Arriving at The Heroes Stone
Tue Apr 30, 2019 10:33 pm
For fame, for righteousness, for riches, for power and for reasons yet unknown. You’ve arrived at the “Heroes’ Stone” Tavern, ensconced along the River Chionthar – aptly named for the massive stone monolith outside of the well-known establishment.
A man dressed in finery best left for a court eunuch signaled your attention from his personal table. This was the bard Cain Lethellon - fop amongst fops, but rumor had it that his drunken posturing was nothing but a clever ruse to disguise his true prowess. The bard cast a wandering eye over you - perhaps in amusement, perhaps in approval.
Considering his wine cup, (was the cursed thing bottomless?) he took one last lingering glance and set it down on the table. “If you were wondering, yes, you could find my name among the other champions, engraved into the stone, carved into the annals of history, you know”, he said. The bard rose from his chair.
“Undead scavengers, their mouths agape with their soundless cries for my supple flesh…enraged Orc barbarians – clamoring for my stillwarm entrails to be roasted on a spit! Lusty wenches, jostling for – ah…” A pretty-faced barmaid sauntered by, rolling her eyes in apparent dismay at the bard’s testimony.
Cain suppressed a polite cough and sat back down. Sullenly, Cain pointed to a lengthy piece of parchment that was affixed to the tavern’s rear wall. “Read it – and gather who you will. If you are feeling suicidal, go alone and feel free to throw your corpse hither into some dragon’s maw.” The bard leaned in close and gazed at you intently.
“A word of advice - aye, even from this humble bard.” “Tis’ a fine sight indeed to see how many noble titles adorn the Heroes’ Stone outside – but don’t ever forget that it has been washed in blood a thousand times over for each name never fit to be inscribed.” He reared back to take a drink and tipped his cup in mock salute. “But you know what they say”, as he lazily turned his attention to the carved plaque of stone outside. “There is no road of flowers leading to immortality.”
A man dressed in finery best left for a court eunuch signaled your attention from his personal table. This was the bard Cain Lethellon - fop amongst fops, but rumor had it that his drunken posturing was nothing but a clever ruse to disguise his true prowess. The bard cast a wandering eye over you - perhaps in amusement, perhaps in approval.
Considering his wine cup, (was the cursed thing bottomless?) he took one last lingering glance and set it down on the table. “If you were wondering, yes, you could find my name among the other champions, engraved into the stone, carved into the annals of history, you know”, he said. The bard rose from his chair.
“Undead scavengers, their mouths agape with their soundless cries for my supple flesh…enraged Orc barbarians – clamoring for my stillwarm entrails to be roasted on a spit! Lusty wenches, jostling for – ah…” A pretty-faced barmaid sauntered by, rolling her eyes in apparent dismay at the bard’s testimony.
Cain suppressed a polite cough and sat back down. Sullenly, Cain pointed to a lengthy piece of parchment that was affixed to the tavern’s rear wall. “Read it – and gather who you will. If you are feeling suicidal, go alone and feel free to throw your corpse hither into some dragon’s maw.” The bard leaned in close and gazed at you intently.
“A word of advice - aye, even from this humble bard.” “Tis’ a fine sight indeed to see how many noble titles adorn the Heroes’ Stone outside – but don’t ever forget that it has been washed in blood a thousand times over for each name never fit to be inscribed.” He reared back to take a drink and tipped his cup in mock salute. “But you know what they say”, as he lazily turned his attention to the carved plaque of stone outside. “There is no road of flowers leading to immortality.”
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