The Epic of Garthel- Parts I-III, page 5
part #1 of The Epic of Garthel Series
In the morning he awoke and was pleased to find that it was still early in the morning. If he traveled quickly he would make it to town before the day was out. Arovehar traveled full of questions. Questions like: Who exactly was this Lord Raven and what was he lord of? Why did he want the amulet? How would he deal with the mercenaries that had beaten him up if there was conflict while looking for the amulet? Why did Raven seem so concerned about Terthland’s leadership? Why did Raven jokingly say that he would save the world, and was he really joking?
There were many strange things that happened the previous day, and he couldn’t quite name them all. But one thing that he couldn’t argue with was the results. He now had something he had always wanted—an adventure, a goal, a thrill to make life worth living. And more so, he had money. Just like his father had always said, ‘Money may not buy happiness, but it does buy you the freedom to do what you want.’
All I had to do was be bold to make a little coin, Arovehar reflected again. It was an interesting lesson. Despite all the advanced social interactions humans have, still the most effective way to earn respect is to bang loudly on a drum, or in his case, lie and be assertive. It seemed primitive to Arovehar, but it’s the way the world works. He shrugged to himself to dismiss any more philosophical questions lest the world suffer for his interpretations.
He once again found himself venturing alongside the Plyith River. It was beautiful—a portrait of nature’s grandeur. Contrasting clouds from the north were beginning to make their way into the sky promising rain, and as the downpour gradually started, Arovehar launched into a run and continued until the city was in sight.
Wooden and tall the city of Tremblingwater stood, it sat on the lake defying the water with but one entrance, and that being a wide wooden bridge that doubled as a dock. Arovehar slowed as he approached the entrance and was hailed by a guard, dwarvern by the look of his beard and stature, standing at a proud five feet with arms thicker than Arovehar’s waist.
“Hail stranger, and welcome to Tremblingwater.” The guard greeted in a harsh dwarvern accent. And Tremblingwater it was, grand in its own right. Long wide balconies and decks were everywhere, and the city lights were bright as they reflected in the water. The city was one of the few above-ground towns populous with dwarves, adding to its strange presence. Never before had Arovehar felt like such a foreigner.
“Thanks,” he paused and looked onward. “Do you need to know my business before I enter?”
“What fer? I not be guarding this city to be nosey.” The dwarf replied, and Arovehar found that it was irrefutable logic. If you have a nosey gatekeeper then your city is bound to get little business.
“Indeed! Then perhaps you would be keen enough to point me to the nearest and cheapest tavern?” He craved a good drink after his travels, and he would have to find a bed to spend the night in.
“I like the way you think,” The dwarvern guard smiled approvingly, “That would be Ol’ Grin’s The Crummy Plunder.” The dwarf glanced over his shoulder, “Aha! My relief is here!” He gestured to an approaching guardsman, “’Bout time you showed up! You’re overdue by a half hour!”
The newly arrived human guard was dressed in chain and bearing a halberd. He looked down at the dwarf with a familiar smile. “I’m late, am I?” He asked through a scruffy beard. He examined the dwarf’s post and laid eye on two empty tankards. “Looks like you’ve been drinking.”
“Aye laddie, but I’ll make a deal with ye. Don’t tell the captain that I’ve been drinking, and I won’t tell him that you’ve been slacking.”
“Come now dwarf, I’m only a little late. That’s hardly a fair deal. You know the captain has explicit orders about not drinking on the job.”
“And ye know that those orders mean nothing to a dwarf—especially not one of my stature! Two pints is hardly enough to intoxicate me! It just helps to clear me head!” Arovehar could sympathize with the dwarf. He too found that he performed better in most areas of life with a bit of alcohol to relax his system. The trick was not to go overboard and get shitfaced; it was a delicate balancing act that Arovehar was far from perfecting, but it didn’t stop him from trying. His ancestors were from Cormick—a place known for its fine whisky and rosy girls. He’d not be the one to disown his heritage.
The guardsman smiled again. “I wonder if the captain would see it the same way?”
