The Borrog Warriors

The High Priest Journey Begins
Cleric: Intro To Farzwell Hopper

Chapter One

Sitting on a smooth stone up on the mountain watching the loggers cut down pine trees for the new path into the caves, of which was founded a few months back by children playing in the country side and by accident. Farzwell Hopper realizes it’s time to get off his keister and do something. The ice cold winter blistering his lips, chafing his cheeks, Farzwell grips himself against the cold and boldly stands up to face his fears. Whom shall I fear he says to himself. I have my Lord. They run around as busy bodies, exploring a thing unknown. What is it that they think will be found in such a cave? Why so much work when there are families to be tended too? Doesn’t anyone care about the lives of the townspeople? No. I suppose not. It’s up to me as usual to take charge of such matters. That’s the problem with today’s world, Farzwell tells himself. All busy bodies and no time to tend to the needs of the town folk. As my Lord as my witness, I promise these folk in need will not endure the same fate as the greedy, the miners, the guards, or the wizards involved in such a foolish project. They are quite unaware of what evil lurks in that cave system. I know there are unspeakable things that lurk in there. I been to that cave before. They are not even aware if anything of value is in there worth mining. Xangretor always was good at marketing such projects and usually has the resources to back up his gambling efforts.
No, altered dungeons, stirring up things of evil nature, and finding the perfect hero to rectify such problems just isn’t in my future, Farzwell says to himself.
“Hey Cleric!” comes a sudden boast from a few yards away.
“Where you going?” Xangretor was growing impatient.
Xangretor Urthadar is a person with a deep, rough and authoritative voice, also a well known citizen and one not to be messed with. For all his years he has been known as a hard worker, the town drunkard, a common trickster, and one to always brag in his hunting expeditions into the mountains. Expeditions that most of the time take months. A very mysterious individual who has no time for people unless they are interested in hearing about his accomplishments. He is a tall and muscular individual with brown eyes that stare at you like two pieces of coal. Xangretor wears leather armor usually and carries a sword of which glistens gold like the sun itself, but only to the pure of heart. It has the symbol of a sun as the pommel, with a round red ruby cast into the center. The grip is bound with reddish brown leather. It is a wide blade with razor sharp edges on both sides. In the center of the blade is three oval shaped red rubies. The final red ruby resides in the center of the guard. When wielded in his rage of battle the sword becomes so bright it blinds the enemy. The effect doesn’t last long, but long enough to either get away from a foe, or put the foe off balance to strike a critical blow. Xangretor is oblivious to this trait however. He just knows that when his rage reaches a certain level in battle, that weird things happen to his foe. Some say he has possession of a sword that wields much more power than Xangretor has yet discovered. However, the towns people already view him as a reckless and dangerous character, and offer no help in researching just what the blade may hold in hidden secrets. One thing is for sure, no one talks to him about how to some, it glows gold. It is a blade he obtained while out on a hunt when he was twenty years of age. He absolutely refuses to tell the story of how he obtained it, only that he found it by the lake on the west side of the mountain. There is one who knows of this blade that lives in town, one who knows of it’s great power and it’s name.
“Well somebody has to tend to them animals, prepare the food, wash the dishes, finish up the chores, and tuck the kids into bed” Farzwell replies sharply, stiffening his lip as he senses a strong ridicule coming about.
“Yeah Cleric?”
“I suppose you might be right.” Xangretor lets out in a sarcastic tone.
“Hey fellas! Farzwell here feels the need to leave us up here all night on this cold mountain while he sits in your homes by the fire and tends to your family. What ya think about that boys?”
“Ah leave him alone Xangretor! A crew member cries out. He means well enough. He’s a cleric for peat sakes.” Xangretor never was one to let a good opportunity go to waste when it came to the short-comings of others. He loved to throw around men like Farzwell, to build his ego, and this was no exception to one of those times.
“Ok Farzwell, be on your way then. I should hope you don’t get a case of hypothermia on the way. Sarcasm is one Xangretor’s favorite tools. “Here, take Owzells trappings to help you keep warm on the way down. He’s not going to need them anymore. Avalanche of rocks over on the north side last night. Poor guy never seen it coming. That’s the way it goes up here Cleric, one minute your here, next minute your not.” Farzwell knew very well what Xangretor was really trying to say. All the more reason to take care of what Farzwell sees as being the most important thing that needs tending to, the town.
