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It was a warm starlit night in Thernwille, and the Generous Cow was full of the village's rabble. So it took a while for the old man to be heard and a while longer for my attention to shift from the barmaid to his narrative.
See, I was young then and took little heed to stories of Old, I was more concerned with Tomorrow than Yesterday, if you catch my drift. In any case, Edwald "Graymane" was really outdoing himself while setting the atmosphere for his tale...
"...And a cool, calm breeze was caressing Mother Earth's bosoms while the rain that fell upon Her kissed them gently. So it was a night much like tonight that the tale of the 9 Crescents of the Moon began. The Dreadnaught, known then simply and by few as Edwin Vanderohe, was unaware of the trail he was a-traveling and so paid no heed to the name of the tavern that he chose to call home for the night.
But, perhaps he should have...
For names hold great power and the tavern was aptly named, Destiny's Crossroads.
Young Edwin instinctively noted the placing of the tables and assessed every patron deftly yet
diligently. This habit he picked up during his army tenure, along with his ornate plate armor. His right hand stayed near his pocket and his great axe while his left rested on the bar.
"What's it gonna be, stranger?", the dwarf said cheerfully although his eyes betrayed a seasoned fighter of the stout folk.
"Beer, though not the piss my kinsfolk drink. Get me some of your own staff"
This further intrigued the locals, for Edwin was short enough to be considered a tall dwarf, and his wide shoulders added to that impression. Still, his formidable physique and controlled movements made people weary of him and made them thought that maybe, just maybe, this Edwin lad could handle a couple of them dwarven ales they never could quite stomach."
This last comment was met with a series of challenges to the Cow's owner, another dwarf, to hit them with his strongest ale and undo the shaming of their kinsmen. After the serving, of which Edwald benefited greatly, he began anew, his raspy voice now captivating all in his audience.
See, I was young then and took little heed to stories of Old, I was more concerned with Tomorrow than Yesterday, if you catch my drift. In any case, Edwald "Graymane" was really outdoing himself while setting the atmosphere for his tale...
"...And a cool, calm breeze was caressing Mother Earth's bosoms while the rain that fell upon Her kissed them gently. So it was a night much like tonight that the tale of the 9 Crescents of the Moon began. The Dreadnaught, known then simply and by few as Edwin Vanderohe, was unaware of the trail he was a-traveling and so paid no heed to the name of the tavern that he chose to call home for the night.
But, perhaps he should have...
For names hold great power and the tavern was aptly named, Destiny's Crossroads.
Young Edwin instinctively noted the placing of the tables and assessed every patron deftly yet
diligently. This habit he picked up during his army tenure, along with his ornate plate armor. His right hand stayed near his pocket and his great axe while his left rested on the bar.
"What's it gonna be, stranger?", the dwarf said cheerfully although his eyes betrayed a seasoned fighter of the stout folk.
"Beer, though not the piss my kinsfolk drink. Get me some of your own staff"
This further intrigued the locals, for Edwin was short enough to be considered a tall dwarf, and his wide shoulders added to that impression. Still, his formidable physique and controlled movements made people weary of him and made them thought that maybe, just maybe, this Edwin lad could handle a couple of them dwarven ales they never could quite stomach."
This last comment was met with a series of challenges to the Cow's owner, another dwarf, to hit them with his strongest ale and undo the shaming of their kinsmen. After the serving, of which Edwald benefited greatly, he began anew, his raspy voice now captivating all in his audience.
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