A wave of anger overcame the dwarf and he walked two steps closer to the guardsman. “How ‘bout this? You tell the captain that I did a fantastic job tonight and I won’t have to tell him about how a bunch of vagabonds broke every bone in your body before I could save your scrawny arse!”
The human lost his phony grin and took a step back. “I’s only joking. You know I’d never nark on you. We’re friends, see? Friends.”
The dwarf smiled. “Then we have an understanding. You mind yer business and I’ll mind me own, and so long as we both do our job well, no one else need know our little vices.” The guardsman nodded at the dwarf’s words and clumsily sat down at the post.
The dwarf stepped away from his station and grinned up at Arovehar. “Looks like my shift is finally over with, would you mind if I join you for a drink or three? I could do with some entertaining companionship while I wait on a friend o’ mine.”
“Glad for the company,” Arovehar said wholeheartedly, and together they walked through the floating city. The streets were full of shady characters smoking unfamiliar tobacco and the occasional drunk staggering home—not a sight altogether foreign, but there were little ticks that revealed subtle differences in the cultures. The people there were a little louder—more uncouth. They looked wealthier, yet less flamboyant than his hometown. Gruff and practical.
Perhaps the local dwarvern traders had rubbed off on the city.
Arove was a bit of a loner at heart, all the same his spirits were lifted at being in a city again, and when the two approached The Crummy Plunder his mouth was watering for whisky. The dwarf opened the tavern door and an impressive cloud of smoke rushed out. Shouting and laughter erupted with every other word, and the call for wenches to refill mugs was commonplace. It was a lively and rowdy tavern that obviously wasn’t unfamiliar with the occasional tavern-brawl: The waitresses were scantily clad, the innkeeper had a healthy beer-belly, the patrons were unruly, and the ale flowed quickly from great wooden kegs.
Arovehar’s dwarvern companion pointed over at a small empty table in the corner saying, “A friend of mine I’ll be meeting us here in a bit.”
Arovehar nodded contentedly and sat down beside the dwarf. When the barmaid came around the dwarf ordered mutton and a flagon of ale, Arovehar had himself a mug of whisky half-full and sugar-water for the downtime in-between swigs.
As they sat and attended their drinks, he studied his dwarvern companion. A dwarf was a sight to behold for the unaccustomed eye. His nose was quite large and his shoulders were very broad. His eyes were black as coal and his beard stretched down to his barrel-like waist. His chain shirt was busting around the arms where massive muscles bulged, and his eyebrows were dark and bushy. The average dwarf was said to weigh in at around two hundred and fifty pounds, and this dwarf looked every ounce of it. Aside from their physical prowess, dwarves were said to have some of the greatest tactical and mechanical minds in the world. He recalled some wisdom from an old history book. In every culture in every country in the world one custom holds true: Dwarves are not a race to be meddled with. They value practicality and functionality over everything else. Prove your worth and they’ll treat you well. Act the fool and you’ll be treated like one.
The dwarf caught Arovehar looking him over and gave a snort of laughter, “You’ve hardly ever seen a dwarf before ‘ave you?”
“Unfortunately not. In my hometown a dwarf is a most rare sight I’ve only seen distant traders passing by on the road.”
“You find me to be an impressive sight do ye?” The dwarf said and gave Arovehar a playful nudge. “Can’t say I’d say the same for you! You look as though you’ve been beat as bad as an elf brawler! There must be a story to tell behind that!”
He laughed at the imagery, “There is indeed! I met some mercenaries along the road and they took issue with me having coin. We quarreled, and they won, although I might add I was rather surrounded.”
“Ah! Those bastards! Always looking to take an honest man’s coin! How many were there?”
“Four.”
“Only? If I’d been with you I’d ‘ave shown them a thing or two about fightin’!” The dwarf roared and downed another mug of ale, “Listen, lad, what were you doin’ on the road anyhow? You some kind of adventurer? A landless drifter?”
“I am.”
“So what do ye do then? Travel around being worthless contributing as little as possible to society?” The dwarf said with a snort and a laugh while he shoved as much mutton as possible into his mouth. Dwarves have little use for those they perceive to be of no value, Arovehar realized. He decided to take issue with the dwarf’s assessment of his current vocation.
