Chapter Text
The carriage smelled horrible. Horse piss and musty cloth, and a hint of manure. Still, it was a free ride; the farmer had mentioned something about the gods and a festival and all that, though it was hard to understand him under the hangover he was clearly nursing. Ziggy had been insistent that the ‘field slave’ take them to Belimar, a location neither of them had ever heard of but apparently many went to, and one Ziggy was sure he would find ‘much heroics’ in. Either used to being talked down to or unwilling to talk up to the two foot grung, the farmer let them in the back of the wagon.
Ziggy stirred, mumbling something about fire in his sleep. He did that a lot-fire, flame, explosions, anything that could burn. It came in handy for distractions, if a little risky. How Ziggy had managed to not set half of Erora on fire yet was a mystery Tipsy dared not entertain.
Best not to give him any ideas.
There was a jolt forward. Tipsy hissed, head whacking against stiff fabric covering the roof of the wagon. Ziggy yelped, awake in a second, slapping damp and sticky red hands against her shoulders to steady himself. He had assured her he wasn’t that poisonous, whatever that meant; she presumed he was the reason for her chronic headaches coming back.
The sound of footsteps against dirt, and the loosely covered entrance to the wagon opened.
“W’here.” The farmer said simply, and just as quickly as he poked his head in, went back out. Tipsy sighed, blinking, and stood up.
“Let’s get this bullshit over with.” She said, though there was no bullshit to get over. Ziggy was still somewhat groggy, saying something about ‘hurry up travel slave’ under his breath, and stepped out of the carriage.
A cool breeze hit her face. Refreshing, after being stuck in the stuffy carriage for so long. It was either a ride from the farmer, or hopping onto a boat back to Hammershire, and with how volatile that kingdom has been lately Tipsy didn’t want to risk it. Ziggy didn’t seem to mind either way. Whatever he had planned, it didn’t require going to any particular place. And she had no plans at all, so it all worked out.
There was incoherent shuffling, and Ziggy, suddenly as awake as a hot ember, popped right out of the bag, landing with a huff on Tipsy’s head. He peered out, scanning the countryside. Mostly a lot of cottages and farms, though there was clearly some kind of bustling market up ahead.
He licked his lips. “Water,” he said, nodding to himself, “Do you think these feeble minded backwater shits have any water?”
“Yes Ziggy,” Tipsy said, “I think they have water.”
“Goooood, good.” Ziggy nodded against, a smug smile on his face. Suddenly, he raised an eye ridge. “Oooh, I think I see a commotion! Oh-oh, no, it’s not a fire.”
Lightly jovial music become more and more noticeable. Dirt became cobblestones, and more and more people began to pop up. Mostly humans, Tipsy noted, though a good amount of halflings, fauns, and gnomes were also present. Large banners displaying the Archeron family crest lined the streets, and vendors of all shapes and sizes were present. The sharp smell of bread interrupted her thoughts, and Tipsy looked over.
A stout man stood by a bakery stall, a mountain of freshly baked goods next to him. It wasn’t the bread Tipsy was interested in, though. After such a long trip, only one thought was on her mind.
Tipsy approached the man. A gnome, definitely, with big green eyes and a smile too wide to be fake. Thinking for a moment on what to say, she tapped her quarter staff against the ground, awkward leaning down so the short stick could actually reach the cobblestones (that’s what she got for buying the two-and-a-half foot one and not the six foot), almost instantly attracting his attention, despite the hustle of the crowd around her.
“Nice...bread.”
Nailed it.
The gnome stared, and then grinned, smile somehow even wider now.
“Ah, thank you kindly! We bake every loaf fresh and right each and everyday, family’s secret recipe!” He motioned to the table, “Would you like souhhhhhmmmm?”
Ziggy, with no regard to personal space or the concept of you break it you buy it, leapt out of the backpack (or as he like to call it, his ‘personal palanquin’, whatever that meant) and onto the table, venomous toes inches away from the bread. “Hmm, yes,” he said, “Very nice. Do you have any water?”
“To add to that, anywhere that I can get some ale?” Tipsy cut in, hoping Ziggy didn’t inadvertently ruin the products.
“Erm, the Old Marigold Inn! Just down that way, plenty of beer and plenty of water!” The baker said jovially, almost instantly regaining his pep. Still, a nervous eye was kept on Ziggy, still looming over the loafs of bread like a dragon over its prey. Ziggy did not care, and looked ready to claim his newest victims when he finally processed the information and scrambled back into the backpack.
“To the Old Marigold Inn!” Ziggy cried as if it was his idea.
“Thanks.” Tipsy said, unsure if she could even be heard above the crowd. Damn, a rowdy bunch for sure, and noon had only just past. It was easy to push through the crowd, taller than a modest amount and sturdy enough to shove through the rest, it was just a matter of finding that inn. Plenty of stalls, and temporary tents sent up with extra seating, but no inn visible yet.
Tipsy could almost taste the ale on her lips. Oh, sweet beverage of the goddesses. Would Ironhaven ales taste different? Gullmoor drinks, or at least the ones that she liked, always seemed to have a slightly salty taste to it, regardless of what was used.
Finally, a large wooden building with surprisingly ornate stained glass windows of yellow flowers came into view. Even Ziggy could figure out that this was the inn. It was clearly packed, people filtering in and out, but there was no line, and even if there was, Tipsy wouldn’t care.
