A child-height gnomish man took a long draw of his flagon. The cool ale was refreshing in the throat and wetted his tongue. After a few gulps he placed the flagon back on the small table near him and whiped his mouth and moustache. The hair of his head and his face was orange and was unkempt as if it had a life of its own. He adjusted his spectacles and reclined back in his worn, comfortable chair. We was perched in his usual spot, a corner of the tavern that was reserved for him and him alone.

The silence that had followed his first story of the afternoon had long since disappeared. Now patrons of the Hoof and Stew Tavern were bustling about much in the way they always did. The bard's magic was providing the music now, a trick commonly employed by tavern performers who need to fill or empty themselves of the tavern's many liquid delights. The bar staff was prepared for the crowd, for not only had the gnomish bard drawn his usual regular audience, but the streets outside were slick with a deluge of falling rain. Taverns loved the rain, for what better place to take shelter and wait out the storm but the warm and inviting interior of a place which served food and alcohol aplenty.

Many patrons were still sitting on the floor front of the gnomish bard. Such a space provided his audience a front-and-center perspective and many considered them the best seats in the house when the bard would ply his trade.

The gnome took another moment to regard the scene of the bustling tavern before him. A familiar barmaid appeared from the crowd and moved gracefully toward the gnome. In one hand she held a tray bearing a single wooden flagon much the same as the one on the table near the bard.

"Another ale, mister Badger?" As the barmaid called out to the bard, a tavern patron engrossed in a game of dice sprang up from his chair and shouted victoriously. The barmaid did something like a pirouette to avoid colliding with the gentlemen. Once he saw what he almost caused, he appologized to the barmaid with a bow and flipped her a shiny silver coin. The barmaid caught it seemingly from instinct and she finally approached the bard's small table in the corner.

"I would love another one of your fine beverages, Mellie! And it's still just 'Badger'," he replied with a wink, wearing a hearty smile and picking up his empty flagon.

"Well aren't you in fine form, mister Badger!" She returned his smile and replaced the old flagon with the new. "I wonder, is it the ale or the spirit of the place that has you so jovial?"

Badger chuckled. "Perhaps both, as well as the rare treat to send a heckler huffing out of the door."

"Aye, and what a piece of work that one was. Had no heart for the spirit of the story you told."

"Not even his sour attitude could sully the spirit. It's going to be a good night, Mellie- I can feel it!"

Mellie gave a nod, knowing she didn't need to tell him where she'd be if he needed anything else. She left the table with a smile and disappeared back into the crowd. Badger waved his hand into the air and the illusory music changed slightly. The instrumenation was subtly more jovial with the sound of a fluttering flute dancing around the hearty thump of a drum, all adhered together with the upbeat strumming of a lute. This fit the mood better, he thought. As his mind wandered, a conversation between two patrons seated in front of him caught his attention.

"Have ye' ever wondered how far back hist'ry goes?" A young human lady, perhaps in her teens, made a vauge gesture as she posed the question to a young man sitting next to her. He looked no older than her, and had the tell-tale greenish tint to his skin betraying a mixed heritage. He was Halforcen.

"Not really. It's plain that the beginnin' started with The Creator," the halforcen boy replied as if the fact were plain as day.

"Right, maybe. Let's agree that's the starting point- what happened after that?"

The halforcen boy scratched his head. He had clearly reached the bottom of his depth of knowledge in this area. "Well, there was a garden. And Gaia was there, The Creator's favorite creation. Gaia was the spirit of the world, y'see." Badger smirked as he watched the boy. He clearly thought he was hitting a stride in his explanation.

The girl rubbed her chin. "And after that?"

The boy took a long moment to scratch his head again. Too long. The girl's gaze wandered and met Badger's. Her eyes lit up. "Oh! I bet the master bard there knows!"

The halforcen boy seemed to deflate.

"I do, but to the boy's credit he go the right of it so far. In the beginning there was The Creator, a garden, and the spirit of the world named Gaia." Badger gestured toward the boy. The boy nodded with satisfaction. Badger continued. "Scholars call that time the age of Birth. Not much evidence of anything from that age, though, so it's mostly speculation as to how it really was."

The halforcen boy looked up at Badger. "How many ages are there, exactly, master bard?"

"Well, for the ones most scholars agree on: six including the present age. There's the age of Birth that we just talked about. After that was the Dark age. That was after The Creator and Vumatha mortally wounded each other and the mortal races were born from The Creator's own blood as it spattered across the earth." Badger made a sweeping motion with his hand to illustrate. "But it was a dark time because there was little magic in the world. Gaia wasn't active in the world as she tended to her love, The Creator. The Sisters Divine, Seregwyne and Ruthra, weren't present either. They were protecting the world from the remnant of Vumatha's host of demons."

