Bartt's Tale

[sinaedh]

Here will begin what I hope to continue. I've been influenced lately by re-reading old favorites by Dick Francis (would that I could write as well) and new favorites by J. D. Robb (or Nora Roberts, to my chagrin). Bartt wasn't known by many, he came on the field late, and was always an alt in terms of gameplay, but in terms of story... well, he always had promise.

[sinaedh]

I didn’t know what to expect when I finally made it to Ludlow. I only knew that I’d been travelling for days, guided by the assistance of locals, who pointed and said Ludlow was that way, or this way, or down the glen. After a series of that ways, this ways and down the glens, I finally trudged into the town.

The eyes of the locals there were uncurious, for the most part. Ludlow was big doings in this part of the Black Mountains. An actual town, with 4 buildings. A healer, ready to help those in need. A smith, banging on the anvil, repairing armor or weapons, or making horseshoes for the stableman. And a tavern. The sign swung gently, inviting. I answered the invitation.

Who’d have thought that the star attraction in a tavern was a dancing stone-critter? Ah well, live and learn, my Mam always said. She’d done a lot of living by that time, and a lot of learning (some of which she credited to me, I’d wager). I sidestepped the knee-high animated rock, thanking my lucky stars that I’d spent some of the little gold I had on sturdy boots, just in case of pebble fall-out (or fall down), and walked to the bar. “How much for a room?”

The barkeep, surrounded already by a few seedy looking fellows holding bows and weapons, squinted at me. “Room an’ a meal’s 5 silver a night.”

I did my best not to blink. I hoped to ride to the big city the next day, and I knew already that the stablemaster was going to charge me 5 silver for that pleasure on one of his lesser animals. I had two gold left in my pouch. 10 silver may not sound like a lot to a lord or lady, but to me… well, let’s just say I hesitated.

The barkeep was no slouch. He knew a bumpkin when he saw one. “I’ll throw in dinner and breakfast, all ye c’n eat, fer th’ five.”
“Room o’ my own?” I asked. After all, I wasn’t keen on finding my meager possessions rifled.

“Aye. Dinner by th’ fire, an’ breakfast as well.” He peered at me. “Otherwise I’ll have t’ ask ye to move along. I’ve got other patrons, ye ken.”

I glanced at the fellow with the bow, who I later learned was named Guy Reed. He shrugged. “It’s a fair deal,” he suggested.

“All right.” I fished out the coins and plopped them on the bartop.

“Another three an’ I’ll throw in an ale,” the barkeep winked.

“Bah.” What good was dinner without ale? So down plunked three more silver. My inheritance, such as it was, was fast dwindling. But there would be better times ahead, I was sure of it. I grabbed the foamy mug and found myself a table, as far away from the dancing rock as I could get.

[sinaedh]

All night long that damn rock danced. Who’d have thought? But the locals seemed impressed, and since I wasn’t any great shakes to them, they pretty much ignored me. The dinner was stew, edible enough, and a local lady returned a few of my smiles and winks. But I spent the night alone in my bed. Thankfully, no bugs nor other critters I hadn’t invited were there to share.

The morning sun rose bright but late as it had to make its way over the high hills to the east. I tugged on boots, bracers, armor and stuffed my helm in my pack and clunked down the stairs, having made certain my two most important possessions were secure and strapped to my belt. They were long sharp blades that I’d paid good money for. I’d even trained with a blacksmith to make certain I could keep them in good repair. They were also the object of interest when I took a seat in the common room with my bowl of porridge. A lanky man stood near the bar, wringing his hands. “Those cutpurses have been at it again,” he wailed, loud enough I could hear him over the stomping of the dancing boulder. Didn’t that thing ever stop? “Oh, I’d pay well for a brave adventurer to return my crate of iron bars.”

I’ll admit, that caught my attention, just as he intended. “Iron bars? Them thieves are taking metal?”

“Aye, sir.” He made no reference to my mutter that I wasn’t any ‘sir’. “Guard Algor is hiring any he can find to hunt the cutpurses and other thieves that are hiding in the hills. The problem is there aren’t that many willing to risk the fight.” He wrung his hands together again. “I am no warrior. But I’d pay one well.”