“Ah go ahead Cleric, leave us be, we don’t need you up here anyhow. Ya didn’t even know Owzells was dead, did ya?” Xangretor loved to challenge men whom he seen as slackers in their job.
“Just exactly what kind of Cleric are you Farzwell?” This surely got the blood of an Uldra like Farzwell boiling inside.
“Xangretor, you are one that never appreciates anything until the time comes when you need to use it most. I expect just a little more respect from you my hunter friend, because you never know what you may find in that cave when the time comes, and whom will you need by your side then?” Just as soon as Farzwell finished his sentence, a strong whiteout zips the mountain side between Farzwell and Xangretor, cutting off all communication between the logging parties, Xangretor, and Farzwell. Whiteouts are not so common in this particular Frostfell Region and Farzwell knew it. A chilling wind blast that can freeze a man in his tracks within seconds if not protected by some spell or another. With a wild wind of such treachery, this sent Farzwell running toward his Tlalusk, to climb upon the animal’s back and descend down the mountain to the town. It would be dark soon and that is the best time to travel this mountain on the back of a Tlalusk.
Tlalusks, Farzwell thought to himself. Now here is a strange beast to be riding on. A beast with darkvision, immune to cold climates, resistant to spells, yet vulnerable to fire. This particular Tlalusk is nearly the size of an elephant, due mostly because it is young. With long white fur, a six legged creature with huge horns on it’s head like that of a ram, but twice the size. Tusks protrude from under its nostrils, almost appearing as if they were coming out of its mouth, with sharp points at the tips to defend itself from frontal attack. Yet, as ferocious as they look, they possess such a friendly and helping personality. Something Farzwell could very well relate to, as Farzwell himself was kind of beastly looking and yet soft on the inside. You see, Farzwell was known as a Uldra. A race that is known for protecting and loving wild life very much. The skin ranges from a light blue to a snow white depending on where they were raised. Farzwell is more of a blueish hue. With his eyes lighting up in the dark as if a light was shining into them, making them a glowing bright greenish color. His ears are that of an elf, tall yet pointy. His hands have three fingers and a thumb. Farzwell is most common to the size of a halfling and just as intelligent to use his environment against an enemy. Quick to think where to hide and excellent at ambushing his foe exactly at the right moment. Most Uldra are fighters by trade, but not Farzwell. No, he took up the arts of the Cleric when he was just a boy. But that is a story for another day.

After a half days journey down the mountain, Farzwell finally arrives in Jericore. A small town where everyone knows everybody and a people who are quite suspicious of outsiders.
“Excuse me sir, but could you help me?” says a dark raspy voice from the dark alley Farzwell just passed in walking, for Tlalusks were to be left in stables just outside of town due to their size.
“My horse here was bitten by a hound of some sort. One I’ve never seen before. As nearly as tall as a Timber wolf, dark and black as coal. Red eyes in the midnight hours it had, foam and saliva dripping from it’s mouth like a slow moving stream. I fear the animal was infected with something as my horse is not acting itself. I haven’t that much money or resoudrces for my journey and I must make it across this land to complete the mission my King has sent me on.”

“Cruril Urthadar is the name, sorry for not introducing myself.”
Farzwell was a bit startled by the man. Not so usual for such a harsh looking human being to be standing in an alley, with a horse. Quite suspicious indeed, Farzwell thought to himself. Cruril was wearing clothing that is exuberant to royalty. You could tell by the accent that he was from the area near to the King of the land. It wasn’t unheard of either for the King to send someone from time to time just for the sole purpose to remind the town that this place is still under his rule. It is also not unheard of, the outward lying civilizations to rebel at times when the King had not made such towns and villages feel his presence and authority. Farzwell understood the King’s position on the matter, and he also understood that every ruler appointed was made so by the will of his God. A loving God that allowed everyone access to eternal life in Heaven.
“Well I suppose I could have a look at that horse for you.” Farzwell replies in a helpful manner. This sort of thing just happened to be Farzwell’s specialty. Healing was a gift from his God and he loved to use his God given talents in order to honor and glorify his God. As Farzwell walks up to the horse he notices a similar facial trait of Xangretor on Cruril. “You kin to Xangretor Urthadar?”
“Yup, my brother he is.” Replies Cruril. “A bold rebel Xangretor was in his youth. Why he was singing in a windswept monastery last time I seen him, nearly fifteen years ago. He left our village the day his horse was drained of blood by an evil ethereal mist. With the help of a bitter seer, he gave up a cherished item in order to save our tribe from that vile creature. That cherished item, his wife. One battle I will never forget mind you.” Cruril loved to tell of great battles, or at times he was known to even sing about them.
