The incessant pattering of rain on the rooftops and cobbled streets fought with the din of low voices inside the White Weasel. Three years had passed but the loud, jubilant mood that used to fill the tavern before the Fade still hadn’t returned. In the darkest corner of the hall which the shy light from the candles and the dim hearth was reluctant to touch with its flickering fingers, sat Erhan, staring down at the tankard sitting on the wooden table in front of him. The absence of light gave the liquid inside it a dark colour like a deep fathomless pool. in its murky depths, he saw the reflections of his past. images only he could see played in the rare specs of candlelight floating on its surface. Memories of happier times.
The smiling face of his wife, Leah, her auburn hair shining under the sunlight as they worked the fields alongside other villagers, planting seedlings that would grow heaps of golden wheat, enough for the whole village. Building their house together, cooking together, sharing the warmth of a fire in the harsh winter nights of the Dreaming mountains. Meeting her, marrying her was like a fresh breath of spring in the barren life of solitude he used to live until then.
The mischievous eyes of his daughter, dark green like the shadowy forest of twilight, looking up at him for the first time. Her new-born face scrunched up and quite unhappy as she broke down crying, waking up the whole neighbourhood deep into the night when even the stars had started closing their eyes one by one.
“A bad time to come to this world. This doesn't bode well. An ill omen I say,” the village stargazer had said when he came to bless the child and draw up the star pattern on the strips of a holy palm tree leaf. But she had grown up like a lithe willow, healthy and carefree. Laughing, crying, playing in the front yard of their small hut, running around the whole village with the other kids.
Ellie they had named her. She had liked to listen to the stories of his travels. His wanderings through the rocky mountains, perilous forests and ancient cemeteries to learn the druidic disciplines. Since he spoke from experience, those stories were more realistic than the usual ghost stories parents told to scare children and keep them at bay. She had never been scared though, with big green eyes set on his face she showed her keen interest in his stories. She had wanted to be the one to go on those adventures. Leah used to scold him for spoiling the girl with his absurdities.
The three of them together in their home living the simplest life away from all the troubles of the rest of the world, spending each day to the fullest, yeah, those simple times had been the happiest moments of his entire life. He had thought they would last forever.
A nostalgic smile faded away when it had just begun curving the edges of his lips as the reflections of his memories blurred, coming together to form a different picture. Harrowing memories burned through the happy ones like wildfire, trampling them under their thorny shoes.
The thin frame of Ellie writhing in unspeakable agony, as the disease slowly leeched the life out of her; the gaunt, desperate face of Leah looking at him with those big hazel brown eyes he had loved so much, herself fading from the disease yet still begging him, asking him to do something, anything to save their precious child.
“A bad time to come to this world.”
A bad time...
Erhan snatched up the container, gulping down the lukewarm, pungent liquor until not a drop was left. the words of the stargazer still haunted his mind. He hadn’t cared then. What did a mere old man from a backward village know? Showing off his flimsy tricks in front of Erhan, a true master of the druidic arts. He had thought himself powerful enough to weather any storm that may come their way.
Fool!
All this power he possessed, but he was still unable to save his loved ones. Helplessly watching as his wife, his soulmate whom he swore to protect and share the joys and sorrows with, fade away. his daughter, she hadn’t even seen ten years of life, bright and cheerful…
His happiness was laid to rest with them, scattered in the Wescone river with their ashes. And he was alone in the desolation of his own mind.
The bitter liquor burned his insides on its way down his throat. Some of the fugitive liquid escaped the confines of his mouth, dripping down the dark, bushy mess reaching his chest that was his beard, and soaking the thick wool tunic a deeper shade of brown. his shaggy, shoulder-length hair became even more unkempt as he shook his head in regret. It was his fifth cup, but he still couldn’t get drunk.
He slammed the tankard down, shaking the dilapidated table. The sound startled the other tavern goers a little bit, but it hardly caused any lasting ripple in the din of conversations. The folks around here were already used to the antics of the crazy hermit of a man who arrived at their town at the wake of the plague. They left the madman to his own devices. No need to bring trouble to themselves. Only the tavern keeper and the barmaid carrying out the orders looked up. That sound was the cue for them to prepare another cup of the cheapest liquor, the Ironvain ale for Erhan.
