The Tavern - Long Version Chapter 1 - The Stranger Mabruk was wiping the counter when a gust of wind touched his face. The wind was dry and crisp, reminding him that autumn has begun since a fortnight ago; fortnight ago when he lost his son to the trolls that attacked his tavern. Tears formed in his eyes, forming a bead and mirrored-lie pearl as it drops to the bar counter. With a swift movement of his right hand, the tattered cloth he was holding soaked the salty droplet while it was obeying the law of nature that Isaac Newton discovered in the modern times. The wind, it seemed, was made due to the opening of the tavern door. The creak and groan made by the rusted hinges grew louder as the benevolent wind pushed the darkened mahogany door ajar. It was a long time ago, when mahogany was abundant, but since the Trime Ages, it could scarcely be found on the Peninsular of Kalihamun. As the door creaked back to a close, a boot wedged itself between the door and the doorsill. It was a size eight in modern terms, made from the hide of an ice camel. The hide itself is the thickest hide known to man, being defeated only by the hide of the wholly mammoth. There is but a little wear on the boot, inferring that the protector of the foot was only purchased recently. The foot pushed the door ajar again, and a thud was heard within the very next second. A walking stick pushed past the door only to land about a foot in front of the expensive boot. Made of common rosewood, it stands the trials of time, with only chapped woods being noticeable at the end of the cane. Finally, a figure of a six feet, average-built man loomed and stood itself at the door frame; a door frame which was made of mahogany, from the same tree as the door itself. Mabruk looked up, but he was not able to identify the man. The sunlight from the stranger's back shadowed his face, victoriously beaming against the dull and dreary limited sight-giving aura that the candle lights gave. As the figure walked in, he pulled his hood over his face. Walk is not the proper word to describe his rather awkward stumble as he proceeded towards the centre of the tavern. A battle veteran; that’s the best way to describe his stature, the limp on his left legs only showed that he had a close encounter which would have severed his ankle. He has recovered now, but not fully enough to again appear menacing to his enemies by standing proud and then charging into battle. The wooden plank of the tavern gave way beneath his weight, suggesting that he is at least of 300 pounds. The armor hidden underneath his cloak surely would be a chain-mail, or a scale-mail at least. The noise from the rowdy crowd started to mute as they grew aware of his presence, moving past them. When he reached a four-man sized wooden table at the direct centre of the tavern, all eyes were already on him. Some of them sneered while others watched in curiosity, just like a cat watching an albino mouse crawling slowly in front of it. As he landed his buttocks on the flat of the chair, the once-familiar noise just a while ago started again. The crowd has now forgotten of his presence; except one. Chapter 2 - Julian Julian sat quietly from a shadowed corner, waiting impatiently while the author describes an event which in reality would only take 8 to 12 seconds to complete. "Will mahogany would really be useful at all in the continuation of this story? I doubt anyone would even remember it by the next chapter", he mused. Having rested both his feet on a stool, stretched in front of him, he crossed his left foot on his right while looking at the stranger calling out to the barkeeper, preparing to order his sustenance. "I hope I look as cool as Aragorn did when he was watching the four hobbits in the tavern in LOTR 1", hoped Julian. "Can I have your order please, uhh, sir?", Mabruk started the first conversation with the stranger, holding a papyrus notepad and his portable wooden lead-filled communication device; a pencil, created only about 28 moons ago. The stranger did not move, instead he studied the curvatures and wooden cracks on the table he sat on. 'Wilson was here', a carving stated, most probably made by a simple dagger. Slowly he looked back up to Mabruk, and removed his hood. Mabruk stepped back, quite taken aback at his mysterious patron finally showing his face. "Your specially recommended food and just plain water", a simple order that was. Mabruk knew exactly what his latest food critic would love; his famous baked potato, garnished with melted cheese and chicken meat crumbs. He entered the kitchen and was about to ask his cook to prepare the meal when he noticed the cook being quite excited with a white box-liked item in his hands. "May I pray ask what you are doing?", Mabruk queried, rather loudly. "My apologies sir. Look at this sir! My cousin loaned it to me until the next