause before accepting a drink from someone you didn’t trust. It was an ironic state of affairs, The Wooden Yak clan had freed themselves from the overshadowing evil of the Darken horde, to find themselves in a morally grey area mess kicking to stay afloat. The residents of Vantacor were happy to drink with those they knew would stab them in the back given a chance, yet cautious to drink with those whose alliances were unsure. Better the devil you know kind of deal. Add to the fact it seemed its own clan members were questioning their trust in the clan, as Keefy had moved away from his so called family, and you could plainly see the Yak was suffering. And when the Yak suffered Dargon suffered. Which was why he was sitting at the bar, ale in hand yet stone cold sober. He stared into his mug watching the ripples caused by the feet of passersby on loose floor boards, run from one side of his ale to the other, colliding with those of ripples made before. His pony tail had come loose and he seemed not to care as his hair hung down beside his sullen face, slowly swaying with every subtle head movement he made. Mathias sat behind the bar, watching Dargon intently while cleaning a mug. The same mug he had been cleaning for the past hour and a half, unable to take his mind and eyes off his friend. Unable to find the words to rouse this sulking monk off his seat and into action. He smiled the fake smile that anyone who served customers knew to be fake, and continued to clean, the by now, cleanest mug in all of Vantacor. Ryll made the rounds of the tables, wiping them down again and again, not used to the fact that there was literally no mess to clean. The young waitress by day warrior by night, could see her bosses/clan leaders sullen moods, but she was not the one to intrude. She knew her place and she was just happy to be away from the Horde and in a place she considered to be home with a family. Family. She suddenly thought of Keefy. Her heart dropped. Not only had she gotten used to being able to rely on him in the midst of battle to always keep an eye on her, but she just generally missed having him around. There would be times she would look over in the corner and find him sitting cross legged in front of a small cat or kitten, just helping it play with a ball of string. She would of course yell at him to get back to his hauling duties, but it had always lifted her spirits. She also knew that Jem, the horse keeper would also miss him terribly. She wouldn’t say anything because let’s face it, Jem never said anything to anyone. But she was clearly upset. She spent more time out in the flower fields pointing at flowers and nodding her head at them rather than keeping up the stalls since his departure. However that may have also been due to the fact that there had been far fewer visitors on horseback lately, than her being upset. It was hard to tell with her. Ryll finally made it to the one table actually occupied by a customer. His drink was half empty, unlike before when she passed when it had been half full. His long red hooded cape hung on the chair next to him. His sword and shield propped up against the door. His head slumped against his arms that were crossed in front of him. His mood had suddenly dropped. Rowan had tried to remain positive but reality had finally caught up with him. He was homeless, clan less and penniless. Worst of all he felt friendless. The fall of the Knights of Dawn had been the first step down a staircase of failure. It had been a tragedy yes, but one he had hoped to overcome. However it seemed fate was determined to stick its hand in and fell his opportunities at every step. Culminating in the disbandment of the Dark Steel Ravens. Now he was out in the cold, using his last coin to purchase this one drink, that was now half way to being nonexistent. This is not how Rowan had imagined his Life would be. “Are you done?” Asked Ryll, reaching for the cup. Quickly snatching it and holding it close to his chest, he looked up at the short warrior waitress. “N-n-n-no it’s good.” He stammered out. Ryll just gave a smile and a nod, then headed over to the other end of the room to clean the table yet again. Rowan looked around at the state of the place, clean but run down, much like himself, except for the clean part. It looked like the Yak could do with more clientele, or maybe more members… yes more members. That was it! Rowans cup went back to being half full as the idea formed in his mind. They needed more members, Rowan needed a job and a clan, this would be perfect! Carefully he got to his feet and made his way up to where Dargon was sitting at the bar, excited by this new idea. “Hay Dargon.” He blurted out. The silence hung in the air as Dargon turned his head to look at the former night through his hair. “Can I help you love?” Croaked the sober monk. The smile beamed across Rowans face, then suddenly faded. This idea he’d had, had excited him into action, however he had yet to think through just how he was going to propose it to anyone. He was suddenly stumped for something to say. So he stood there. Looking at Dargon. Saying nothing. “Cat got your tongue, mate?” Asked the monk returning his gaze to his drink. “Umm.” Rowan scrambled. “That’s some good fighting you… you know… you usually do… when you know… there is a battle or something.” Mathias was transfixed at the wagon crash that was happening in slow motion directly in front of him. He slowly put the cleanest mug in all of Vantacor down, threw the towel over his shoulder and said: “I’m going to check the levels of the ale in the basement. Always good to keep an eye on our stock.” And with that he turned and headed for the door. Dargon watched him go, eyes staring out from under his hair following his silent walk across the room to the door to the cellar, then his disappearance behind it. Rowan had watched too as he stood uncomfortable where he had been. Now Mathias was gone Dargon’s eyes returned to his drink. Rowan returned his gaze back to Dargon. “I can’t