Erina, the barmaid took an empty tankard hanging from a row of hooks on the wall and held it below one of the barrels propped on the polished ironwood counter. She pulled a lever on the side of the oaken container, filling the cup with frothing, muddy brown liquid. The dark corner of the room and the man sitting there had scared her the first few nights of this three years-long routine of taking this order.
She looked at the man as she put the mug of liquor down on the table and picked up the now empty container. Whatever thin strands of light reached here, revealed little of the haunched figure covered in grey hide cloak. Though Erina didn’t need to see through the obscure shadows covering him to figure out his features. She had been seeing him come in and sit down in this corner since the day he arrived in their town.
The man looked to be in his late thirties. His hair had grown quite long in these three years.
The dark jungle of hair hadn’t existed when he first arrived at their door. The scraggly beard on his square-jawed face had probably been a week or two old. His face had been sickly pale as he looked around with a vacant expression in those green eyes. An expression like many others who had suffered the loss of family in the Fade, the most devastating plague in the history of Clover. Though over the years the changes made the man a different person, the vacant look still stayed in his eyes. Erina sighed. she considered herself quite lucky. Her home was one of fortunate few where the plague’s vile footsteps didn’t tread.
She walked back with the empty cup, making her way through the scattered tables where the townsfolk continued their muted discussions. Though with time the air of gloom and misery had faded, and the tavern was beginning to somewhat recover its spirit, the people here had gotten so used to the low voices, whispers and mutterings, they simply continued that way even now. As if still paying tribute to the unfortunate souls, the victims of the Fade, they held the silence and heaviness sacred, unwilling to raise their voices and break it.
A sudden bout of loud, raucous laughter cut through the harmony of the tavern, displeased eyes turned to a table where six youngsters in their twenties were having their drinks and meals. They wore shining steel armour and red cloaks made of expensive-looking linen with the design of golden willow leaf embroidered onto them. Their weapons rested against the side of the table.
One of them, the only woman among those people, was Sena Moras. Although at a glance, her attire wasn’t any different from the young knights accompanying her, they were of much higher quality. Her cloak was even made of damask silk, A material worth more than gold as it’s usually exported from outside of Clover. Being the scion of the house of Moras, one of the respected warrior noble houses in the queendom of Rebora she had become the leader of their group.
Sena looked around at the disapproving faces of the townsfolk. An awkward look appeared on her face and she elbowed the burly man who was laughing.
“Shut it,” she snapped, shutting him up. The town was only a temporary stop and as a noble, she didn’t want to make any bad impression on the locals. She relaxed as the people stopped glaring at them and went back to do what they were doing.
But their presence soon became a topic of conversation among the townsfolk. They huddled their heads together, discussing and speculating the reason for their arrival in this small town.
“They must be going to the capital,” Harris said to Victor.
“Why do you say that?” asked Victor.
“Don’t you see the sigil on their clothes? It’s the symbol of the Morases. They are from Brigsar, the city on the border. And our town is on the east road, en route to the capital city.” Harris said, drawing on the table with his finger as he explained. He had to, Victor was a dumb fellow with little knowledge about geography. “They must’ve come for the announcement,” he said with a nod.
“Announcement?”
“What? You already forgot? It was only about a week ago. Our queen’s quest.” he leaned in and said with an air of mystery, “The Book of Dreams!”
Erhan was vaguely aware of the conversation between the two, as they sat just two tables away from him, and although they spoke in low voices, Erhan’s ears could rival a wolf’s. His training in the disciplines of the druidic art from the sadhus made him superior to normal humans in almost every aspect. His ears perked up at Harris’s last comment.
The Book of Dreams. He remembered hearing about it from his teachers. There were many rumours about this mystical artefact within Clover. Common folk believed it to be an object of gods or demons. Some believed it granted those who owned it their desires, some believed it corrupted people through their dreams, turning them into mindless murderers; however, the sadhus knew differently. Though they had only mentioned it in passing when they taught him about the artefacts of power.
