The local tavern crowd was in a roar. Dwarves and travelers from across the lands shared stories of their adventures: The black depths of the mines, monsters in the night, fires on the horizon, the war nearing closer to home, giants attacking, and the retellings of dragons.
“I swe’r it! A drag’ egg fell in front of me! It glim’d like a black diamond!”
“You lyin’ dullard! The only egg you’ve seen is the one you hatched from!”
The tavern erupted into laughter while the drunk dwarf testified his tales. Ryder and Durge sat on the far side of the room, enjoying the entertainment while sipping from small cups of dwarven ale.
“Do you actually believe that they forge armor with ‘dragon scales’? What a fable,” Durge scoffed.
“Or that the Thrahfin family only eats dragon meat!? It’s never a dull moment with the dwarves,” Ryder laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.
Late came the night, the tavern keeper clapped, forewarning closure and alerting the bard to step onto the small stage holding a lute. A dwarf, dressed in black and purple with a feathered hat and a short curled mustache began to strum his instrument. He told a quiet and somber song of the dangers, the death, and the life that encompasses the world; an inspiring ballad that made the dwarven companions appreciate one another and exit the tavern contented.
Ryder and Durge walked the silent streets back to their inn, vendors packed away their wares and closed the shutters of their stalls. A beautiful and serene chime of a high-pitched bell echoed through the fortress, signaling the end of the day, two hours past midnight.
The adventurers peacefully slept through the cool night under soft furs. The morning soon came, light shone through the small skylights, and the loud chime of a resonant bell rang through the halls, awakening the party in a panic.
Outside small circular windows they could see a crowd of dwarves rush through the halls, opening shops, putting on aprons, equipping tools, and starting the day.
Dalon, Bell, Scoundrel, and Ryder emerged from their rooms in a frantic state.
“What’s happening?” Dalon asked.
“A raid?” Scoundrel said.
“Should we be worried?” Bell asked.
Ryder checked on Durge, unsurprised to see him drooling on the feathered pillows and ready to kick him awake.
While doing so, the elderly innkeeper walked up the steps, “I’m glad to see you all awake,” he said in a cheery smile. “Usually outsiders sleep through our morning call and I have to force them to leave. Now if you don’t mind handing back those keys… unless you plan to stay another night?”
The party looked at each other, confused that the dwarf was so calm and cheery, and hesitantly gave back the keys. Durge was barely able to get his pants on before the owner came in and started tidying up the rooms for the next guests.
“Damn these dwarves, can’t even sleep in peace for a single day,” Durge grumbled.
“Well, one must acknowledge the efficiency of them,” Ryder said.
“Come on, let’s get some grub,” Scoundrel said.
Bell shrugged, “At least we know they’re ready to serve.”
The five adventurers found a small shop with seating, food, and drinks. The owner was still prepping his kitchen, apologizing with his dwarven tongue the entire time. He poured five cups of a brown liquid into porcelain cups before asking, “Loro oh vokra rahvk?”
Ryder figured the chef was asking for his order, he didn’t know any dwarvish words for food so he tried his best to gesture and speak slowly. “Bread? Porridge? Eggs?”
The owner looked enthused, “Deko?”
Ryder couldn’t understand and was too anxious to try anymore so he nodded his head. The rest of the party agreed to have ‘deko’ as well.
“We’re leaving this city earlier than expected,” Dalon said.
“We still need travel supplies, you know,” Bell chimed.
“And the whole transportation thing,” Durge said. “I am not walking over a moon cycle to get to Maria.”
“We’ll find someone,” Scoundrel said, lapping up the tea.
In short notice, the ‘deko’ were delivered. Fluffy eggs buried by a mound of black and red seasoning.
Scoundrel took a deep sniff and started to sneeze repeatedly and paw at his nose. “It’s pepper and cayenne!” the ferret exclaimed, burying his snout into his tunic.
After chugging the spice-neutralizing tea, the party separated to purchase supplies for the travel ahead, agreeing to meet up at a tavern in the late afternoon. Bell paired with Ryder in search of food supplies while Dalon forced Durge and Scoundrel to look for camping gear. The party leader decided he would converse with the local populace and arrange a wagon back to the Guild Hall in Maria.
