Weekly Question 4
You probably forgot this, but in the last pub you were in you each had time to tell the barman of the tales of bravery and feats of strength that your wonderful party has performed. In hindsight you may have embellished your stories a little bit, and some of you may have even sung a ballad to the bartender on some of your escapades.
There were at least ten of them, and only three of us… Fill her up, will you? An empty mug is a sad mug, you know. Where was I? Right, twelve of them and three of us, and pitch black it was. Wizard elf there springs out these star things that explode direct in your eye. And that half orc — he looks slow but he is plenty fast. Hop skip and jump and he’s behind them stabbing away. Turn your head, then he’s gone. What’s that? Fourteen, at least fourteen — who said twelve? Where was I? No, I’m not drunk, silly little man. Dwarves don’t get drunk unless the beer is bad. Is this bad beer? I didn’t think so. I would have known if it was. I mean it’s nothing compared to proper beer, but it will do. Me? I just
flattened them till morning!
Dear sir – oh, thank you for that fancy flagon of brew – I may look to you like a learned and experienced adventuring traveler, but you’ll be surprised to hear I’m actually quite new to the trade – mmm lovely stuff. Tickles your nose! Tee-hee! – so where was I? Yes. It was just the other day, as we were riding through the brushy hills of central Negera when all of a sudden we were accosted by a band of bloodthirsty bandits! They chased us and tried to surround us, but eventually we managed to get the upper hand and turn the situation around. The battle was dreadfully dangerous, with bloody blades, searing spells and arrows flying everywhere – I even lost my consciousness when those damn arrows hit me – pardon my language – Oh! I’ll show you. Where are they? Oh here! [pulls out the two arrowheads from his sachel] here they are! My memento moris, if you please. If it wasn’t for my companion, that saint of a dwarvess who’s healing powers brought me back to life, I might have found the end to my very short adventuring career then and there! – in fact, why don’t you fill up her flagon once more, and put it on my tab – tee-hee, I’ve always wanted to say that…
“Oh… So you are asking for a payment in advance for the next beer? I don’t look trustworthy enough? Because of my human half. You are, my friend, a racist. Everyone trusts me! Let me tell you a little story. You are looking at a hero. No, wait, you are looking at the hero. Actually, you are looking at a hero and two assistants… where are they? I always run away. Just kidding, I mean lose them when things get tough. Anyway, we are A PACK OF HEROES! A legion of heroes! You got the point? We recently almost saved a village from disaster! We almost killed a bunch of horrible dragons that chased us! What is this doubting look? We won’t lose to anything but dragons. And I think I am allergic to bees, so a giant mutant hive is off the limit too. Also I think that some of the dwarves are allergic to milk, so to be on the safe side we shouldn’t start a fight with dairy products. Or old gods. Or the new ones, they get upset from this. Or humanoids, we can’t really tell who is on our side. Or monsters, to be fair. So I think that this glorious party can’t fight anyone without hurting someone’s feelings, and as I told you, we already did a lot. Plan for the future: we should open a gazette with pub reviews.
Next beer on the house?"