“You know of him do ya?” Asks Cruril.
“Sure do.” Farzwell says. “He is up on that mountain right there logging a new path, along with all the other human men in this town.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see him in the morning, it’s a bit late now to travel up there and besides, my horse and I are exhausted from today’s journey.”
“Just as well.” Farzwell says. “I’d love to hear more about this battle of your brothers, if you don’t mind that is.”
“I would be delighted to share such an event over a warm cup of glazed dragon’s blood.” This surely caught the attention of Farzwell, as most humans don’t ask for such a treat. Only the Uldra novel over this particular concoction. But it didn’t matter much to Farzwell, he knew exactly where to go and get the best Dracooma in town, for Dracooma is what the Uldra named this delightful beverage.
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Chapter Two
Up on the mountain where Xangretor Urthadar and his working crew are feverishly chopping away tree by tree, through the whiteout to the south, and into the night. The smell of fresh cut pine filled the air even though there was a whiteout whipping the wind like a bull whip to the south. Xangretor then notices a problem. The southwest crew made an irreproachable west side to the caves. Xangretor had to move his riding horse into position, a horse white as snow and answers to the name, Everash. A gorgeous steed that is very well taken care of. In some cases, better care than what some of the crew have received. Xangretor had a stable built just for this horse alone outside the Captain’s quarters standing two stories tall of the best pine in the area, located in the center of the clearing project. The home where Xangretor now resides to see his project through.
“What are you thinking?”
“You can’t block this side here. We need it open as it is the only way to get the miners back to the cabins being built lower down on the mountain!”
“Arrrrrgh! Every one of you stop what you are doing right now!”
“But we were told to put those here because of the whiteouts approaching from the south side.” Replies some of the group.
“By who’s authority gave you permission to move the logs up the mountain instead of down it?”
“That doesn’t even make any since. Wasn’t it harder to go up than down?” Asks Xangretor
“Well we didn’t think anything of it. We were not wanting to get inside those whiteout storms. Besides, Farzwell knows this area well and we trust his instincts.”
“Farzwell!” “Farzwell?”
“Is that who told you to do this?” You could see the red in Xangretor’s face start to rise.
“Yes, two days ago. We figured that if he was wrong, you would have stopped by and corrected us. So we kept on working.”
“Look! You just get those logs off that path up there and down to this south end. I don’t care how bad the weather is, whiteouts or not. I want that done by the morning, you hear me?”
“Alright Captain. Your will be done.”
Now, it already had taken the working crew on this end two days to stack up the logs on the mountain, and they all knew it was a ridiculous order to have the work done by the morning. Never the less, they all knew it had to be done or it was the Administration of Justice they would ultimately have to answer to. Everyone knew the ties that Xangretor had there. Which is the one thing that most folk were afraid of in him the most. There was the time when the Mayor didn’t show up to his invite for dinner. That resulted in the Mayor being thrown out of town. There was the incident with the blacksmith and the chickens. Poor ol’ blacksmith, how was he to know that Xangretor would be walking into the stable at the exact moment Juantisha, the blacksmith’s favorite chicken, would decide to relieve herself from above on the rafter, just exactly at the right time when Xangretor was walking in for a new pair of shoes to put on his horse. Yup, Mr. Blacksmith never worked in the town again. There is always the one calamity nobody has ever forgiven Xangretor for. The annual hunt competition three years back when the King’s Champion showed up to enter. This grew Xangretor’s ego to a whole new level. Some say to this day he had that buck tied up to a tree so as to make it out like it was an easy and quick kill. Fifteen minutes Xangretor had that kill into the town and hung up as the grand champion of all the region. Everyone doubts the King will ever send someone from the castle back this way, and the town thinks that is exactly what Xangretor is hoping for. Who knows what he is up to, but rest be assured, he is up to no good somehow.
