The dingy interior of Scimitar's Glint was absolutely packed with the men and woman of Pancreedy as they enjoyed a well-deserved drink at the end of another busy summer week.

The rough looking hunters, woodcutters and guards who ecked a living in one way or another from the Whisperwoods, all stood about in rowdy small groups as they mingled between each other by the bar.

Then the floor slowly made way to the craftsmen and craftswomen who joked about as they sat on stools or stood around a few barrels that littered the floor.

But even as the villagers merrily enjoyed themselves, a frantic jitty rose over the generally hubbub as two musicians feverishly played in one corner of the pub. The first of the duo was a Gnomish man who was sweating heavily whilst he was fiddling away as he stood on a barrel of his own. His partner was a striped Desert-Kobold who constantly cackled as he strummed out a catchy marsh skit from his banjo.

Once they completed their song after crashing down aprublty from a mighty crescendo, the crowd applauded them before a Satyr handed the pair a stein each to congratulate them.

“Here’s a Plumapple cider for you Ban, good job, and here’s a pint of lowland bitters for you Maydock, good work lads keep it up!” congratulated the Satyr with beer-foam on his own goateed face.

“Thanks Fendle,” replied the Gnome as his partner released another uncontrollable outburst of laughter before the pair quickly supped their much needed refreshments.

Ban and Maydock then proceeded to conspiratorially whisper between themselves as they decided what would be their next song would be. They did so with healthy swings of recently acquired gifts before setting them aside and picking up their instruments once more. The new jitty was decided and with another burst of laughter from the Kobold, they broke into another feverish tune. There was another round of applause and clapping as many of the crowd quickly picked up on the familiar and popular song.

There once was a human lass, she had long travelled far and wide!

She seeked man from all the lands, to curl her toes and spank her hide!

First there was a Minatour, he said was long and mighty wide!

But when the whoare asked for more! The Mino ran away to hide!

Then there was a pretty Elf, who kissed all over ‘sucked her well!

But when the whoare asked for more! The Elf-fan ran away to hide!

Then there was John the WEEEE-EEEEE Gnome! She thought him bad and not so well!

But when the whoare asked for more! HE WAS SO BIG, She raaaaaaaannnnn…. away to hide!

She raaan away! She raaan away! She raaan away to hide!

In another small secluded nook of the pub and isolated from the merry song, sat the sharply dressed Shade and Gazelle Direclaw. The white dress shirt that the black Panthorian wore, along with his aging but still beautiful Leonid wife’s azure dress contrasted sharply with rustic attire of the rest of the revellers. The pair only had eyes and words for one another that evening, having paid the proprietor a silver coin to deploy the muting artifact just for the occasion. For it was their fortieth anniversary and judging by the teasing smile that was flashed by Gazelle and Shade’s muted laughter, their evening was going splendidly.

The pair was given a wide berth, not due to the fact that they were few of the most dangerous people in the whole town, but because the villagers respected them highly. For the couple that was rarely seen in the pub had singlehanded provided safety to the whole village for many years and were the founders of the village guard.

At the end of the bar sat a grizzled Dwarf of unaccountable years, with blue runic tattoos criss-crossing his bald scalp nursing his own very wickedly potent brew . The Dwarf mumbled softly and barely perceptibly over the din towards the young reverse-Centaur who frantically ran behind the bar as he fought to serve the customers.

“Right away Topal,” replied the young Timothy as he reached around to grab an old and dusty bottle before placing it in front of the dwarf and receiving a wink from his one good eye. The Dwarf then proceeded to uncork the bottle before refilling his drink and releasing the potent vapours across the front of the bar.

A few of the gruff and burly people who stood by the bar blanched away from this smell before one of them complained, “Realms Topal! What the Divines is it you’re drinking? Hydra bile!?”

As the men laughed at this joke, they quickly quietened down at the sight of the Dwarf’s runic tattoos flaring an angry bright blue before fading away. For the owner of the Scimitar also served as his own bouncer, and the ancient Dwarf was powerful beyond belief. The villagers never managed to ever wrangle his actual levels from the Dwarf no matter the amount of drinks they plied him with. But most if not all, have felt his mighty hold upon the scuff of their necks before behind bodily thrown outside. It was a well known rule to take any minor scuffles outside, for broken furniture would result in your own broken bones and a temporary ban. The villagers still recount of how the old Dwarf was able to easily beat the retired hero of the Union army, Shade Fellclaw himself, when he first arrived in Pancreedy full of angst and rage at having been honourably discharged after having been brutally beaten by a Dragonkin Princeling.