The girl's attention was unwavering from Badger. The boy nodded as he took the lesson in. "So the gods were busy during the Dark age and there wasn't much magic. Humans were new to the world too, right?" Badger nodded. "Right. Other races were about as well, but the world was still new and each race was still trying to find their own way to live in it."

The girl seemed impatient. "What about after that?"

Badger smiled. "Well the Dark age ended when the First Convergence happened. A planar eclipse caused a shift in cosmic-..." Badger stopped, noting the looks of his audience beginning to glaze over. He was getting too academic again. He cleared his throat. "That is to say, our reality got really close to other realities and all manner of creature was able to cross over."

The halforcen boy perked up. "Right! That's where the monsters we know today come from!"

"And also the Fae," the girl added confidently.

"Yes, all of those. It also revivified the magic of this world. The Sisters Divine also showed up again. Scholars call this the Mythic age." Badger took a long swig of his ale and wiped his mouth. "After that the great dragon demi-god Doviljnir united most of dragonkind under her banner, and her supremecy marked the beginning of the Dragon age."

The halforcen boy perked up. "Doviljnir, the Great Wyrm! That also means..."

Badger nodded.

"...the rise of the God-king Tamlen! He rose to power and united the mortal races against Doviljnir and her cult. He single-handedly slew the Great Wyrm in Seregwyne's name and freed us!"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Badger smirked at the boy. "Spend a lot of time in the Church of Light, boy?"

The halforcen boy nodded. "I do labor for them in exchange for my education," he offered proudly, puffing his chest out.

"It shows. The Church never quite could agree on the details of The Epic of Tamlen."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Right, I heard there's another version of the Epic that the Church don't like. Burned up all the copies."

Badger nodded. "That's why storytellers like me are so important. We write lore in the pages of our minds where fire cannot touch."

Mellie emerged from the crowd again and approached Badger's table. "Another ale, master bard, and a gentle nudge not to go on another one of your academic tyrades." Badger chuckled loudly. "Indeed! How can I refuse my gracious patron! As it happens, I know just the tale to spin."

Badger waved his hand and the illusory music began to slow its pace and lower its volume. As if on cue, the tavernsfolk quieted too, noticing the change in ambience. Badger reached down into his pack of scrolls and books and produced a leather scroll case.

"This next tale is one of the oldest I have. I translated it myself from paintings in a ruin far to the south. To say the ruin was 'ancient' would be a terrible misnomer, for the story was written in a runic language used by the humans of the Dark age."

Badger untied the string holding the scroll case closed and unfurled it.

"Some can recall tales of the Skaldjarl in songs of old. The hunter and storyteller who became the first human king. A hero, to be sure. He is not the subject of this tale." Badger paused for dramatic effect.

The halforcen boy couldn't restrain himself. "Then who? Is it Asa the Shieldmaiden, his love and companion?"

A little girl, perhaps no older than ten, piped up. "Or maybe Morien, the Skaldjarl's rival?"

Badger looked down at the little girl and recognized her. She had messy brown hair pulled back into a crude ponytail. She was dirty and her clothes were worn, and she wore no shoes. Her eyes, however, were bright and inquisitive. Looking at her, an involuntary smile crept over Badger's face. For a moment as he looked at her, his eyes twinkled with a golden hue. "Exactly!"

There was a murmur among the crowd.

"I know what you must be thinking. 'Master bard, but there aren't any tales of Morien!' And it's unfortunate that you'd be correct. Yet he had a story of his own to tell. He was so much more than just a few lines in the Skaldjarl's Song. The tale I spin now is his own account, written with his own hands and copied onto the walls of his tomb before his burial chamber was sealed."

Badger sat up in his seat and held the unfurled parchment before him.

"Not only was he a fierce warrior, but he was an accomplished poet and storyteller in his own right. Let's hear what he has to say."

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So it was that I, Morien, son of the Jarl of Bleak Falls, prepared for my quest. The sun still hid beyond the horizon leaving the stars to their silent vigil over our cursed land. Most of my clan were sequestered within their huts, resting within the uneasy peace that me and my warriors had secured for them.

Bjorn approached has I was rolling my sleeping blanket. I knew what he would say.

"You will not dissuade me, Bjorn."

"Clearly."

"Then why are you here?"

"To urge you let me come with you."

"It will not be so. You are needed here."

"And you, Morien?"

I stood with my rolled blanket. I tied it to my pack.

"You speak as if I will not return."

"A warrior knows no fear of death. That doesn't mean you offer yourself to it."

I grew tired of his pleading. I stomped.

"I will go alone. I will not split my forces and weaken our peoples' only ward against complete domination of our occupiers."

"Then permit me to go in your stead."

"Bjorn!"

I had shouted at him, looking into his eyes.

"Fine. Great Wolf guide you."