“Hardly. I would argue that the job of exploring the unknown is one of the most valuable assets to any intelligent race. We are the groundwork of progress and expansion. If society no longer has the explorers and adventurers; society no longer has much progress, if you take my meaning.”
“Aye, no need to be defensive!” The dwarf said and slammed his ale onto the table, “I take your meaning! And how’s it working out for you, lad? Not too well I’d imagine. Hard work adventuring is.”
“Ah, but it is working for me.” Arovehar said proudly, “Already I have a job to retrieve an artifact from the Plyith Mountains.”
“Jore’s Beard!” The dwarf exclaimed choking on a swig of ale, “You’re headed to the Plyith Mountains!” Arovehar found the dwarf’s surprise rather curious. What was so strange about heading into the Plyith Mountains? Sure, they were cold and bitter, but how bad could it be?
“That’s my plan, after I stock up on supplies here,” He explained.
“What madness would drive you to those treacherous mountains? We dwarves have a hard enough time traveling through there with our hidden routes and iron ships; it’d be madness for a lone human to try to brave the Plyith’s perilous peaks!”
“I’m going there to search for an old artifact. A man by the name of Lord Raven has hired me to find an Elden amulet that may lie on the summit of Mt. Plyith.”
The dwarf paused for a moment as he considered this. “Then I hope he’s paying you well! I tell you, these civilized years have not been kind in the Plyith Mountains. Ample goblins and beasts reside there from lack of place to go. Those mountains be some of the more barbaric parts of the world.”
“Then it sounds like an explorer’s kind of place. Besides, the pay is decent enough for a man with my lack of coin.”
“Good, good. Have you been an adventurer for long then?”
“Not officially… but I’ve always had an adventurous spirit.”
“Aye, that’s a bug that strikes a select few it is. Speaking of which, my friend that I’ll be joining us in a bit is a mercenary of sorts, he’s an ol’ friend of mine, not too friendly mind, but good with his axe. As far as I know he’s currently out of a job, and you might be wise to consider hiring him. As I mentioned earlier, the Plyith Mountains are not the most hospitable of places—a scrawny fellow like you could do with some help.”
“So you’ve said,” Arovehar said doubtfully, in his experience people would say all kinds of outrageous things just to make good conversation. He wasn’t at all sure if there were really any dangerous beasts in the mountains. But he was curious about the dwarf’s friend. “What type of man is this friend of yours?”
“Eh? Oh, he’s not a man. He’s not a dwarf either, he’s a Goriel he is.”
“A Goriel? Sounds familiar…. “
“Aye, it should sound more than familiar if you’d ever heard anything about the Mainland’s history! Wizard experiments? The Magician Wars? Bear-men? Ring a bell?”
“Enlighten me?” Arovehar asked. He was sure he had heard of the Goriels before, some sort of monster-man wizard experiment that happened hundreds of years ago, but he wasn’t about to pass up a firsthand description.
“Aye! Lassie! Another drink!” The dwarf hollered. “And actually fill the mug this time! I’ve got a story to tell!” The barmaid looked at the dwarf with mild disgust, but she made sure to fill the mug to the brim this time. “Now then,” the dwarf said taking a long swig of ale, “A Goriel! They’re right beast’s they are! Like bears… bears that’ve been made clever, and been given a slightly more civilized form… they still’ve got claws see, but hands as well. And they’re large, oh aye, large… but cunning when they’ve got to be. Come from the eastern parts of the Mainland I believe. Creatures. Monsters. Savages, but smart savages. You see what I mean?”
“Why yes—I believe I do.” Arovehar said, for standing before the table was such a creature. It had arrived surprisingly quietly for a large specimen.
Arovehar examined it. Its hind legs were suitable for upright walking, and it had a tail that was full and long, the hands looked almost human-like with dark claws attached and an extra claw or horn here and there, the creature’s fur was rough and full, though it seemed as though some spots where thin and covered in thick scales instead. Horns protruded from the creatures head and an extra claw grew near its hands. The face was hard to describe. It looked almost bear-like, but the eyes were intelligent and the overall features just seemed so… powerful and smart. The name was truly fitting: Goriel, or ‘mighty and clever’ as it meant in the Hasbren tongue.