Bell carried her woven-basket, swinging it to and fro. “Can you believe that Mid-Year is tomorrow? The months went by so fast.”
Ryder walked with his hands in his pockets as he gazed upon the busy city. “It’s only been five months since the Aurora, three since Emperor’s Week, and one…”
“Since Locria fell… About what Scoundrel said in the mountains, is it true you’re the son of the Countess?”
A month ago he would’ve done everything to change the subject or shift the blame on miscommunication, but in this moment, he felt the warmth of the healer and revealed himself. “I am,” he said.
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He awaited some type of enthusiasm or bombardment from Bell but neither her tone nor her attitude changed, she only swung her basket to and fro as they walked down the dwarven streets.
“I wish we could stay for the celebration tomorrow,” she said.
“Maybe you can convince your brother to let us stay another day?”
She shook her head, “He’s never been fond of holidays. Our father always stuck him on guard duty when the days came. I would always feel so poorly when I would play with my friends and see him standing post at the edge of our town.”
“Your father sounds harsh.”
“Most guard captains are.”
Ryder chuckled, “I knew one who wasn’t half bad.”
They arrived at a travel store, purchased the usual dry provisions for the road, and visited several market stalls for mushrooms, cheese, and hearty bread. Bell had few coins to her name but Ryder offered to barter with the gems and odd coins he acquired in the goblin cave.
“How much do you have left, Rye?”
He peeked inside the drawstring bag, “Not sure, Scoundrel told me not to count until we turned in the quest.”
Bell smirked, “Him and his superstitions. Let’s count them together.”
While Ryder and Bell found a secluded table to count coins, Durge and Scoundrel were busy bickering at one another.
“And you really think wool blankets are better than linen?” Durge asked, holding each sheet of fabric.
“Correct. Warm and heavy to shelter against the elements.”
“What elements!? How many times have I told you that linen is preferable in the heat!”
“Well, I’m sorry I don’t sweat like a pig.”
Durge tightened grip on the blankets, “You dusty ferr—”
The textile merchant slapped his palm against the desk, “Either buy them or get out!”
With a dirty glare at them both, the shopkeep took the small gems as payment for each type of fabric and was happy to see them leave.
They both laughed as they packed away the fresh blankets into their packs. “Been so long I forgot about your outburst.”
Scoundrel scoffed, “You mean the outburst you had.”
“I’m not the one who scratched their claws down my arm.”
“I’m not the one who bruised my jaw! Almost chipped my good tooth!”
Both of the groups arrived at the tavern, Durge swelled with joy as rounded the corner and saw Bell’s basket overflowing with food.
“Fancy seeing you here, Isabelle,” Scoundrel sneered.
She rolled her eyes.
“Where’s Dalon?” Ryder asked.
“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly,” Scoundrel said, pulling open the doors.
Bell waited outside while Ryder and Durge entered the familiar tavern, the lights were dim and the place was void of any people. Shuffling heard from the back of the bar revealed to be the tavern keeper. With a stained apron and empty mugs in their hand, they said “Shouldn’t you all be working?” in a stern voice.
The adventurers awkwardly laughed and shuffled their feet, hoping it was a joke. And luckily for them, the owner smiled.
“What can I get you travelers? The Mid-Year special?”
“What’s that?” Durge asked.
The dwarf leaned in close, “A drink that’ll knock you to the end of the year!” the dwarf laughed. “But really, what can I do for you? The dayshift hasn’t ended so I’m not fully up-and-running. But I have kegs of moonsour, rockdust, foamfire—”
“We’ll just take something light,” Ryder said.
The dwarf chuckled, “I can do light.”
The three of them sat at a table while Bell soon entered the tavern with her brother.
“Nothing yet, no one is leaving until overmorrow. Damn festival.”
The owner passed five small cups around the table, dark ale swirled in them. The party sat in silence and breathed in the atmosphere of the place, awaiting it to fill with locals that may transport them. The first one to enter before the whistles of the closing dayshift was the bard from last night.
With a lute in his hand, he took a seat at the bar and talked with the owner. He gazed at the weary adventurers and put two glistening coins on their table.