Bjorn turned and left me without another word. I knew he only spoke out of concern. I trusted him implicitly, and he trusted me. We had formed a bond that only fellow warriors who fight and bleed together can know. It was a bond that would easily endure a hot argument. He respected me, and I him. That is why he felt he could speak so plainly.

My task was great, and I was likely to die. But I saw no other way. Radek's Mine held a terror so unspeakable that all but one who had delved it's darkened depths never returned. The one who did had a broken mind and only spoke babbling nonsense. Not even the Seer could divine anything useful from the man. He had to be put down like an animal. I was determined not to share his fate.

I called Fjolnir to my side. The lanky wolf trotted up to me from the darkness.

"Don't look at me like that, don't take Bjorn's side."

Fjolnir cocked his head.

"If you aid me, we can be sure to prove him wrong."

Fjolnir yawned.

"I am as prepared as I ever will be, and time is short. Guide me, friend, as you always have."

Fjolnir turned and began to trot north toward the edge of the steading. We passed a Lion clan warrior. He grunted at me and Fjolnir. I didn't grace him with a response. He shouted a few curses at me before going back to his meadhorn.

It had been many moons since Fjolnir and I last travelled together without my warriors. My thoughts were not on the dangers of the trail, for even though the land was cursed I knew it as one knows their spouse. One must know what sets their partner at ease, which paths will angle and curve around places you do not want to go and dangers you do not want to face. There are two dangers a warrior avoids well- the scorn of their spouse and the scorn of the land. Perhaps this cursed world was my spouse, or at least the part of it surrounding Bleak Falls.

The sun began to creep over the horizon, dismissing the stars behind a sky painted blue. It was not until midday, when the sun hung high above, that Fjolnir and I stopped at a stream to break fast and drink. I knew this stream well, for my warriors and I had stopped here countless times. As I dipped my waterskin into the clear, cold waters of the stream a sound startled me. I looked up and saw that it was a great-horned deer that had the same idea as we. It noticed me, and then it noticed Fjolnir. My wolf companion gazed into the deer's eyes. I watched without a word. The great deer lowered his head and backed away, disappearing into the brush. It was a good sign, it meant that Fjolnir and I were the only worthy threats in the area.

After having drank and filled my waterskin we set again northward. We were making good time by my estimation. The ground was firm enough from the night's chill that the light of the sun did not soften it, as it does in the spring and the summer. The warmer season made travel more difficult, softening the ground so it would swallow your steps. During the coldest seasons, you traded harder earth that was easier to traverse for a bitter cold on the wind that numbed you. The current season was between the two extremes.

The sun was well into its downward curve toward the horizon when we reached Stopping Rock. My clan had named it such unironically, because it was an ideal place to halt and make camp for rest. Fjolnir came to stop before the great stone and sat. "Oh, come on. We have more daylight left, it's too early to stop."

Fjolnir trotted up to the stone, lifted one of his rear legs, and pissed.

"Fine. I guess that settles it, I'll start making camp."

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Badger lowered the parchment from which he was reading and grabbed the flagon of ale nearby for another drink. He took two deep gulps and set the flagon down again. The halforcen boy took this opportunity to speak up.

"Master bard, not to offend, but is this tale all about Morien walking around?"

The boy caught an elbow to the ribs from the human girl next to him. "You boar! It's exceptionally rude to interrupt a bard plying his trade!"

Badger waved his hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it, he simply has spoken what others might only be thinking to themselves." The gnomish bard took placed the parchment on the table near his ale and relaxed in his chair. "Morien's writing style is different from contemporary narrative, so it's only natural to feel like he's sharing superfluous details. Had this been written in a contemporary style, his journey to Radek's Mine would have been glossed over in a few lines."

The halforcen boy gave a puzzled look.

"For example, Morien takes a good few lines solely to describe the firmness of the ground on which he travelled. Why do you think that is?"

"To show it was an easy journey," the halforcen boy guessed.

The human girl next to him shook her head. "I'm not sure what the reason is, but I am sure it's not that."

Badger smirked. "There is a reason, but it's lost in the missing context we don't have in this age. When Morien walked the earth, it was wild and untammed. Folk then lived with the reality that the natural world changed around them, much in the way an experienced sailor reads the signs of the changing seas. Recall how Morien described the cursed earth as his spouse? That's a fitting analogy of how people had to live- one couldn't get too comfortable and had to pay attention constantly, never ceasing to cultivate the relationship lest it turn sour."

The halforcen boy looked like he was still wrestling with the concept, but Badger caught the glance of Mellie over by the bar. She gave a knowingly scornful look toward Badger. He chuckled.

"My appologies, I often forget this is a tavern and not a university. Forgive my indulgence. Give me a while to refresh myself and we'll continue the tale without further delay."