Noting the Panthorian raise his one good arm into the air and turning around to the bar, Topal mumbled incoherently to his young employee.

“Here you go boss,” replied Timothy as he placed the bucket of chilled white wine before the dwarf.

Then through some amazing display of skill beyond recognition, the dwarf threw the bottle that spun end over end through the air, without spilling a drop. The bottle swerved through the crowd before coming to a tilted stop and slowly pouring out and refilling Shade’s crystal glass, before continuing to fly and pausing to do the same to Gazelle’s. The Panthorian gave a slight nod in appreciation even as the wine bottle now proceeded to fly back the way it came and land deftly inside it’s cooler as the old Dwarf’s tattoos faded.

In a small table by the entrance came a whistle from a young Elfish adventurer who was still in his hunting leathers who sat with his party.

“Did you guys see that?” he asked in shock.

“She what?” asked a burly black Ogre in a voice that sounded like he was gargling rocks, with a dark Warhammer resting on his knee.

“That old Dwarf just sent a bottle flying through the air, poured two glasses and sent it back without spilling a drop!” exclaimed the sharp eyed Elfish scout.

“It’s probly just a skill Dorian, some bartending skill of sort,” replied a tiny female Goblin trapper before laughing at the Elf.

“What kind of fucking skill does that Fessink?” retorted the still amazed Dorian.

“Pffft you must have had one too many drinks,” joked a stripy squat Badgian swordsman before the rest of the party started to jeer at the Elf’s drinking prowess.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I’ll *bubbling* go get you a water *bubbling* shall I?” joked a female Hermitaur Duellist before she unfolded her eight legs and proceeded to scuttle towards the bar, making sure to keep her sharp rapier-claw pointed downwards.

“I’m telling you guys! That wasn’t a skill, the Dwarf’s not normal!” Dorian continued to protest and receiving more jeering from his party members.

At that moment the massive doors of the Scimitar swung inwards before letting in a angry looking Hoarast and a shirtless, smiling Joantack. The pair received a round of applause and greeting from the rest of the villagers even as the musicians started to die down from playing the Hiding Lass.

“Two big Fem-foamers!” growled the Bearkin as he made his way towards the bar. Friends and colleagues slapped his back or patted his arm whilst opening a path for the head woodcutter.

The lanky Timothy nodded his equine head at the orders before proceeding to pour out the drinks into two ceramic flower-pots with a handle that served as a “big” one in Pancreedy.

“Put it on my tab,” spoke Hoarast to the boy even as his eyes glanced at the dwarf. At the sight of Topal directing a tiny nod towards Timothy, Hoarast released a tiny breath that he was holding before handing over the second drink to Joantack as the pair left the counter.

Hoarast knew he was cutting it close with the payment of his last tab, and as everyone knew, Topal didn’t take kindly to late payments. The old Dwarf charged pitifully low prices and rarely ever left the pub if ever, but ballistic cups and mugs would magically sail through the village and seek you out if you were long overdue. If one was unfortunate to also break these mugs or still refused to pay, then more dangerous missiles would come their way. The villagers had long ago ceased to question how the dwarf was able to make a object fly over such long distances and seek them out. Lem even recounted on many an occasion in the pub of how one of Topal’s mugs found him and knocked him out when he was away on a business trip in Paulflint, that was a week’s riding away.

The two large men then proceeded to move away from the bar, out of politeness for their large frames made it harder for their neighbours to grab their own new drinks.

Just as Hoarast was making his way towards a open spot near the musicians with his drink held high to avoid collisions with Joantack in tow, his fellow woodcutter Fendle sidled up to him with a mischievous grin.

Hoarast sighed at the sight, for it normally meant trouble or a bad joke was coming his way.

“What is it Fendle?” he asked the grinning Satyr who seemed to be quite drunk. Suspiciously the music had died down along with the rest of the pub except for the obnoxious adventurers who were arguing about flying wine bottles, as everyone sought to eavesdrop into the conversation.