Xangretor now set at the edge of the pine wood forest on the east side. He was marveling at how smooth things are going with the acception of things on the southwest side. What a marvel this will be when the King calls upon this town again. Thinking of the great things he would be responsible for when it came time to mine the new caves. The glory he would get, the praise from royalty, the respect he thought so righteously he deserved from the towns folk. The King would be rich, himself would be rich, maybe even made Baron or even better, given a Lordship over the region. These are the thoughts that run through the mind of a man with Xangretor’s nature. Proud, powerful, and in charge was his thirst. A thirst so great, although not many knew it, but a thirst of which he is willing to do, just about anything to obtain gratification. He would finally be able to return to the place where his one fear remains. The one thing he has never forgiven himself for. Giving up the one thing that he loved more so than his own life, his wife. Xangretor knew what had to be done in order to save her. A pact so sinister that no human would dare even enter the place of where this pact must take place. Yet, that was not part of Xangretor’s plan. If no human would enter such a place, he knew exactly which creature would and it didn’t matter to Xangretor that the creature he had in mind was oblivious to the whole plan. Now all that was left, was to raise enough loot to finance such a plan. That was the single most driven motivation for Xangretor to get the caves mined and quickly. Only thing left to do, is to make final preparations to trap the creature Xangretor had in mind to make everything right again, and that creature, is soon about to find out. In that hour, Xangretor knew that his God Heironeous, would be pleased and favor him.
Cruroar Urthadar had yet to be enticed to come out of hiding. This assassin had been in hiding for six months now. The last job he took, to take out the Mayor’s bodyguard, was a high profile job that drew a lot of attention to the town from the King. Nobody knew if the King himself would show up one day, or a representative of the King. Cruroar however, knew for sure that it would be the King who will make his way into the town sooner or later. Cruroar is an ex-assassin to the King of Bolartria. Cruroar didn’t know any other way to do the job other than as a professional. Yes, he knew that he would be suspect once the King did an investigation. There was no place to hide for very long from the King. Cruroar knew all the tricks of a royal investigation and how effective they are at getting the pieces to the puzzle together, to solve the crime. The only thing saving Cruroar right now, was his older brother Xangretor. Which Cruroar knows that help does not come without cost from Xangretor. Not only that, but Xangretor was involved in quite a large and important project. So he was pretty well sure the cost of this help was going to be greater than ever before. But Cruroar was used it. He had a back up plan in case the price was too great. Cruroar knew that the youngest brother of the three was sent by the King to come this way delivering a message to the King of Yarloungestra. All Cruroar had to do was time his arrival into Jericore just right, which should be tonight or first thing in the morning.
The sound of red tail hawk bellows through cave from the entrance. Cruroar knows the signal all too well. He rises to his feet in expectation to see his brother, Xangretor.
“Hows things going my brother?” Xangretor asks.
“As usual. The same old things for dinner, rats, bats, and the occasional corrupted creature to wonder this way when I cook. I just don’t understand where those odd beings are coming from.” Says Cruroar.
“I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Don’t you worry about those creatures Cruroar. They will be dealt with soon enough. You stay right here until I get word that Cruril is in town.”
“And don’t try be a hero. Stay away from those things. We don’t know what abilities they possess just yet.”
“I will be back soon and let you know if Cruril has arrived. Until then, enjoy this meal prepared for you. It’s got nutrients in it that is going to help you proceed with the next part of the plan.”
Cruroar walked over to where Xangretor left a better meal for him this night. Once a week his brother would stop by with an update and some good, normal food to eat. It was beginning to be the highlight of his life, the short visits and updates of things going on around the mountain. Cruroar was always the one with all the patience in the family, a trait he picked up from his father when he was just a child. A trait that has got him through some very hard times in life, and even now when the heat is turned up the most in light of his last assassination. Then, this happened.
Just as Cruroar had finished his dinner, Xangretor runs in the cave about to mined, where Cruroar has already been hiding for six months.
“Cruroar!”
“Get your stuff together, you gotta go now!”
“Wha? Why?”
“No time to talk! Get yourself out of here now! Take the west side path, it’s a little blocked right now but should be manageable to get over the logs. Make sure the crew down there doesn’t see you. That shouldn’t be too hard as we have had a whiteout down in that area for hours now. Wait until they move into the storm before you cross.”
“What about me?” Asks Cruroar
“I haven’t any protection against that kind of winter storm.”
“Yes you do, I already put the nutrients in your meal to protect you. I did that just in case things go wrong tonight.”
“Ah, such a good brother you are Xangretor. Always looking out for us younger brothers.”
“Never you mind about that now!” Xangretor blurts out just as he is stricken with an arrow in the back.
“Noooooooo!” Cries out Cruroar as he picks up the bow by his campfire.
Shwoosh! An arrow nearly misses his head. Cruroar can see green glowing eyes between him and the entrance. This is a shot an assassin like Cruroar would never miss.