Tipsy swung the old doors open. It was even larger inside, plenty of wooden tables and booths around, everything packed to the gills with party goers. Lining the old log walls were trinkets-clippings of letters and announcements, small pins and foreign coins, and the occasional pictograph. Still, it retained a homey air, a bouncy faun woman greeting guests by the entrance, hair pulled into a messy bun of brown curls and waving a green towel in the air. Her chipper eyes, for better or for worse, focused on Tipsy.
“Ah, hello!” She said in a distinctly not Ironhaven accent, giving a small wave, “Welcome to the Old Marigold Inn! I am the caretaker of this establishment. Any drinks I can get you?”
Tipsy held up three fingers. “Three ales, best you got.” She said, then made a face. “...Under two silver anyways. Ziggy, how much water to do you want?”
“A...uh...erm…,” Ziggy pondered deeply, “Water, right, in a bowl, the biggest bowl you have.”
Clover nodded, utterly unphased. “Biggest bowl we have; well, we have plenty of bowls! If you lot want to find a seat, I know we’re a wee bit packed right now but go ahead and find what you can.”
With that, the faun bounced back, all but sprinting towards the kitchens, where a menagerie of chefs and bartenders were working at a furious pace. Tipsy almost felt sorry for them, but so desperate for a damn seat she took a step forward. Which, in some regards, was her first mistake.
A damn tortle, one of the huge ones that had lived well past their prime, stepped on her foot. Tipsy hissed, stumbling back. And of course, because she was stumbling, Ziggy, suddenly holding onto her head for dear life, made a blind grab and covered her eyes. Now, she had to contend with fuck her foot with ow dammit her eyes-
“Dammit!”
Tipsy shook her head. Ziggy, thoroughly dizzy, had slid back into the pack at some point. No one had paid them any attention, thank god, though her hair was definitely a mess.
Okay, take two, Tipsy narrowed her eyes.
In her new position, she spotted a single table by the very end. It looked empty, though as she got closer, she realized there was someone there. Some kind of cloaked figure, nursing a pint and looking at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. The only company with them was the tiniest flower vase Tipsy had ever seen, with five half dead flowers in it, and one white flower that seemed supernaturally perfect. They definitely had horns, that much was clear, probably a faun. Definitely not happy to see them approach, and even more tense when Tipsy stood by one of the empty seats across from them.
While she normally wouldn’t care, it was a holiday, and she was trying to be nice. “Mind if we take a seat? My friend can sit on my should...”
Ziggy flopped onto the table.
“...Nevermind.”
While tense, the cloaked figure slowly nodded. Jesus, their horns were huge, and under the hood Tipsy could just make out a golden nose ring.
“I sup’ose it’s not like I’m gonna be joined by anyone else.” The cloaked figure said wearily.
Tipsy sat down, Ziggy awaiting his full luxury spa treatment. She tapped her fingers against the table-taptap tap taaaaap taptaptap-and leaned close to Ziggy. He didn’t have ears, but it didn’t matter, he had to hear somehow.
“What, uh, do we say? We should at least try to start a conversation.” Tipsy said, “Try to get some info about this town.”
Ziggy glanced over from where he was lounged around. “Whu-don’t look at me,” he said in a voice far too loud and far too obvious, “I don’t feel the least bit obligated to talk to this lowlife, that’s your job, travel slave. I just want my water and you’re hear to get drunk. A seat’s a seat, this is just some cow.”
The cloaked figure looked between Tipsy and Ziggy, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Oh, please let the drinks come soon.” Tipsy begged.
“They’re right here!” Clover’s voice instantly brought up the mood. She slid three large, frothy glasses of ale-ooh, real glasses and not wood, fancy-right to tipsy, and set down a sink sized bowl with one hand next to Ziggy. Without a care in the world, Ziggy splashed in, Tipsy so used to it her eyes didn’t even twitch when water got into her ale. “Enjoy the drinks! Would you like some food? We have plenty of it, yumyum! And the same goes for you Radan, would you like anything?”
Cloaked figure turned and sighed. “Not now, Clover.” They said, shaking their head.
“Course, and for-oh, shoot,” she said, looking behind her, “Ah, Greggor is trying to start a fight again, I’ll be right back!”
Rolling what little sleeve she had up, Clover marched off into the crowd.
Tipsy sighed. “...Quite a celebration.”
“Yeah.” Radan said.
“You know anything about it?”
“Only a little,” Radan shrugged, “Demon king was defeated couple ‘undred years ago, but mostly just an excuse to get wasted from my understandin’. Not like I’ve been here long, I don’t know.”
“Ah,” Tipsy took a sip, licking her lips-not bad, if a little dry for her tastes-, “Of course.”
She downed the first pint in ten seconds, and the second one in half that time. It was the third pint that caused her trouble, really, because as she was drinking it she noticed how the little trinkets in the walls extended up to the high beams in the ceilings, and how cool that was, and wow was that a pirate flag she wondered if-
Tipsy slammed the glass down, and the delicate little vase in the middle of the table went flying off, and shattered into approximately ten billion pieces. Radan flinched, Tipsy sighed, and Ziggy didn’t care because he was too busy enjoying his water like a lord in a swimming pond.