moon. I believe it's called the Mobile Playstation 2.", his cook started to explain. "I don't care what it's called and what it does, get my customer the 'special'!", Mabruk snapped. Moments later, the food arrived at the stranger's table. Within seconds, the stranger stood up and beckoned to Mabruk who was just catching another tear drop with his cloth due to the wind created by a young couple entering the tavern. "Can I help you, sir?", Mabruk asked. "This shit's cold, man. Wha'cha tryin' to do ta me? Ja' want me to call my hood and gang-up on ya'? Now, get this crap back to the kitchen and get it hot, aight?!", the stranger shouted. "Sir, I'm sorry. We'll get it heated, but it will take a while. The fire's gone cold already.", Mabruk tried to ease the already tensed situation. "Just git in there and heat it up pronto, or I'll whoop ur ass!", the stranger fought back. Mabruk raised his eyebrows, "Ass, sir? As in donkeys?? I don't own any donkeys. You'd be best to talk to Farmer John on that, and I doubt that he'll let you whoop his donkey." "Shut up! And get going", the stranger yelled angrily, not intending to look at the bartender. "You sound as if the microwave oven's already been invented. Heck, even electricity has not been discovered yet.", Mabruk said, more to himself than to the stranger as he headed back to the kitchen. At times Mabruk wonders where his wierd comments come from. Being a highly imaginative lad in his youth, he had dreamnt and imagined so many illogical items, even one he called an 'aeroplane'. "Huh, if there can ever be a flying vessel, it's when a man called Houdini can escape from a watery tombed." Confused, he scratched his head and wondered what his latest comment meant. Just as Mabruk entered the kitchen, Julian got up and approached the stranger. However, he failed to notice the rum-spilled floor and glided upon the watery trap; and he fell face first to the floor, just short of the stranger's chair. Laughter arosed in the tavern, some pointing at him laughing aloud, while others just shook their head at the embarrasing moment. Just then, a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up. It was the stranger. "You ok, Julian?", asked the man. "I'm fine, Boris. Just embarassed, that's all.", lamented Julian, as he continued, "I guess with your coming here, the trolls are just a few nightfalls behind?" "Right on the dot, bruthar! You ain't stupid, yo'!", answered Boris. "Can you stop with that nigger, I meant african american slang already, Boris?", Julian asked rather annoyed. Boris looked at him, studying his old friend's face. It's been 12 moons since they last met, but Julian has not changed at all. His clumsiness is still with him, he noted, but there's now a new scar on Julian's face. He hope to be reminded to ask Julian about that later at night, as he answered "But I AM a nigger, bruthar, and what's America? And what's African??" Chapter 3 - The Night Discussion Unlike half-elves or half-orcs, where these are creatures that are cross-bred between humans and other races, Negros, or at times called Niggers are actually a sub-set of the human race. They feature darker skins and are always born with brunette hair. More than a thousand moons ago, they arrived at the Peninsular of Kalihamun in the tens of thousands, from a country far beyond the seas. While the minotaurs arrived in the hundreds and allied themselves with the evils of the Peninsular, the Negros brought with them art and skills to share with the commonfolks of the land. In battle, they have a knack for ending enemies lives with a jumping slash to the throat, and usually as the head of the enemies fall to the ground, they yell a killing cry, "White men can't jump!". The females of the sub-race brought along a superbly sopranic to alto voices into music. The males brought along bankruptcy to the minstrels of the land. Their ability to group together and create musical scores by just using their voices for a musical instrument called 'beat-boxing' and song style with lyrics of 'rap' damaged the market of listening to minstrels with their lutes. Due to the heated arguements between minstrels and Negro group singers, the state law has required that for every Negro group that traverse the land, one minstrel must be a part of their member. "What of your party? Have they fled somewhere safe?", inquired Julian to Boris. "Nay, they've all been killed, and by the trolls at that.", Boris replied, surprised that he could submerge his nigger slang back into his mind. "And Lofar, the minstrel? Killed as well?", continued Julian. "No, he's held captive by them. Do you know that all minstrels can cook?? I bet he's cooking our mates there back at their camp.", Boris answered, and continued, "We best bring this discussion in the quiet of a room." Julian nodded, agreeing to the suggestion. "Boss, cancel