help but notice you’re still standing there love.” Dargon’s voice, surprisingly still gravely even though not a drop of ale had passed his lips today. “Yes…” Rowan was still scrambling. “Yes I am…” “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” Dargon looked back up at the former Knight. “Because if you are looking for a date, I’m much too sober. I’d suggest trying your luck with young Ryll over there, but…” Dargon’s eyes slowly looked down Rowan and back up to his face again. “I don’t think you’re her type. No offence love, she’s just picky that one.” “Ha.” Rowans laugh echoed of the walls and bounced around the empty room for a while. “Good one Dargon.” He slapped Dargon’s shoulder in a friendly jesting kind of way. Dargon just looked down at his shoulder, then flicked off some imaginary dirt before looking back at Rowan. “Look mate.” The monk started. “This is just getting weird now. Did you want something? Or are you going to make me throw our only customer out into the street?” “OH!” Rowan’s smile dropped. He turned and grabbed the bar stool next to Dargon’s. “I was just noticing that there weren’t too many people in here.” “Well done mate.” Dargon spat back. “You think just because you bought one measly drink that entitles you to bad mouth my business?” “NO!” Rowan held up his hands in hopes that this white flag wouldn’t be mistaken for some form of aggression in Dargon’s eyes. “Well what the bloody hell then?” Dargon was close to fuming. “I was just thinking you need to get more people in…” Rowan started. “Oh well then!” The unusually sober monk interrupted. “I didn’t realize I was dealing with such a genius level intellect here! Get more people in! Imagine that! We could actually make some money here! HAY MATHIAS!” He called out. “GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE UP HERE MATE, GOTTA BUSINESS PROPOSITION THAT’S GONNA BLOW YOUR BLOODY SOCKS OFF!” He turned back to Rowan. “Any other bright ideas in that head of yours? Any more nuggets of information you wish to share with the class today?” By this point Rowan was completely flustered, all he was able to come up with was: “C-c-c-clansmen!” he said. “Clansmen!!” Dargon repeated. “Why the bloody hell not eh? We get more people on the pay roll, more mouths to feed, that would eat and drink and …wait a minute…hang on a sec here mate… hold the messenger, I’ve just had an idea.” Mathias came walking out of the opening to the basement and up to the bar. “Dargon.” He said. “What the hell is all this yelling about?” Dargon’s eyes were shooting from side to side as all the details in his plan was coming together. “A plan mate! A plan to grow our clan.” Dargon had finally settled and was ready to reveal. Rowan was grinning ear to ear, aware that he had sowed the seeds and was about to see his idea come into effect. “Clan-mates!” Dargon started. “Every day, new warriors appear in Vantacor, lost and alone, with nowhere to call home. That’s where we come in, offer them a place in our clan, shelter from the harsh reality of adventuring.” “We can’t afford that.” Mathias started. “Wait, that’s the beauty of it.” Dargon was on a roll. “We offer them probation membership, plus board, but they pay for their drinks and food. If they can afford to pay, brilliant, I can’t see them leaving to get food and drink anywhere else once they are already here, and if they can’t pay, we hook them up a tab and bingo, instant indentured servants! It will be mint mate! We’ll have an army in no time at all” There was a brief moment of silence while Mathias ran this over in his head. Rowan loudly cleared his throat in hopes of being noticed, it didn’t work. Ryll had overheard everything from the back of the room, and was slowly working out how she could manage her soon to be new staff into doing all her work while she still collected a wage. Rowan again cleared his throat, and again went unnoticed. “This might actually work.” Mathias was on to it. “Who would we hire?” “Right new adventurers, noobs for short.” He started. “Not like this ponce standing here.” Gesturing to Rowan who literally looked like the air had just been knocked out of him. “But like, those that look like they have potential, but are still wet behind the ears. Not dried up washed out failures like this guy…” Again pointing to Rowan who was now slumped on his stool. “But like young, energetic, good looking, possibly with a good rack who would be willing to pay of a certain bar tab with a certain type of favor to a good looking yet chaste monk… Hypothetically speaking of course.” Dargon was on fire, he was on his feet and full of energy. He took a heavy swig from his mug then grabbed a handful of hair pulling it tight back behind his head and tying it up.” Rowan was headed back to his table, hunched over he left his empty cup behind. “We would have to be cautious about who we let in.” Mathias, always the voice of reason. “Of course mate!” We wouldn’t just let anyone in, like this waster here..” Dargon said pointing to the table Rowan had been sitting at but was now empty, and the door at the front came to a close. “Hey where did he go?” Dargon asked actually looking confused. “Anyway, we won’t let in has-beens like that guy!” Dargon had found his fuel. He was planned up and actually excited, soon he would leave the tavern to drum up some new recruits to the Wooden Yak Tavern and he would do it with a skip in his step. Meanwhile, hunched over and hidden by his cape, Rowan walked the streets. His lowest had been hit, and it had hurt hard. It was time to go back to the Mercenaries and beg for a place amongst them once again. It would not been easy. The Merc’s had tightened the recruiting pool and were much more selective these days. If he was going to make the cut he was going to need help. Lenora at Mistvale stilled owed him a favour, perhaps he could call it in and turn things around. He hoped he could, because there didn’t seem to be an alternative at this point. End of Chapter 4.
Posted on: Wed, 21 Jan 2015 11:48:16 +0000