They mentioned the Book of Dreams, especially since this artefact belonged to the land of Clover. Although nothing like the power of granting wishes or invading dreams, the object did hold great power. And in the hands of the right person, it could bring about great changes. Its power was answering questions.
“It seems worthless, doesn’t it?” one of his teachers, sir Brisva had said, looking at Erhan’s quizzical expression. “What if I told you it can answer any five questions you may have? no matter if it’s past, present or future, no matter how closely you guard a secret, no answer can hide from it.”
Answers. Erhan had searched for them for a long time. The Fade that he wasn’t able to cure, could he find its root through the book? Could he prevent it from claiming more lives? Could he prevent his tragedy from happening again?
He needed to know about the Book of Dreams.
He stood up and for the first time since he came to this town, walked up to other people on his own. To the surprise of everyone in the tavern, especially to the great surprise of Harris and Victor, he drew the empty chair beside their table and sat down. But that was where his act ended.
The din of the crowd died down and an awkward silence descended on the tavern, as every eye turned to look at Erhan, who, not knowing how to begin, fiddled with his fingers. Harris and Victor looked at each other, each signalling the other to ask the question, but each denying, unwilling to begin. After a minute-long war of gestures, stern looks and head shakings, Harris lost to Victor’s bullheadedness.
“Ahem,” he began with a loud clearing of his throat. “So, to what do we owe this pleasure?” although his voice was a bit squeaky, his question was in the mind of everyone in the tavern. They all cocked their ears, waiting for an answer from their resident oddball.
Erhan swallowed. He hadn’t had a proper talk with anyone for years maybe? His skin tingled with the pressure of everyone's anticipating gazes. How does he begin? Would it be all right to directly broach the subject? But the whole tavern was listening in on them. He was quite embarrassed, to be honest. He wouldn’t like everyone to know his intentions.
“Ahem,” he also began, “umm, well..” he fell silent, upping the tension of the room. After considering his options for well over a minute, he turned his head towards Erina. With rough unused voice, he ordered, “Three of your finest ale.”
after all, drunk men talk best.
It took a while for a confounded Erina to bring drinks to the table. Erhan raised his hand, gesturing towards the mugs in front of the Harris and Victor. “Please drink.” he offered.
The two bewildered men picked up the cups. What was this queer guy up to? What did he want?
Erhan also picked up his cup and took a sip. It was a good quality ale. Not the best he’d had, but still miles better than the horsepiss he’d been drinking these three years. As the three men continued to drink in silence, the people around started losing interest in them. Just as Erhan had intended, they went back to their own conversations, though the topic had changed to include Erhan’s odd behaviour. As always, the discussions and gossip of the tavern were ever-changing.
After the tension had eased and the mood calmed down, Erhan breathed a sigh of relief. It was finally time to ask his own questions. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “The Book of Dreams,” he spoke with just enough sound for the two of them to hear. “You were talking about that…”
“Oh, you were going to ask about that,” Victor had quite a bit to drink tonight, and the ale already made him tipsy, bringing a slur to his speech. “Well, that’s no secret, isn’t it Harris?” he slapped his friends back.
Harris jolted, and the wine he’d just started taking a sip of spurted from his mouth. He rubbed his back, giving Victor a nasty glare. “Yeah,” he turned to face Erhan. “Why? Didn’t you listen to the announcement last week? It was on Saturday, at noon.”
“No,” Erhan shook his head, “I… was probably working. I tend to go deeper into the caves when I work. What was the announcement about?” he asked.
“Her Majesty the Queen has called upon those capable to take on a quest to find and retrieve the artefact,” Harris said, “They made an announcement all over the kingdom. You’d still see the notices stuck here and there.”
Erhan frowned and ran his hand through his unkempt hair. Someone in the queen’s position should know the reality of the artefact. “Why would she want it?” he muttered to himself.
Harris shrugged, “it can make your wishes come true, so why wouldn’t she? Though if I had to guess a reason...” he scratched his scraggly beard, giving it some thought, “I'd say it’s because the other three kingdoms have been acting up recently.” he sighed. “It seems war is brewing again. Well, I guess three years without wars is a miracle for these lands.”