that order", Boris yelled just as Mabruk came out with the heated food. "Does this look like an indian restaurant to you?!", Mabruk retaliated, angry. "Just give me 5 silvers and leave, or do you want to 'tapau', I mean, wrap this for you?", Mabruk continued. Handing Mabruk the 5 silver shillings, Boris asked "Are you the innkeeper as well?" It is a norm that most taverns in the Peninsular include several rooms to stay for the night and the bartenders tend (no pun intended) to be owners of both. "No, he's over there, at the other counter. Just don't ask him what's in the glass casings, he calls them a 'handphone's with funny names like No-ki-ya and Air-Rick's-Son, but if you push further he'll tell you it's not ready for anyone of us to know about. What a show-off. I bet it's just a piece of wood", advised Mabruk. Just as the both of them were about to get up from the table, they heard "Leng chai, handsome men, want new movies? Got DVD9 wor". Julian hissed back at a pale slit-eyed youth and said "Get out of here, and don't talk gibberish." The innkeeper greeted them as they approached. His white hair showed the years in him, with one eye nearly blind from cataract. "A king-sized bed for the both of ya?", he asked, winking to Julian as he leered his gaze towards Boris. "What?! What the heck do you take me for? A bloody queer??", Boris snapped, pointing his finger at the innkeeper. "Aw, come on, it'll be fun. You don't know what you're missing.", Julian leaned against Boris while looking at the innkeeper. Boris ignored his seemingly excited friend and continued, "Just a room with two beds please. There's a serious discussion we need to finish." Julian seemed to snap back from some vile fantasy he was day-dreaming about and nodded to the innkeeper. In the room, they continued their talk on the impending doom coming closer to the town in just a few nightfalls away. Understanding that the author is rather sick and tired of writing too many "replied Julian", "answered Boris", "asked Boris", "said Julian", "inquired Julian", "queried Boris" and the likes, they decided to discuss in private and then handed the author a summary of the discussion two hours later. The summary is stated in the next paragraph. During the first attack on the town a fortnight ago, the trolls captured the map-maker and business sign-board maker to their camp, and slaughtered anyone who got in their way, especially the guards. They even slaughtered some young lads and lasses who jumped with glee around them asking, "Can I come with you? Please, can I? Can I?". It is believed that the two captives are used to understand the geography of the entire town, for a full scale attack, with the ultimate purpose to either enslave the entire town, or to destroy it completely. It will happen within three nightfalls and the town must be evacuated within two days. A visit to the city council hall is a must to persuade everybody to leave. There is no hope for victory should the towns people decide to face the trolls in combat. As the author handed back the summary to Boris, Julian got into his bed for the night. Boris grabbed the piece of papyrus and threw it into the fireplace. "We need our sleep now. Please continue our story tomorrow instead.", Boris requested. Chapter 4 - The Council Boris woke up to the sounds of the alarm clock, oops, to the sound of the hustle and bustle of a town just starting to wake up. Julian was still sleeping. Abruptly, Boris stood up from bed, looked at the reader and said "Lookee here, it has come to my attention that the author's way of updating chapters by chapters is not helping you remember the characters of this story. My name is Boris, the dude who entered the tavern, and a negro. Julian there on the bed is the dude who was watching me in the tavern and approached me to discuss about imminent troll attack. Mabruk is the tavern keeper. Lofar is the minstrel held captive by the troll. That's it, only four names to worry about. Now let's get back to the story." With that Boris threw his pillow towards Julian who, startled, started shouting profanity as if he's woken up besides a man and his wife finding out. When he saw Boris, he sighed a sign of relief. "So, let's just get ready and head to the city council hall.", Julian exclaimed. A half hour later, they reached the door of the city council hall. It has always been that city council halls in the Peninsular do not keep doors locked to visitors, but they are usually shut. Boris opened the door. Marble floor with gold glitters lined the entire corridor that leads to three doors, one at the end, and two on the left and right side, directly midway of the corridor. The three doors are made of solid gold, with eight silver statues lining the corridors leading towards the end door. Candelabras made of gold with hanging emeralds and diamonds to reflect