“Ziggy,” Tipsy said tersely, “Hurry the fuck up.”
“Hush, we just got here!” Ziggy shot back, clearly enjoying himself. It was amazing how much the grung liked water when he had such an affinity for burning shit.
Radan, despite eyes being covered by both a cloak and what looked to be some seriously thick bangs, somehow, seemed to rolled their eyes. “I dunno if you’ve noticed but I’m tryin’ to keep a low profile here.”
It was a fatal error on Radan’s part to assume Ziggy had any form of social grace. “What was that? You’re trying not to be spotted?”
He stood up and shook water off himself, like a wet poodle. Some part of Tipsy suspected Ziggy knew exactly what he was doing, and another part still, having spent over a month with him, could absolutely believe he was so ignorant in the world.
“Stuck with the wrong companions for that,” Tipsy held back a chuckle, “We’ll be outta your way soon enough.”
She pawed through her coin bag. How much would a tiny vase cost, one bronze? Eh, too cheap, even for her. A copper? Yeah, a copper sounded good. She was just reaching for the coin when yet another person joined the table, though they sat at the far end, a good distance away from the motley group in the corner. Radan looked like they wanted to disappear into the wall, and eying the man, Tipsy could see why.
This man was clearly on the wealthier side. A dwarven man, taller than most other dwarves she had seen, with bulging muscles under calloused and scarred skin. Ginger hair cut short, except for the beard, of course, that went down almost to his knees, with a thousand little beads and strings of gold woven into it. Fine clothing over him, something familiar about it…
Hammershire wears, Tipsy could just barely recall seeing visitors from so long ago.
“A man like him must be very important, look at all that gold!” Ziggy announced, grinning, rubbing his hands together like a fly. The man paid no mind to Ziggy, staring at the doors with a hardened look in his eyes. “So much golWHOA!”
The doors swung open, and just about every patron was blinded by light bouncing off metal.
It took a few seconds before Tipsy could register what the hell was going on. A knight in shining armor, full armor, in the middle of the fucking day, waltzing right into this podunk tavern in Ironhaven. And, like the dwarf, his armor appeared more akin to the craftsmanship of Hammershire. His silhouette, combined with the sun in the sky, made him glow like a god from the heavens above.
Bit overdramatic, really. He was just a knight.
The knight scanned the crowd, settling on the dwarven man. Though revelers were stunned at first, most went right back to partying and drinking. Really, Tipsy shouldn’t of been surprised when the knight walked forward to their table, and sat down across from the dwarf.
She still was.
Tipsy looked at Ziggy. Ziggy looked at Tipsy. Tipsy winked, and like old pals, both got into position to listen closely. And it wasn’t just them, at least, as Radan was obviously-yet-not-obviously trying to hear more on the conversation.
“...I thought you said this would be a quiet affair.” The knight said, leaning in close and clearly not wanting the three on the other side to hear him.
“Sorry, I…,” The dwarven man sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I know it must have been hard for you to pass through, especially these days.”
“You have no idea.” The knight looked to the side-not the side Tipsy was on, thank the gods, or he would have caught her staring. “This armor is as much a curse as it is a blessing, hard to blend in...wish I knew there was a festival going on, I would have scheduled this at a later date.”
The dwarven man leaned back in his chair. “You know as well as I that this cannot wait. I was supposed to get one of the rooms in the back, but someone up and rented them all out, so this was the best I can do. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
“I just wish there weren’t so many ears around, if what you’re telling me is true.”
“Ironhaven residents, you know, don’t care much about anyone but themselves. Even if you’re a hero at home, I doubt the common man will care in this here pub.”
There was a lull.
“...The warlock was once here, in Belimar,” the dwarven man spoke suddenly, “But she is no longer. She-my eyes last spotted her heading further south.”
“But she was here,” the knight said, a sudden edge to his voice, “We could have stopped her here.”
“I-I never saw her, only my people. She was here, yes, but something spooked her and she’s moving south. I’m having my people track her, but this is all I can give you. I-I’m sorry for making you come all this way-I-I will tell you, if you stop by Graymouth, I do have a cousin there. I can relay some information with her, she’s an excellent blacksmith, her name is Fevia. I’ll keep in touch, and if you happen to need more information, there’s a good chance she’ll have it by the time you make it there. But this-this is all I can give you for now.”
The knight didn’t speak for a moment, almost seeming to sigh instead. “Thank you,” he said richly, “I really do appreciate all this.”
He held out an armored hand, and the dwarven man shook on it, lingering for just a moment before standing up and hurrying out.
“The goddess doesn’t seem to be on my side anymore...” The knight, again, looked off to the distance, this time audibly sighing, before whipping his head around in Tipsy’s direction.
Tipsy had long learned the fine art of not listening in but also psyche not really, currently pretending to down her final ale that had long since been emptied. Radan, equally skilled if not better at it, was almost invisible from the angle the knight must be at, scrunched against the wall and still nursing that drink. It was just dear, sweet Ziggy who was the problem.
He was staring directly at the knight.
“...Can I help you, sir?” The knight sounded as confused as he must of looked under that helmet.
“Huh-oh, no! I’m just,” Ziggy gave a little shrug, “I was just uh, watching?”