“Aaaaahg!” Cruroar knew right then the arrow was a precise hit. He made his way up to where the being was standing. Cruroar was right, a single shot between the green eyes of which now were starting to glimmer out for eternity. Too dark to make out just what kind of creature this is, he grabs the creature by the armor, of which was cheaply made and rotting, and drags it down to where his brother and the campfire are located.
“You ok Xangretor?” Asks Cruroar
“Yeah, I’ll be ok, just a shoulder shot.”
“Good. What do you make of this creature? Is this why you wanted me to get out of here?”
“No, that is not the reason. I have no idea why that thing is here, but I got a good idea of who to ask.”
“What is it anyhow?” Asks Cruroar
“That my brother is none other than a snow goblin.” Replies Xangretor
“A snow goblin! What in the world is a snow goblin doing up here around all these humans?”
“Don’t know Cruroar, but I will find out. Now you get your stuff, put that fire out, and be on your way quickly. Cruril should be in Jericore by now and I don’t want him talking to a lot of people.”
“You seem much more relaxed than before, oddly enough for a man who was just shot in the back by a snow goblin.”
“For the love Heironeous Cruroar! Would you just please get your rear end down there to that town and find our brother?”
“Ok, Ok!” Says Cruroar.
“I’m on my way, save some bats and rats for me will ya?” Cruroar bellows out just as he turns around to the entrance and gets hit in the back of the head with a small pebble flying through the air from Xangretor’s good arm.
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Chapter Three

Farzwell pulls up an empty crate sitting in the alley, bows his head as if in a deep prayer, and puts his hand on the chest of the horse. A slight whine from the horse, a twitch of it’s tail, and the horse lifts up his front left leg and stomps it on the ground.
“There you go good sir, all better now.” Says Farzwell.
“How did you do that?” Asks Cruril.
“A good cleric never tells his secrets Cruril. I’m sure you can appreciate that, can’t you?”
“Ah yes, the secrets of ones trade aught not to ever be disclosed to a stranger I suppose, you just never know what one is up to.”
Farzwell and Cruril gather the reigns of the horse and head over to the stables. There they pay the blacksmith, give harsh instruction on how to help nurse the horse back to better health, and head to the center of town for some Dracooma. The night settled in quite quickly on the pair, a clear night sky, with stars as bright as candles in ones window. The cool winter air and the smell of the stables filled the walk to the tavern with a small town welcome. Laughter and cheer extruding from the front doors of many homes and shops. The night life was surprisingly abundant to Cruril, at least for a small town such as this one. As the couple grew near to the tavern, a faint distant singing of folk lore filled the night air and made both Cruril and Farzwell, anxious to arrive at the Ku-kluk Inn.
“Oh ye miners who are full of the breeze,
the ones so graceful as to stay off there knees.
Who took us there and brought us home safely!
Long live the miners of the south farley.
From here now on and into eternity.”
We toast ! We toast ! To the mighty captain.
Hooray ! Hooray ! We dig once again !
The Inn was full of singing dwarven folk. Miners shipped in from the North. They are most welcomed around the town by the people. These dwarves were loaded with money and filling the local economy with quite a good payment. The Mayor was most pleased to hear of their arrival last fall. He made all the preparations in the town to accommodate the mining dwarves. All the stores were stocked with wears to fit the tastes of a dwarven miner. Caravans were brought in to trade with locals in jewelry, food, weaponry, and entertainment. Everything had been done for a purpose and that purpose was paying off now. The Inn was a happy place this night. They all new the pine wood forest was about to be completed, the barracks were almost finished, and there was miles upon miles of caverns to be mined. This was going to benefit the whole region in one way or another. Maybe even be so big as to bring several lands in war with each other to terms of peace.
Cruril and Farzwell approach the bar maiden and take a seat the northwestern corner of the Inn. Taking in everything they see and smell. Meade fills the air along with body odor of little dwarven miners who smell like they haven’t a bath in ten days. Farzwell opens a closed slot in the wall to let by a breeze. Quickly a small chill enters the corner with a breath of fresh air. Relaxing as it is, the new friends are still a bit uptight about the environment.
“You two look like a cat caught in a corner.” The bar maid says in a low soft tone.
“Would you like a more private environment?”
“Absolutely not.” Replies Farzwell. As a cleric and devout to his God, celibacy was the one thing you just don’t test before your God. Avoidance of those situations was best in his mind.
“What did you have in mind?” Asks Cruril. This just wasn’t out of the norm for a man like Cruril. Most always eager to charm and accommodate a friendly female such as Alicia.