“Next round is on me.”
Durge raised his glass and chugged it in one swoop. Gesturing toward the barkeep for another.
“Where do you all hail from?” he said in a jolly voice.
“Maria,” Dalon said. “We’re looking for a passage there tonight.”
“Tonight!? And miss the Mid-Year festivities at Kraglor!?”
“Yes,” Dalon said sternly.
The bard twisted his mustache and petted his long goatee. “If you insist on leaving in a haste and missing such dwarven greatness then… Hear this, what if I drove you to Maria myself.”
“What’s the cost?” Dalon asked.
“Tales of your adventures right now and to enjoy the holiday tomorrow at Kraglor. I’ll even pay for your accommodations tonight so you have no excuses. We’ll leave in my carriage right after the celebrations.”
Dalon was eager to say no but the rest of the party turned to him, pleading to accept the offer. He rolled his eyes, “Fine. What do you wish to hear?”
The dwarf grinned greatly and rubbed his hands together. “How’d you all meet? Why are you here? What daring quests have adventurer’s like yourself been on?”
“You do it, Ryder, you’ve done it before,” Dalon said.
Ryder perked up, “Why me!? You all were there!”
“Don’t forget to flaunt a little,” Durge smirked.
Ryder put his palm to his forehead and rubbed his temples, ready to tell his tale all over again. The dwarf grew giddy, writing notes with a small quill and vial of ink he had on his person. The chimes and chirps of the dayshift bells and whistles sung, and with it the working dwarves washed into the commercial streets. Taverns, shops, and gambling halls filled in an instant.
“Be glad you already found your seats,” the bard said to the party, going into a rear storeroom. With the adventurers packed for travel, their new patron missing, they could only sit and wait in the bustling tavern until he returned.
Throughout the night the drunken dwarves poked fun at the foreigners. They challenged them in drink offs, tests of strength, and telling tales of their own dangerous encounters that they’ve seen in the mines, claiming them to be more deadly than anything above ground.
When Ryder stopped Durge from accepting the challenges, the dwarves would quickly move on and harass one of their own. It almost turned into an all-out brawl until the claps of the tavern keeper were heard by all. The bard, with his familiar lute, walked on stage, sat on a stool, and plucked at the strings.
“Tonight I tell a tale. A tale of journeys. A tale of dangers and derelict dungeons! A tale of the goblin horde and their mass of wealth they’ve ripped from our calloused hands! And a tale of their destruction by the hatred we all share for them. Men, orcs, beasts, and even those pointy-eared bastards find them vile!”
“That’s one thing we can agree on!” a dwarf cheered before a wave of laughter ensued. When the cries trickled, the bard began his ballad:
A journey of adventurers from distant lands,
Gems, gold, and treasure await!
Through Willow’s swamps, Melody’s sands,
To kill the goblins we’all hate!
Returned they have, for everyone,
To gift us back, our stolen riches,
Their quest is complete. Their quest is done.
All to return, with wounds and stitches.
Let us remember, our unnamed heroes,
That slays our goblins, in their burrows.
As the bard strummed his final tune, the dwarves took a final gulp from their mugs and left the establishment with bellies full and minds clear.
“Sounds a little embellished,” Durge said.
“We never went to those places…” Ryder muttered.
“May not have been the most accurate, but at least we have a ride back to Maria!” Bell said.
“Indeed you do!” the bard exclaimed. “Here’s some shines to cover that room for tonight. I better see you all smiling bright at Kraglor in the morrow!” Two columns of five gold each were placed on their table before the dwarf tipped his hat and left.
“Being a bard pays well,” Scoundrel said, lifting and letting go of the coins.”
“Maybe you can perform a song next time, mutt. I’m going to bed, I suggest you all do the same.” Dalon grabbed his share of the coins and walked out, soon followed by the rest of the party. The walk to the same inn as before was tranquil, the last bell of the day rang its angelic chime, and the adventurers succumbed to their peaceful rest.
In the early morning, the bells of the dayshift began, but the bells were different in tune and song, they were not loud or crass, but instead, gentle and joyful, for it was the dawn of the Mid-Year and time for celebration.