The knight glanced between Ziggy, Tipsy, and Radan. “You didn’t hear much of that, did you?”
Ziggy continued to stare. After maybe ten thousand years of silence, he finally spoke.
“You’re big.”
“Well, yes, I am a paladin of Hammershire, comes with the job.” The knight said, tone much lighter than before. Tipsy wondered if he thought he was dealing with a child. In some ways, he probably was.
Tipsy put a hand on Ziggy. “Uh, forgive my companion,” she said, unsure how to act in front of an actual fucking paladin from Hammershire, “He’s not the best with words. Hammershire, um, is certainly far from here. Well, not too far I suppose...you uh, must have a title then?”
“Yes, of course-my apologies, I sat so rudely at your table without even introducing myself. I’m Elowen von Iris, also known as Elowen the Valiant. It is an honor to meet you all.” The paladin gave a short bow at that. Elowen the Valiant….vaguely familiar, again, but Tipsy couldn’t place it.
Tipsy snorted. An honor, sure. “I’m Tipsy, this is Ziggy, and uh...”
“Radan.” The faun squeaked.
“Whatever.”
“Ope, I see you’re making friends!”
Clover practically skipped back over. She looked entirely fine, though a patron in the back seemed to be holding a hand over his nose-woman must pack a punch, then.
“Ah, I saw you were having a meeting before, how did it go? Would you like anything to eat?” Clover asked, smiling at this Elowen.
Elowen looked down. “About as well as I could of hoped for, I guess. I...I am afraid the meeting has spoiled my appetite.”
“A pity, a true pity,” Clover looked over to Ziggy, Tipsy, and a very stiff Radan, “Would you like some food?”
“What do you have?” Ziggy asked.
This proved to be another mistake, though perhaps not in the same vein as the three major mistakes Tipsy made. “Oh, well, we have chicken pot pie, that’s our special for today, as well as cheese and biscuits, biscuits and cheese, cheesy biscuits, smoked pork sausage, smoked dracoturtle sausage-it’s a favorite, imported fresh from Dunefold!-onion soup, chicken soup, grosle soup. If you want something lighter I can whip up some pancakes for ya, with fresh blueberry syrup, or I can get you some squarecakes and bird wings, that’s always a classic. Really, whatever you want we can do our best to recreate! This old Inn has seen so many unique visitors, we accommodate to everyone!”
It took Ziggy several seconds to process this information, creepy double eyelids blinking rapidly. “Eggs!,” he demanded, “Sounds great. Do you have any snails with that?”
Clover raised her eyebrow a fraction of a millimeter up. “That, I do not have, but tell you what, I’ll go into the back and get some snails fresh from the garden, yes?”
“Snails and eggs,” Ziggy looked a bit dreamy, only half paying attention to Clover, “A classic combo. Mix ‘em together, watch ‘em wriggle, play god and ask which one should be spared from your hungry hungry divine smiting...”
Clover took that as a yes. “I’ll go get that to the cook, how about you?”
It had been so long since she had tasted dracoturtle, but Tipsy knew it’d be pricy, considering how far it had to be imported from. “Grosle soup, and three more ales. Quite delicious, by the by-”
Tipsy kicked a few of the stray vase shards under the table.
“An excellent recipe.”
“Thank you! It comes from my old great great grandfather, passed down for generations. I will get you your soup and ale, and your snails and eggs. Radan, sweetie, do you-oh, no, okay, that’s fine.” Clover gave a little nod at the faun, who had very quickly shook his head the second Clover said their name, and trotted back off.
Tipsy sighed. She was going to have to deal with that vase at some point, but not now, not after-
“You do plan on paying for that, right?” Elowen asked, tone teetering into dangerous territory.
“Uh-yeah, of course! Just, you know, don’t want anyone to step on the shards.” Tipsy replied nervously, entirely unconvincing. Jesus, she sucked at this. Sue her, she didn’t want to clean the stupid shards up.
“Could at least try to clean it up.” Elowen said again. If his helmet was off, Tipsy was sure his eyes would be narrowed.
“I mean…,” Fuck it, not like you’ll ever see this paladin again, “It’s the tavern’s problem. I’m paying for it but let the-”
“Yes, yes, let the tavern slaves handle it!” Ziggy cut in, nodding furiously.
Goddammit, “No, Ziggy, what did I say about calling people slaves in front of-”
“You are my slave, Tipsy, you can’t tell me shit.” Ziggy put a slimy hand over her mouth, almost instantly causing her lips to numb. Oh, typical Ziggy.
Elowen, to his credit, did not reply. Instead, the glittering knight stood up, bent down, and one by one, bit by bit, began to pick up the glass shards.
Tipsy gaped.
“Wha…?” Ziggy narrowed his eyes. “Why, a man with as much gold as you have must understand the importance of slaves! You look like a man with a lot of slaves.”
Slowly, Elowen turned his head up. “That is horribly insulting,” he said, sounding far too cold for comfort (though, in fairness, Tipsy supposed she’d be equally pissed if she was in his position), “There are no slaves here. What are you even talking about?”
“It’s the highest honor!”
For emphasis, Ziggy leapt back onto Tipsy’s shoulders, standing as tall and proud as he possibly could.