the candle light lined the ceiling, creating daylight in a non-windowed area. The above describes a corridor within the palace of the kingdom. The city council hall however, right after the entrance, it just leads to an huge hall with a wooden table in the centre and cabinets of files lining up against the walls at all sides. Three men were busy writing on parchments, which was believed to be new regulations to impose on the townsfolk. As Boris reached the table, the men were quick to roll up the parchment, but not before Boris saw the words "Safety Guidelines On Electrical Trains". They spoke and discussed for four entire hours. At first the council members were reluctant to listen to what can be considered an unsound warning. "It just cannot be true! They were here a fortnight ago and we drove them out. Yes, we've lost a lot of men, but they retreated nonetheless", the man who seem to be the head of the council said. Julian retaliated, "But do you realise that we have never found the body of the map maker and the sign board maker? We have reasons to believe that they are studying the towns plan for the next attack." This was all that was needed to coax the council members to listen. "Tea or coffee, sirs?", a lady asked. "What the?! Get us beers, dammit!", shouted the head of council. "And vacuum the floor right after, it's been dusty!" The lady, confused, enquired, "Vacuum,... sir?" "Oh, sorry. Just sweep the dust out with a broom", answered him, as he continued, "Just don't start riding the broom like you're Harry Potter or something. I'll minus your wages if you do that." At the end of the discussion, the strategy have been laid out. By nightfall, all large townfolks items are to be placed in the stables. No townsfolks are to carry any heavy items during the evacuation. Boris will meet the centaurs during the night to have them come over by the next morning. Their task will be to assist in pulling caravans containing these large items, and they will be informed on the morrow on where to head. The evacuation, as early as it may seem, need to begin at dawn on the day after tomorrow, so that everyone would be at least a full half day ahead of the trolls when they come by an empty village. By evening, all the townsfolk have been informed and most of them has already placed their items at the stable. While being disheartened on losing their home, they had to accept the fact that it is a choice between their life or their abode, and they had to acknowledge that life takes precedence over anything else. Boris gave a gallant speech to the townsfolk right before he left on horseback out of town to meet up with the centaurs, a half horse and half human race. Centaurs have human head, hands and torsos, but from below the belly, the horse part begins; as if the human belly is where the neck of the horse starts. Of course it cannot be that centaurs have human legs, torso and hands with a horse head; they would make a lousy caravan puller. History says that eons ago, sick perverted nymphos got into a bestiality kick and ended up giving birth to what is known today as centaurs. "I will be back with the centaurs by dawn, and then we will have a full briefing on the strategy to calmly and procedurely leave this town", Boris yelled out as he rode down the trails. The Tavern – Short Version Chapter 1 - The Stranger A man with a walking stick entered and sat at the centre of the tavern. Chapter 2 - Julian Julian approached the man, named Boris, and started talking. Chapter 3 - The Night Discussion Julian and Boris got a room to discuss in private about trolls that's going to attack the town in a few days. Chapter 4 - The Council Boris and Julian met up with the council and persuaded them to help prepare for an evacuation of the townsfolk. While the townsfolk fill up heavy items at the stables, Boris is to get the help of the centaurs to caravan the items during evacuation.
LOL, never knew you had it in you ler!!! Nice start to a story I love it The long version I mean. It's really cool. And really surprised you wrote one too...
HAHAHA Chapter 2 is super hilarious!!!! I already LOL'ed at the first paragraph (waiting impatiently while the author describes an event which in reality would only take 8 to 12 seconds to complete.) and this is very cacat - Mabruk raised his eyebrows, "Sir? I don't own any donkeys. You'd be best to talk to Farmer John on that, and I doubt that he'll let you whoop his donkey." Haha I love it! Keep it coming!!!
Love it.. Chapter 3. Very entertaining again. Especially with the 'tapau' and DVD9, and handphone stuffs, and that 'author' thing. Great job!
Hehe, at first it was a bit confusing for me as I tried to categorize this strange story but I got the idea after having read chp 2. This is a bit like Monthy Phyton-esque with the 'author' thing, very refreshing story telling style!