“Well you see boss, I was wondering if you’s heard of the new thing in the village,” asked the Satyr as he nudged Hoarast in the belly using the elbow of his arm that held onto his foaming pint and spilling some onto Hoarast’s jacket.

“Hear what?” growled the annoyed Bearkin and exposing his canines in a angry snarl. But the villagers paid the formidable Treebane no heed, for they knew him to be all bluster and hot air.

In the corner, Shade had deactivated the muting crystal under the table as he and his wife amusingly watched the joke unfold, having been privy to it as it spread through the pub earlier.

“Well you see boss, this isn’t from anys of us here, but word from the woman-folk is that you two are having quite a lot of romantic moonlight strolls together, the kind that ends up with you two all steaming and all,” jeered the Satyr with a lewd expression as pockets of giggling started to break out in the pub.

“HHHHAWHAAT?” mooed Joantack angrily as he accidentally spilt his Fem Foamer onto Horast’s jacket. The Bearkin snarled even more at the ridiculous rumours and the new stain from the brown drink that wetly soaked into his fur through his precious jacket.

“Well you see, me and all the Woodcutter’s we’s all known about it since you told me, and I told the rest,” explained the Satyr as he fought to keep from laughing himself. The mentioned Woodcutters at the bar raised their drinks and shouted out “To the Lovers!” in unison.

“So seeing these tall tales, we told our pal’s the Hunters,” continued Fendle to louder cheering and raised glasses along with “to the Lovers!” from the Hunters by the bar.

“Obviously we had to tell our other pal’s the Guards,” continued Fendle and receiving a even bigger cheer from the aforementioned village Guards. The Fellclaws by the small alcove stood up in their finery and joined their fellow Guardsmen as they saluted with their wineglasses along with a chorus of “to the Lovers!”

Joantack mooed and bellowed angrily which quickly turned into embarrassment after having spotted his son in on the joke amongst the Guardsmen. His son was well aware of his condition, but it still didn’t take away from the sting of it being a village-wide joke.

“What the Realms is going on?” growled Hoarast as the whole pub broke into even more laughter and cheering.

“Well it’s alright boss! We know what a great friend you are for old Joantack here, helping him with his curse! But the rest of the town might still be thinking that you’s two are a bit more that friends!” shouted the Satyr as he slipped away from Horast’s huge grasping paw. The crowd roared with even more laughter at the sight of the formidable Bearkin chasing the tiny Satyr through the crowd. But the laughter immediately died down as soon as the Bearkin broke a chair, except for the foreign adventurers who were gearing up for an all-out bar brawl to ensue. All eyes turned towards the old Dwarf as his runic tattoo flared, sending a large metal mug towards the now fleeing and panicked Bearkin.

The mug crashed into the back of the Bearkin’s head and caused the large man to fall flat onto his face and his drink to sail through the air. But it magically reversed it’s flight before coming to a stop above the unconscious man before emptying its contents all over his back. Silence ensued before the whole crowd roared with even greater laughter at the sight, with the Satyr having to run out of the pub as he was about to piss himself.

“What in the Realmsh is go- *hic* -hing on in there?” asked a drunken Lem as he and a equally drunk Lok-Tars supported each other as they stumbled towards the pub entrance.

“Donsht knowsh, but itsh *hic* looksh like funsh,” replied the Orc with a wide smile behind his capped tusks as he leaned into his friend.

The two entered the pub with huge smiles as they were greeted by their neighbours and crowd of laughter before they quickly had bemused expressions on their faces at the unconscious Bearkin at their feet. But their concern quickly faded as the drunken pair stepped over his body and towards the bar.

“I fucking told you!” could barely be heard from a small table of amused and confused adventurers as the musicians began another furious jam. Unnoticed by the crowd, the old Dwarf slipped off his high stool before disappearing into the back of the bar and out of sight.

…….

“That should do it man,” spoke a very annoyed and shivering hideous small creature, Bob the Bard, as he spoke to his friend who stood amidst a field of carnage.

“It would be pretty tasty thou,” hissed back the Amir the Eater. The tall humanoid in insectoid exoskeleton spoke directly to the minds of Bob and Harriet, who watched as he stared with longing down into the large glowing and cracked purple globe in one armoured hand.