“You look so important, all that glistening gold, you must come from a high...uh...human class? I don’t know how it works here, you’re all so much more confusing than home.” Ziggy huffed, looking back at Tipsy. She wasn’t looking at him, though, but rather, back at the main bar area.
There was something going on, some kind of commotion. Not in a fighting sort of way, but more excited patrons cheering someone on, louder and louder, shaking and smiling and waving pails of beer in the air. Listening closely, Tipsy realized that they were saying a name, over and over again as they slammed glasses against the table.
“Beetle! Beetle! Beetle!”
Two patrons moved their chairs back as a lean tabaxi with gray fur and an obnoxiously weird neck frill leapt onto their cleared table, lute in hand. Just behind him, a halfling with dark brown skin and hair pulled into two tight buns jumped up onto the bar, dressed like a mime complete with makeup. She reached behind her, and from apparently nowhere, pulled out the tiniest trumpet in the world, and blew it once.
A hush fell over the crowd.
The tabaxi cleared his throat, and grinned. “Hello hello, ladies and gentlemen, and especially the gentlemen-”
He paused to wink.
“May I please introduce you all to a new friend of mine, the ever entertaining Jay the Mime!”
A few light claps. Clearly, no one in the crowd was familiar with the halfling mime. Jay bowed, then nodded back to Beetle.
“Take it away, Jay.”
The little halfling gave a curtsey, and threw the trumpet into the air. Somehow, whether through magic or just visual tricks, by the time the trumpet fell back to earth, it had been replace with three glittering daggers.
On his lute, the bard-Beetle, he must be-began to play a frantic tune. In perfect sync, Jay tossed the daggers into the air.
It was, genuinely, pretty damn impressive. No matter how fast Beetle played or what crazy tune he threw at Jay, she kept up the pace and more, daggers flying every which way and yet entirely calculated in their direction. She bounced on one leg, then the other, flipped over and began juggling the knives with her feet, jumped around different tables (much to the delight of the utterly wasted patrons), like a ballerina on steroids, and also a mime, and also juggling dangerous weapons.
From the kitchen, Clover trotted to their back table, food in hand. She paused for just a second to watch Jay complete two backflips and a cartwheel around one of the long tables.
Jay winked. If Tipsy had to guess, it was meant to be a little seductive.
Clover grinned, held a thumbs up, and winked in a much less seductive manner. More like a grandma after telling a joke to her seven grandkids, or something.
“Here ya go, dears,” Clover said, setting the food down, “It was not as hard as I thought to get the snails, just had to wash the dirt off of ‘em because they were in a puddle in the back.”
“Oh BABY, those are the best kind!” Ziggy clapped his hands.
“Yes, well, you look like a man who does care what they eat or where it has been so therefor, hopefully it is fine. If you get any kind of disease, don’t let me know okay? Keep that between you.” Clover flashed another smile. Ziggy, of course, did not care, already devouring the eggs and snails at a frankly disturbing rate. “I know you said nothing but I got you salad, Radan, and you!”
She pointed to Tipsy as three beautiful glasses of beer slid to her, alongside a warm bowl of soup. Mm, she could already taste the meat.
“You are a woman who knows what she likes and I like that about you! Order as many as you like.” Clover finished, giving another nod and an equally unsubtle wink before scurrying off.
Just as she left, the mime pranced back to the original table. Somehow, in her act, she got her trumpet back out, and blew it again bowing. The crowd, of course, went nuts. Even Ziggy, still feverishly tearing the eggs and snails apart, paused to bash against his chest. If he was wearing a shirt, Tipsy was sure he would rip it off. Jay gave another, shorter bow, then blew the trumpet one last time, motioning to Beetle.
“Before we end our little act for tonight, II have a very special song I wanna sing all of you lovely people tonight.” Beetle giggled, “To help advertise my services.”
What does that-
“I WAS A BARD IN THE VILLAGE DOING ALRIGHT,”
Beetle spun around the table.
“THEN I BECAME A COURTESAN OVERNIGHT!
NOW I GOTTA FIGURE OUT HOW TO HOE IT RIIIIGHT-”
Tipsy suddenly realized this was not going to be the usual song about dragons and adventures. Elowen did as well, suddenly turning very tense and looking at the ground. Well, at least Ziggy and Radan were enjoying themselves.
“SO MUCH TO FUCK AND SING,
UP IN THE TAVERN WITH MY NEW CLIENTELE,
WITHALISTTHATINCLUDESNOBLITY-”
He more or less coughed that last part out.
“ A WHOLE NEW ENCHANTED WORLD IS WAITING FOR MEEEEE,
AND I’M SO EXCITED TO BE! YEAH!
I’M FINDING OUT WHAT BEING A BARD IS ALL ABOUT,
SINGING MY WAY, IT’S AN ADVENTURE EVERYDAY,
IT’S GONNA BE MY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME-”
He took a deep breath in.
“TO FUCK ‘EM ALL CAUSE I’M! BLUE! BEETLE! THE! BARD!”
Silence, and then, roars of laughter and applause. Beetle bowed, purring, and jumped off the table, whipping his hat off and offering it out. Jay did as well, though Tipsy didn’t recall her wearing a hat in the first place, and they were showered in bronze and copper pieces. Beetle was definitely flirty, nudging a few patrons who must have been regulars. Jay was much more reserved, hanging behind Beetle, and Tipsy swore a few times she caught the mime swiping a half finished morsel of a plate or two. Actually, looking at them, Jay was just...taking money. If someone didn’t tip, she’d cast a glance at Beetle, he’d nod, and she would magically come up with a few new coins seconds later.
