LogFAQs > #897504870

(Thank you for the bump, Koga.)

The Night Before (1)

"They're all fools," the bartender said as he dabbed at one of the puddles of ale in front of him, "all of them, and they're all going to die, every last one of 'em." He sighed. "It's a shame. It's a damn shame. So much youth, and it's all going to be wasted down there."

"You say the same thing every year, P.O.," Duke the bouncer said, one hand on the collar of a half-awake Fox as he dragged him towards the front door, "and every year, you just stay back there behind your bar and mumble and do nothing about it. When are you gonna back up those words with deeds? Tonight? Or maybe next year?"

"I'm the one paying you, Duke," P.O. growled, wagging a finger at him, "so don't you think you can call me out at just any old time of the evening. Get back to work, you!"

"Funny thing is," Duke replied, pushing Fox through the door and closing it behind him, "we have pretty much the same conversation every year, too. This is usually where you threaten to fire me and never do. And then you tell me how you fired that Babbit character who used to work here. Every year, it's really just the same old thing."

"You watch your mouth," P.O. said, not paying attention as he lined up a fresh row of tankards, "or I'll fire you, just like I fired that Babbit character who used to work here."

Duke shook his head. "Every year, the same thing. I guess that's what it means to get old when you used to be an adventurer, but have to pay your dues because you're just a washed-up bartender who lost his legs in a dungeon full of Dwarf-made traps." But P.O. was immersed in his duties, no longer listening to him, using his arms to move himself back and forth on the bench he had set up for himself behind the bar.

Melon witnessed the exchange, but said nothing. P.O. had long been one of the legends of Rostik, the only survivor of the expedition into the Tomb of Sliding Stone, resting place of a Dwarf king and all of his treasure ... and so many traps that not a single monster could make a lair there. Mangled, mutilated, barely alive, P.O. still managed to escape with a single gem hidden under his tongue, and that fetched him enough money to build a tavern from the ground up and still be running it two decades later. It was one achievement that all of the adventurers there had to respect.

"You're looking thoughtful," Whiskey said to Melon, nursing his ale, "and that's a dangerous thing when you're a bard. Got a song you want to share? Because I'm not really in the mood for it." Rostik always had too many bards on hand for the Contest, and every single one of them seemed to have a floppy hat waiting for his coin.

"I was just thinking of that wizard I told you about," Melon replied, his eyes half-open, as if looking into the past, "the one who tried scrying his way into the Pit with a crystal ball. It drove him mad, but he at least managed to sketch up a map of the first couple of levels before he lost his wits. Now, I don't know how complete it is, but it's the only real map that exists of the place, and I got it from the place where he hid it. You know the one. The Tower of Folding Space." His face sobered. "Six of us went in. Only three came out, counting myself. The others --" He shook his head. "-- I've never seen a trap like that before, reality folding itself through magic, making a perfect cut all the way through a mortal body." He shivered. "Never want to see that again, I tell you."

(Continued)
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-- I Abibde / Samuraiter
Laughing at Game FAQs since 2002.