“Well, we have the basement. It’s stock full of supplies and whiskey vats at the moment, but it’s quiet and no one will bother you there. I can check on ya every so often and make sure you have plenty to eat and drink.” Alicia always was a charmer, and a woman who usually got what she wanted. She is a fair looking young woman, long blond hair as smooth as silk and carries the aroma of fresh strawberries in the summer time. Her skin is soft and her hands are well manicured. Quite unusual for a bar maiden. Her red and gold satin like dress wasn’t messy from work at all. Both Cruril and Farzwell were taking in every detail of this room, of Alicia, and of each other. Both with very different motives at this point in time.
“I think we are going to have to take you up on that offer Alicia.” Says Cruril. Farzwell now looked over at Cruril in an odd manner, sinking in the reply of his new found friend. Thinking to himself that he doesn’t want any part in the unfolding of a new romance when there is much to be done around the town. The three head over to the bar however, and open a dried out old wooden door to the basement cellar. Cob webs fill the stairwell and the smell whiskey hits them in the face as though they had ran into a cobble stone wall. At the bottom of the steps a table sits in the middle of the storage area of whiskey and mead, with a red candle already lit sitting in the center of the round wooden table as though it had been there for an hour or so, waiting for them to arrive. Three old wooden chairs are surrounding the table that haven’t any markings or signs of good craftsmanship at all.
.
“This looks as though you were expecting us.” Says Farzwell, who by now is getting very nervous. He’s not one to feel that comfortable in situations where they look pre-planned and with a maiden as beautiful as Alicia expecting their visit on this night. Farzwell had known Alicia well enough to figure out she was putting up a little bit of extra charm. Only he hadn’t quite figured out as to why just yet. He thought to himself no matter how uncomfortable he may be right now, that the best path in this particular moment is to go along with the flow and see where this night might end up.
“Farzwell you would be right in that assumption. I didn’t know if you knew or not, but the Mayor’s bodyguard has been murdered. About six months ago while you were up in the mountains praying over the workers and helping them out with spiritual matters.”
“How do you maintain yourself so elegantly, if I may ask?.” Cruril is a man who has been on a long journey through the wilderness and hasn’t had the pleasure of having someone of such beauty in his presence for quite some time. Cruril was practically watering at the mouth of her scent and the elegant movement of her body. In his mind he was already caressing her hair and in a good romance with Alicia. After all, what man wouldn’t want a romantic night with such beauty after being on the traveling road for six months, which is the exact time it takes to reach Jericore from the Kings Court.
“Cruril,” Alicia says in her soft spoken voice that is known to charm many, “my father has been known to dabble in the arts of magic from time to time. He uses some of that magic to keep my appearance as you see before you. Quite the charmer my father. Seems to bring in more tips when I look this well I’ve noticed. Either one of you care for something to wet your whistle?” Alicia already knew things were going her way at this point. She has the both of them right where she needed them for the moment and has every intention of keeping it that way until she knew the location of the sword she was after.
There is a time for everything my lady, and everything has its special season. Does not the caterpillar blossom into the butterfly. Does not the seed sowed into the ground bloom into the flower. As these things surely are, you my lady have bloomed into such a thoughtful young woman. How is your father these days? Given in to the wages of Xangretor I presume, not many can afford not to do so these days. Oh, he does pay well that one.
Not so much Farzwell. Father is doing fine. He and Xangretor had um, lets just say dispute about a year ago. Father is out on one of his mysterious hunts again. I pitty the fool for doing such, as I presume it all has to do with how good Xangretor is at hunting. Always out to do better I suppose. I’ve not taken up the ways of the bar maiden Farzwell. I can sense where you are heading with this conversation.
“Ha ha ha” Farzwell boasts. You always were smarter than the average child growing up, I see that hasn’t changed a bit.
“Oh stop Farzwell. Your charm is making it a bit warm in here.” Alicia then moves toward a vat by the stairs to refill a pitcher and catch a light breeze by the stairwell. “Father never has been the same since Papaw died. He gave Father strict commands to obey God after he passed. I’m not sure Father really understands what he meant by that request, but it seems he is always looking into the wilderness for the answers. He spends quite a bit of time there now. I do most of the tending to the Tavern and Father simply gives me guidance on how to handle things around here.
“Alicia, you certainly have grown to be one of the better Maidens in this town. One day you shall find you a fine young man to settle down with, this I’m sure of.” Farzwell says as they head up the stairs into the main hall.

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