Jeez, at least Tipsy had standards.
Because Sors was a cruel goddess, fate ensured that the two entertainers would waltz their way into the back, to the very table Tipsy was at. And, of course, they sat down, Jay on Tipsy’s side and Beetle obliviously sitting between Elowen and Radan.
Beetle tipped his hat onto the table, coins of all kind spilling out. He grinned, fangs just visible, and began to count. Tipsy wasn’t sure what Jay did with her money, as one moment, the hat was there, and the next both the hat and the money had disappeared, though her skirts were suddenly looking a lot fuller than before. As the tabaxi examined every coin, piece by piece, Tipsy realized the fucker was flaunting, glancing at the crowd and smiling and winking. And, gross, the fucker even licked a copper when he saw an older gnome making eyes at him.
Tipsy wouldn’t mind taking just a bit from him, if he was gong to be this careless about his cash. Gingerly, she grabbed a copper piece and flicked it between her fingers.
“Certainly a lot you made, there,” Tipsy said, surprised at the own harshness in her voice, “For such a short song.”
The tabaxi immediately scoffed and turned back, eyes turning to slits. “You gonna put that down? I didn’t see you on stage.”
“Relax, relax.” Tipsy flipped the coin back into the pile. “Just figured I’d make some meager smalltalk before you fucked off for the night.”
Beetle giggled, but he held no warmth in his voice. “I am the entertainment of the night, thank you very much-if anyone’s gonna be leaving this tavern tonight, it’s not gonna be me.”
Oh, I am so gonna take your gold you motherfucker.
Tipsy glanced at Ziggy, who had finally stopped massacring the already dead snails, and was looking at the pile of money. “Um...that’s a lot of shiny metal circles? Do? Do you want a pat on the back?”
Ziggy stopped, then started to reach a hand towards Beetle’s shoulder. Playfully, Beetle swatted it away, probably about to make some playful comment about no touching until you pay. That was obviously the wrong thing to do to the high and mighty grung as he hissed and scrambled back onto Tipsy’s back.
“I am a red grung! Do not touch me, fuzzy song slave!” Ziggy cried. He grabbed Tipsy’s head, and shook it around. “Attack!”
“...Ziggy, I am your travel slave, not your warrior slave.”
Ziggy stuck out his tongue. “I’m your travel slave, not your warrior slave.” he said mockingly, mumbling to himself, but relented.
Beetle, clearly holding back laughter, went back to flaunt-counting his money. Elowen, who had, up until this point, been as quiet as Radan (still pressed into the wall, horns practically crunched forward-it had to hurt, right?), leaned forward.
“Quite the humorous show you and your friend put on there. I’ll tip you extra if you and your friend stop stealing from the patrons.” Elowen said.
Beetle pursed his lips (lips?) up, and exchanged looks with Jay. “Hey now, how much are we holy FUCK.”
Fifty shiny gold coins scattered from Elowen’s hand onto the table. Beetle and Jay looked at each other, looked at Elowen, looked at the coins, and nodded together. “I will be as angelic as Luxia,” Beetle said, “You can start calling me Brother Beetle.”
Jay rolled her eyes.
“What? It’s true!” Beetle proclaimed, hand on his heart.
“I would prefer not.” Elowen began to stand, only stopped when Beetle lashed a long arm out.
“Now now, where are you going? I mean, you dropped this much money,” Beetle waggled his eyeridges, leading Tipsy to momentarily wonder if, since he was covered in hair, that meant his entire face as just an eyebrow, “I wonder what else you can drop. That armor, maybe?”
Jay scooted about a foot further from Elowen and Beetle.
“My apologies, but I really must be going, my husband is waiting for me at home.” Elowen said, taking a step back and easily shaking ff the smaller tabaxi.
Beetle shrugged. “That means nothing to me, sweetie.”
“It means something to me.” Elowen shot back. He had just taken a step forward when Clover bounded back.
“Ah helloooo! Leaving so soon? The fireworks haven’t even begun,” Clover another sure nod, “They’re the best part!”
“I really need to be leaving, it’s a long journey back home...” Elowen sounded so very tired, his gaze at his feet and hands stiff against him. Clover patted him on the arm.
“But you look so sleepy!,” Clover protested, despite every inch of him being covered in armor, “Please, I insist you stay and enjoy the festival, it will rejuvenate you! Plus, I offer a special paladin discount, just for you?”
Elowen, either too beleaguered or too polite to argue, nodded. “I suppose I can stay for an extra night to regain my strength. Thank you for hospitality.” he rasped, and sat back down, Clover heading to presumably retrieve a room key.
It was a good thing that Clover just left, as whether from listening in too closely or just her general tiredness, Tipsy’s glass slipped right through her fingers and crashed onto the floor.
Clover poked her head out from a door.
Or, Tipsy gritted her teeth, maybe she wouldn’t be so lucky.
“I heard a glass, which one of you sly devils did that?”
Tipsy gave a thousand yard stare.