The Eater stood amidst the ruins of a forest clearing atop a pile of rubble and moss that had just recently been a formidable Peat-Golem. The elemental had sprung an ambush on the unwary crew but was quickly decimated by the claws of the Eater, that sliced through it’s hardened defences like knife though hot butter.

“Look I’m fucking tired of being out here in the middle of bumfuck alright? I’ve no got any fucking cloths and the wee baby dungeon’s also telling me he’s tired of being cooped up in there,” moaned Bob as he hugged onto the hairy leg of Harriet. The giant Ape made an “ookk” in reply before scooping up the tiny malformed Bard and cradling him up to her hairy breast.

“Just fucking let go man! We can find something else for you to eat!” complained the cold hairless Bard, as he peeked out his half goblinoid/half turkey head from amongst Harriet’s warm fur.

The Eater who was slowly inching the globe towards his formless armoured head paused before his shoulders dropped in defeat. Then he set the Globe down before his armoured torso split open in a perfect vertical and horizontal bisection that was focused at a point just below his chest. The armoured exoskeleton hissed open along with a soft squelching noise before revelling a small purple vortex that sat amongst his heavily muscled pinkish and black abdominal muscles. Reaching inside the vortex, the Eater retrieved a tiny, bright white gem before closing his fist gently around the object.

The Eater then proceeded to kick the dying core of the Peat-Golem aside, before using a mighty punch from his free hand to create a hole into the ground below him. The rubble and trees were knocked away as a shockwave emanated from the horrific force of the blow, with Harriet turning away to shield the weak Bard she cradled.

“Ah fuck,” hissed the Eater as he sought to find the core that flew away in the explosion.

“Holy shit you dick! Couldn’t you have warned me before deciding to do some landscaping with your fucking fists like that? I’ve got sensitive ears you know!” shouted Bob from Harriet’s chest before she even turned back towards the blast-zone.

“Help me find the core, I’ve lost it after the punch,” complained Amir with a hiss through telepathic means.

“Help you my ass! You nearly blew out my eardrums!” screamed the Bard in reply, with his wattle flying about furiously.

Just off to the side of the Eater, a tiny squat Dwarf appeared out of thin air. The incandescent corona of light that was coming off his flaring tattoos blinded the previously dark clearing and sent the Eater retreating through the use of his phasing, away into the safety of the treelines far away.

“Holy fuck,” hissed the Eater.

The Dwarf easily spotted the Eater far away, before turning to address the alarmed Harriet and the Bard.

“MUMBE MUMBLE!” he shouted with incoherent words even as the soil cracked and floated up to be vapourised in the wreath of power that emanated from the Dwarf. A beam of blue light shone out from his dead eye, with the beam focusing on the Bard.

“Wait!” shouted Bob as the Eater flashed forwards in a dark stream of solid shadows, bravely towards the awe-inspiring Dwarf as he sought to defend his friend.

He was quickly frozen in a haze of power that stopped him mid-air, before lifting him up and smashing him into the ground at a speed faster than the Bard could perceive. He only heard the supersonic boom after seeing a new crater suddenly appear out of thin air.

“We have a letter! WE HAVE A LETTER FROM ISALDRA!” Bob quickly pleaded as he activated the sealing sigil on his left twig-like forearm with a press of his right pinky.

A letter appear before him in the air, before it was quickly pulled towards the Dwarf that now seemed more like an angry force of nature as he began to float in a circle of power, with rouge bolts of lightning beginning to crackle off the Dwarf in an awesome display of force.

The angry Dwarf read through the letter that appeared before him, along with more incoherent mumbling as he read, before his powers quickly subsided and he gently dropped to the ground. He whipped out a old smoking pipe, mumbled some words and disappeared as he came, without a trace.

The Bard now stood in silence with his pulse racing, before he directed Harriet towards the crater that his friend was now embedded in.

He wasn’t concerned for Amir, for the Eater was like a cockroach, he was more concern about the baby dungeon he had in his hands. Bob then received a flicker of a telepathic link that was sent from the baby dungeon as he looked down at the unconscious Eater embedded inside the hole that was a few meters deep.

Through the link he found out that the Eater had smartly decided to stow away the small crystal that housed the baby by the treeline in some hole, before charging the Dwarf.

The Bard retrieved the small baby dungeon and relief flooded him before he realised he still had to look for the cracked Peat-Golem core to feed it.

“Fuck,” he swore to noone in particular.