“Just how well are we talking?” I asked. There wasn’t any shame in it. If I was going to risk life and limb, I wanted to know the payback. Guards had a bad habit of expecting young fools like me to run here and there, delivering messages that meant little or nothing and pretending it was all important for the survival of the realm, then paying a pittance. I’d had enough of that. I was here for fame and fortune. Truthfully, the fame I could live without, but the fortune was important.

“Oh, I’d be pleased to offer…,” his eyes squinted just a bit as he looked me up and down. “Twenty five silver. Of course, any trinkets a person would find while killing the thieves would be considered part of the reward. And there might be a few of those sorts of things. The bandits have been here a long time. Guard Algor can’t call men to help from the Frontiers with all those barbarians attacking.”

I finished my porridge, rose and carried the bowl to the bar to save the serving lass the trouble. A swig of ale and the empty mug was placed there as well. “I’m yer man,” I said, sticking out my hand to seal the bargain. Twenty five silver wasn’t all that much, but it was twenty five more than I had. “I’ll bring back yer goods and reduce the population of grifters a bit.”

He shook my hand firmly. “They haunt the hills up to the east, both north and south. I’m not sure which band has my crate.”

“I’ll find it,” I said firmly. I meant it, just then. But I have a long history of saying things and wishing I hadn’t later. Some folks never learn.

[sinaedh]

You know, the locals never tell you about the bad things that lurk around them usually. Oh sure, things like bandits here or there, or taxes, or contingents of guards eating them out of hearth and home. But not a whisper about the bad things. So the undead critters just outside of town were a surprise to me. Really, who expects to walk out of an inn, turn left, and walk straight into a hair-raising accumulation of ghouls, creeping dead things, and otherwise nasty critters? Well, I sure didn’t.

Fortunately, my blades and reflexes were up to the task. After slicing bits of gruesome rotting flesh and bone from ten or twenty of the things, I finally made my way out of the field they were calling home. And in doing so, I walked smack-dab into a camp of lowlife thieves. Most of them weren’t much good at fighting. No doubt they honed their skills in scaring townsfolk or jumping out from behind trees in the dark. But there were a lot of them. For each one I put down, it seemed to me three or four ran in from the tents they’d set up on the hill. Brazen, I’ll give ‘em that. The townsfolk and guards must have known exactly where they were, but none of them had bothered to wipe the thieving blight from the landscape, so they’d taken to walking with chips on their shoulders. I sliced a few of those off too.

I was so busy with my swords I had no chance to investigate the tents or crates that were nearby to see if I could find the iron bars that I’d promised to return. Panting, running low on strength, I took a moment to wipe sweat from my brow. That moment was all the cutpurses surrounding me needed. They swarmed, shrieking with glee. Well, I sliced and diced as best as I could, but to be honest, in this case skill didn’t matter. There were just too many of them.

[sinaedh]

I woke up with a knot on the side of my head bigger than the fancy jar that merchant Pew in Ludlow had asked me to retrieve from the bandits atop the hill. He'd caught me the night before as I went up the stair to my room. “Just climb to the north, “ he’d said. “You’ll see the camp. Get my jar back for me, and I’ll be grateful, you’ll see.”

Well, I’d need to get the twine off my wrists and the stinky rag off my eyes, to say nothing of sneaking out of the flea-bitten length of canvas these thieves were calling a tent. I could hear one outside, scuffling his boots every once in a while. I didn’t know if he was doing it to stay awake or just because he had to take a leak. Frankly, I didn’t care. Wriggling as quietly as I could, I tested the rope that bound me. Fortunately for me, the bandits didn’t spend any more on rope than they did on tents. It took a while, and cost me some skin on my wrists, but eventually I pulled and grit my teeth and squirmed enough to tug one hand free, then pull both in front of me to strip off the blindfold and relieve myself of the bindings.

Of course, stupid as they might be, not even these bandits were stupid enough to leave my weapons lying around. One more thing I’ll have to replace, I thought resignedly. Still, they hadn’t killed me, for which I was grateful, if a bit bemused by. But never one to waste time on thinking too much, I hunkered down by the back of the tent, closed my eyes and listened.

A bit of time went by, and all I’d heard was the shuffling of the fellow out front. With a shake of my head and a prayer to whatever higher power would listen, I rolled out under the tent wall, glanced around quickly, then rose to my feet and sprinted for the closest trees I could see.