“It was you again!,” Clover gave little finger guns at Tipsy, “Yes I heard it the first time but I was too nice to say anything because I’m too awkward too, ahaha!”
Silently wishing she would explode right then and there, Tipsy reached into her bag and with a surprising amount of strength, tossed three silver coins to the faun. Clover caught them in one hand, smiled, and scurried off to fetch the key.
The inn had gone silent. In fact, aside from a few patrons way too drunk to even stay awake, the motley crew at their little table in the corner were the only customers left. It certainly made for an awkward situation, since Tipsy now had to watch as that damn guilt-tripping knight delicately swept the shards up, stood up, walked over to a nearby waste bin, dump the shards in, and then walk back. He certainly knew how to make a half-orc feel guilty.
“You might as well tell me what you heard.” Elowen said. And before Ziggy could give anoother amazing excuse, he added, “I know you were listening in.”
“Nothin’,” Radan smirked teasingly. Beetle has an eyeridge arched again, filing his nails with a crystal file, fancy bastard that he was. “Just about someone passin’ through the town. Someone you wouldn’t be happy to see, I ‘pose.”
Elowen paused. “What do you know?” He asked.
“I told you, nothing.”
“I don’t believe that.” Elowen said sharply, hands curled. After a second, he relaxed, and looked away. “My apologies, I...I was mistaken. Seems I’m a bit paranoid these days.”
“You know what would really help with that paranoia?” Beetle put down the nail file and leaned too close to Elowan for comfort. “Just relaxing, taking the edge off! Maybe taking that suit of armor off, it looks heavy.”
Approaching with a heavy looking silver roomkey, Clover nudged Beetle. “Drugs?”
Beetle blinked. “What?”
“Is it drugs? To take the edge off?” Clover chuckled at her own horrible joke.
Beetle snorted. “Yes, actually,” he curled the feather hanging down from his cap around his finger, ‘How’d you know?”
“There are illegal drugs in this establishment?” Elowen stood up. “If there are drugs here, I am afraid I must confiscate them.”
“Nooo, nonononono,” Clover waved her little towel around in the air, “I am joking, that was joke, there’s nothing here, I swear. It is very illegal here, I could get-”
She motioned a finger slicing across her head. And then just for kicks, winked at Beetle, who laughed again. The joke, of course, flew right over Elowen’s head.
“I would have to bring you in if you did have any.” He repeated, arms crossed.
“You-you are from Hammershire, you have no authority here! I have more respect in this town than you do.” Clover crossed her own arms, somehow looking equally intimidating.
Elowen let out a sharp sigh. “Considering that our kingdoms are unfortunately merging, it would seem that my authority is due to expand.”
Clover scratched the back of her neck, and gave what was either a sheepish grin or a nervous frown. “Well, that is true, but to be fair technically you are a second class citizen compared to me. It’s sucky but it’s true.”
The knight was silent for a second, then slammed a fist against the table. “Ironhaven will pay for what it’s done to Hammershire.” He said, voice low but loud.
Clover grimaced. Even Tipsy flinched-by the spirit of Bane this man was truly unafraid to speak his mind, he just didn’t care at all. Tipsy didn’t know a lot about Ironhaven, but she knew how...patriotic the country was, and how adverse to, ahem, criticism it could be, especially from foreigners. She glanced at Radan.
“You hear this guy? You hear him?” She said, in almost total disbelief. For a second, Tipsy wondered if guards were about to come pouring in, but then Clover simply shrugged. “Eh, fair enough. Radan, actually, I have a job for you, for coin. You look honest enough, you know, I can’t see your eyes because of your bangs but I once saw your eyes and there’s trust and passion there, I love it.”
She slid Radan a small envelope.
“I need you to drop this off to Harkin’s General Store, it’s very important. I’ll give you half coin now, and the rest later. Thank you!” Clover smiled, and pulled a gold coin from her apron. She flipped it to Radan, Radan catching it in one hand.
Radan took the envelope, briefly shaking it as if that’d reveal some amazing thing. When that did nothing, they pocketed the envelope. Jay appeared quite interested, though went back to juggling some silver ball bearings when Radan glanced back at her.
“Well, I suppose I got to do this then.” Radan said, standing.
“I suppose you do.” Elowen replied. He cleared his throat. “I...need to fetch some things at this general store as well, do you mind showing me the way?”
Radan presumably stifled another sigh (so many sighs going around today), and nodded. “Fine, fine, I don’t mind.”
“You the uh, delivery faun for this here joint?” Tipsy asked, suddenly. Maybe this could give her some useful info, maybe not, who knew. Definitely not her.
The faun shrugged, allowing his hood to flutter down. “Eh, more just general tasks, haven’t been here for that long. I just run the errands for Clover whenever she asks.”
“Very helpful young fellow!” Clover called from across the bar.
Ziggy’s eyes lit up in wise understanding. “Like a proper slave.”
Radan looked at him, perched on Tipsy’s shoulders. “I get paid,” they said, slowly, “You just saw me gettin’ paid.”
“That’s right!,” Ziggy turned a fierce look to Clover, “Why are you paying the cow man?”
“Because they are not slave!” Clover wagged a finger, “He is a worker!”
Ziggy huffed again, ignoring the pat on the head Tipsy gave him to try and calm his frazzled and delicate mind. “Everyone’s so backwards here, I don’t understand...”