“Yeah,” Victor said in his slurred voice. “it’s a land of death. Wars and wars, they are always fighting. And then there was the Fade…” his voice lowered as he looked down at the table. He had lost his father to the disease. Even though the old man had had one foot in the grave already, he could have lived a few more years if not for the plague. Although, considering everything, their house had still got off lightly during the catastrophe. Corpses piled up in heaps in those six gruelling months. He looked up at Erhan and said, “it’s so funny, don’t you think? The wars stopped, but the deaths only got worse. And now that the plague's gone, they are preparing for another war. It’s as if Clover is cursed by the gods.”
Silence descended upon the three of them. Dark thoughts encroached on their minds like heavy dark clouds.
Erhan walked the dark, wet streets towards the outskirts of the town. The rain had weakened, but the damp, chilly wind stirred between the buildings, raising goosebumps on his skin. Though light was scarce on the way, it didn’t bother him. He was long used to the darkness.
Faint sounds of noise and music came from a row of brightly lit buildings ahead. The only place that had recovered most of its vigour in these years. The brothels. Erhan walked between the buildings, not even bothering to take a look at them. The occupants of the building who stood on the side of the streets also didn’t pay him mind. After all, they had known him over the years. He walked past the buildings to reach a row of densely packed wooden houses.
These were the cheapest accommodation in the whole town, the slums. He opened the door of one of them and went inside. He crouched down and pulled off the cloth covering a lamp beside the door. There was a matchbox next to it. He lit the lamp and looked around. It was the simplest house with only one room. Only a bare bed lay on the east side. Other than that, there wasn’t much in furniture. He had burned down his whole house before leaving the village. The possessions he brought with him were almost non-existent. And it hasn’t changed much in recent years. Most of them he carried himself, so except for a few clothes and his staff, the house had little of his personal articles within it. A testament of his frugal nature.
He took off his clothes. A few pale scars marred his muscular, well-toned body. They gleamed in the lamplight. One scar across his chest stood out among them. He’d gotten it while fighting a dangerous foe during his youth. It had been a battle full of peril and had almost claimed his life. A few shirts hung from a string slung across the room. He took a clean one, put it on and walked towards his bed with the lantern. He noticed a few damp spots on the ground. The thatch on the roof must have leaked again.
A worried look appeared on his face as he sat down on his bed. He had half a year before the quest officially begun. He’d have to reach the capital before that. But there was a problem. he got down from the bed and dragged a small footlong chest out from beneath the bed. He opened the lid, at the bottom of the chest lay ten pieces of iron shells and two silver talents. Yeah, he was broke. This much might be enough to pay for three days of meal in the tavern, but it’s nowhere enough to reach the capital. Most of what he had earned had been sacrificed to booze as he didn’t have the mindset to save up.
He hadn’t really been living until now, contemplating ending his worthless existence more than once. But deep inside he knew he couldn’t die. There was a strange inexplicable feeling, a voice inside him telling him he had something to do. Only he didn’t know what. Not until he heard about the Book of Dreams. That’s when he knew his purpose. He knew he must find the artefact. He must find a way to prevent a monstrous disease like the Fade from destroying life. He must find a cure for it before it returns. Something told him, it wasn’t the last they had seen of the Fade.
healers and physicians all over Clover had failed to not only find a cure they had even failed to identify its roots. Even his magic had been helpless in front of it. And not only him, but he had also travelled to the depths of the mountain to visit his teachers, even gone to the most dangerous of cemeteries to visit his other teachers, in hopes of finding a cure for his family. But even those great people who had mastered the mysteries of the world were helpless in front of the Fade. No, he wouldn’t let the tragedy occur again. But for that he needed answers. Answers that lay in the Book of Dreams.
But now the problem was money. A caravan would leave for the capital from here in about a week. He could save up enough for the journey within that time if he skipped a meal or two and stopped drinking. Not like he could get drunk with a body like his anyway. Even tens of mugs of ale daily hadn’t been enough to make up for the pain of his loss.
Anyway, he’d worry about all that tomorrow. Now he needs to sleep. He brought his face close to the lantern and blew out the flame.
Paypal
Lewd
and it's not this story, it's the other one...