Arovehar couldn’t help but stare at the creature. It was massive. Near seven feet tall if Arovehar had to guess. Upon its back it bore a large double-bladed ax and on its body it wore a special kind of scale-mail. The creature stared back at Arovehar.
“Ave’ you got a death wish laddie?! You don’t stare at a Goriel! They don’t like it!” The dwarf warned quickly.
Arovehar immediately averted his eyes. He sure didn’t want to pick a fight with such a creature. Then the dwarf laughed and stood up from the booth to clasp hands with the Goriel. “It’s good to see you friend!” The dwarf said smiling, “Have some ale with us!”
“Who’s the man?” The beast asked. Its voice was deep and forbidding.
“A friend! And maybe even an ally! He certainly likes his whisky well enough anyway, and that’s good enough for me!” The beast looked down at Arovehar doubtfully. The dwarf sought to reassure him. “I swear he means us no harm friend. In fact he’s an adventurer, rather like yourself.”
“Is that right?” The beast said and sat down beside the dwarf. Arovehar noticed the bench groan under the monsters weight.
“That’s right.” Arovehar confirmed, “I’m just a new adventurer on an artifact hunt.”
“Hmmm…. Well you smell of deception. Don’t try to deceive me.” The beast warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Arovehar said somewhat truthfully. He didn’t want to get on the bad side of a monster.
“Bah! Enough of this doomy mistrust! Bite! Have an ale!” The dwarf commanded, and then yelled at the serving lady to get three more flagons.
“So, your name is Bite?” Arovehar asked the monster.
“Correct. And what are you called, human?”
“Arovehar.”
“Well, Arovehar, who have you been lying to recently? My dwarvern friend? Or was it someone else?”
“Excuse me?”
“My nose doesn’t sit upon my face just to make me look pretty. I can smell deception. Among many other things. And you reek of it.”
If Bite was telling the truth, then the only lie Arovehar had told recently was to his employer, and I only did that for everyone’s benefit… Lord Raven gets his artifact, I get paid, everyone’s happy. It was mutually beneficial lie, although I doubt as if the monster would see it the same way.
“Is it a problem?” Arovehar asked, deciding that it was best to be defensive with his information.
The beast considered Arovehar for a moment. “No, it’s not a problem. Deception can be a very useful tool to use against an enemy. I just want to make sure you’re not taking advantage of my friend here.”
Arovehar relaxed, “Then have no worries. I make a policy of only lying to employers, politicians and nobles. It would take an exceptional circumstance to lie to family or friends, and I’m beginning to consider this dwarf as my friend.”
“Then you’re a wise man.” Bite said and held out his hand. Arovehar took it and they greeted each other properly. “Anyone that would lie to a friend is witless.” The dwarf downed another ale and looked at them curiously.
“You two getting along then? Good! It’s always good to have friends! Lady! What’s the problem?! There an ale famine?! Get me another!” Roared the dwarf, and then he continued to Bite in a more sober tone, “So tell me, how has life in the city been treating you Bite? You ready for your next adventure yet, or ave’ you finally decided to settle down?”
Bite looked up at his friend knowingly, “You know me, I’ll never settle down. Been on the move ever since I was created, I’m not about to stop now.”
“I thought as much! Then your plans are still to travel up north?”
“Yes. As much as I’ve appreciated our time together, I do have a job to do, and all evidence from my investigation points towards the Plyith Mountains. I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Well then! You’re in luck Arovehar!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems to me that you two should travel together! You’re both headed in the same direction, you both seem to get along well enough, and you could keep each other safe from bandits and the like.”
“You mean he could keep me safe from bandits.” Arovehar said. He doubted as though anyone in their right mind would try to mug the massive creature sitting across from him.
“Bah!” The dwarf said and waved his hand in dismissal. “That doesn’t change my point. You’d both stand to gain by working together. Bite could use the company, because despite whatever he may tell you, he needs companionship just like anyone else.”
