Brute's Tale

[Brute]

The old dwarf moved slowly among the tavern's patrons,and amid their racous laughter and their boastful tales, he found an empty table not too far from the glowing hearth. His hazel eyes peered from under his stern brow, regarding the crowd gathered within the Pen's tavern. He approved of this place, for it mostly held folk who came for the frequent tales and songs. Jarom had seen more than enough rough taverns and inns that held nothing but thieves, brawlers, and worse. He felt too old for that environment now.

 

The dwarf removed from his pouch a carved pipe and a pouch of good tobacco. He packed the bowl tightly and lit it, drawing long puffs of blue smoke from the stem of the pipe. Jarom motioned for a mug of ale, then looked over the crowd once more. He instantly caught sight of a looming figure entering the tavern. Jarom regarded the fellow as ebony hands reached up to remove the cowl that hung around the newcomer's head. Jarom knew before seeing the bald and pallid head who it was. Several patrons warmly greeted Brute as the massive mage completed his daily journey to the bar. Settling into his familiar stool, Brute glanced around the room. As his ebony eyes fell upon the elder dwarf, Brute shot a mischievious grin to Jarom, who returned it with a scowl and a few muttered words. Jarom squinted at Brute, then raised his mug to his bearded mouth, blocking his view. When Jarom lowered the mug, Brute was talking and laughing with several other patrons. Jarom released a sigh and puffed again at his pipe.

 

"Every night it is the same. He comes in here and nearly drinks the place dry. What could possibly drive a man to drink so?", a soft voice asked.

 

"That is the way of drunkards such as he," came a swift and harsh reply.

 

Jarom swung his head around to see who had spoken. A pretty young lady and a stern-faced man sat at the table next to Jarom, both staring intently at Brute. The girl held a hint of pity in her eyes while the man's face was filled with contempt as he watched Brute finish another mug of strong ale. The dwarf regarded each for a moment, then spoke. "You know nothing, lad. Watch yer tongue when you speak of Brute," Jarom growled. The man reddened indignantly and opened his mouth. "Listen here, you old..." The girl quickly laid her hand lightly upon the man's arm and interupted him. "Please, I am new to this place and have seen this man they call Brute. He intrigues me. I've asked several people about him and while many know him, noone seems to know about him. Do you know him well enough to answer a few questions?" Jarom glared harshly at the girl. For several long moments, neither one spoke as the dwarf seemed to measure the two youngsters with his gaze. Finally, he answered her. "Aye, girl. If you've got some time, I suppose I can tell you a bit about Brute." Jarom looked across the room and watched Brute for a moment, his old weathered face unreadable, then he turned back to the man and the woman before him. "Despite what many think," Jarom began, "Brute doesn't drink for simple love of booze. Well, not entirely, anyway. No lass, he drinks to forget."

 

Jarom took a slow puff from his pipe as his mind recalled the long and dark tale of Brute's past. "He's lived an unnaturally long life, you see, so it begins even before I was born."

[Brute]

A warm spring breeze blew from the southwest, slowly finding it's way across green, rolling meadows. Onward it blew, over low stone walls that separated this field from that one, and over a small village bustling with people eager to be out of doors. The breeze danced and dipped across the village green, then moved on to gently tug at the clothes of several children. It tousled their hair, then sped along, making it's way towards the massive, somber castle that rested atop a hill overlooking the village below. Up a stone wall the warm wind flowed, and across the ramparts. It pulled the cloaks of armed men that walked there, then rose even more, finding an open window high in the keep.

 

The wind wrapped around the man leaning against the window sill and whipped his dark hair across a deeply tanned face. Glittering blue eyes watched the sentries below making their rounds along the wall. His gaze swept further out, to the village beyond the wall and further still past the fields and searched the dark treeline. Past the thick forest, hazy hills rose abruptly from the land. His eyes searched among them for what he could not see, what he feared remained hidden.

 

Movement below him drew his eyes down. A black laquered coach drawn by a team of horses rapidly approached the gatehouse. Mounted guards rode on either side of the coach and two guards in front flew banners. Even from this distance, he could make out the rampant lion embroidered in gold upon a field of crimson. The king's banner. The other banner that flew beside the king's held a yellow crescent upon a black field. The man squinted and scowled at the sight of the second banner. Karlo, the king's advisor was in that carriage. The frequent regret that he didn't kill Karlo years ago invaded the man's thoughts as he turned from the window. Regardless of who was with the king, he would need to be down there when they arrived.

[Vigil StarGazer]

Cheers! *raise a mug of Ale at Brute*

[Mira]

Oh! Imperator of Inebriation, Baron of Booze, Sultan of Spirits, Duke of the Drink, I revel in your words and listen intently to your tale.

[AshtonBlades]

I really like this.

[Silver Dragon]

Oh dear dwarf please tell us more. I long to hear the story that may issue from your tounge. Share with us the rest of this tale that never before was heard.

[Brute]

Not to worry.. ol' Whistlebritches falls asleep frequently when he gets worked up. Give him a bit and he'll wake up and resume his tale. Just act like nothing happened.. he gets bent outta shape if you try to tell him he fell asleep midsentence.