Clover stepped out from the doorway she was about to enter. “You know what? You should all join in the festivities! Go have fun! There are some seasonal stalls open that I am sure you would enjoy, Beetle, eh? And I’m sure you adventurers would love the sights Belimar has to offer, yes!”
Tipsy nearly chocked. Adventurers? Adventurers? Since when was she, a lowlife good for nothing of a half orc, an adventurer? An idiot, a mistake, a brewer of decent beer if she was in a decent mood, but never an adventurer. She didn’t even have a goal since leaving the monastery, master hadn’t given her anything concrete, she was, at best, a wanderer.
Jay shared her thoughts, making a sour face and looking at her hands, where two of the three ball bearings she had been juggling laid. The third one appeared to have vanished, somehow, yet again.
“And I know you could all use some fresh Ironhaven air, so go have fun!”
For what Tipsy hoped would be the final time, Clover walked to the back, door slamming behind her.
Radan stood up, stretching their legs out for a moment, then silently motioning for Elowen to follow after. The mismatched duo walked towards the doors, only stopped when a blur of black and white slid between them and the doors.
Jay, wearing the most serious expression Tipsy had ever seen on anyone ever, stared at the two, half their height. Then, she held up two small fists, and uncurled to reveal the two ball bearings, with poorly drawn smiley faces hastily added onto them with ink. Where she had gotten the ink from was a mystery. When did she have time to draw the smiley faces on?
Elowen cautiously took the ball bearing. “Thank you.” He said as if Jay had just given him the most important treasure in the world.
Radan did not take the treasure.
“Wait, wait!” Beetle cried, standing up. “I wanna come too! I wanna see what we’re all doing, and I’ve got gold to spend before a fun night out!”
Ziggy looked at Beetle as he sprinted across the room to Jay, trailing behind Radan and Elowen, then back to Tipsy. He cleared his throat, rolled his hand around, and then snapped his fingers. “Prepare the palanquin!” He cried in a shrill voice, “I want to go to the general store!”
“Why?” Tipsy asked hazily.
“Because...because uh...I want to!”
Ziggy jumped into the backpack, pointing a very obvious finger at the exiting group. It was here Tipsy made her second mistake, in hurrying to join the group, instead of staying for one last pint. And she had forgotten a tip-what kind of monster forgets the tip?
By now, the streets were packed. It was only due to her height and her companions unusual features...well, no, it was mostly just Elowen’s golden armor reflecting light like a mini sun that allowed Tipsy to spot them amidst the swarms of people. As she pushed and shoved her way through, Ziggy yelling strange and baseless insults at anyone who dared get in his way, Tipsy noticed a uniquely ornate carriage parked next to the inn.
It was strange, if only in how the people in it acted. The carriage was a typically fancy kind Tipsy had gotten used to seeing on the rare occasion; red with gold foiling swirling around. But whoever was in there was trying so very hard not to be noticed, far more obvious about it than Radan. A figure tied two gray horses to a post, wearing a long, dark cloak that hovered just above the ground. A guard stood up top, or perhaps two, she couldn’t really tell. Inside, someone could be seen, and vague murmurs could be heard between an older and younger sounding voice. Nothing distinct, though.
Beetle licked his lips, and put a hand on his hips.
“Well,” he said, a grin slowly forming, “What do we have here?”
Tipsy glanced at the bard, and back to the carriage.
He took a step forward.
A million alarm bells went off in her head. “What are you doing?” Tipsy asked, but Beetle was too far gone. She hoped that maybe inside the carriage was an old client of his, but somehow she doubted it.
Not that she cared, mind you. Far from it.
This was going to be hilarious.
For just a second, Beetle broke from his stride towards the carriage, and looked over, back at Tipsy, a yawning Ziggy, and an unamused Jay.
“Watch this.”
As if he was the god of love himself, Beetle strutted over to the carriage, and stuck his head-no, his entire upper body through the open window to the person inside. Briefly, Tipsy saw alarmed blue eyes go wide, someone in a dark blue cloak slamming themselves against their seat in a similar fashion to Radan, and stoney gray eyes staring at Beetle.
Up ahead, Radan and Elowen has stopped their silent walk to stare. “Is everything alright?” Elowen had called, but got no response.
Tipsy felt her lips curl up.
Inside the carriage, the younger voice fearfully piped up. “Um...hello?”
There was the distinctive sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath. The guard near the front, as well as another guard that popped out of who-knows-where, leapt into action, swords out and grim looks on their faces as they approached the tabaxi.
Feet swinging in the air, tail swaying back and forth, Beetle spared a short glance behind him. “Okay, more than one I see, that’s fine,” he said, not a care in the world, then leaned even further into the carriage. “So, where you from? You come here often? Tell me a bit about yourself, you look like a lot of fun and I have all night.”
Tipsy couldn’t hear what the passenger inside said next, but one of the guards, the one to the right, began to reach over, presumably in an attempt to either slaughter the tabaxi or rip him off the carriage.
There was no need-as soon as those fingers grazed Beetle’s neck, he leapt behind himself with a truly impressive cartwheel. While Tipsy thought Jay was next to her, Jay slid in front of Beetle, doing little jazz hands at the guards while still, somehow, giving off an air of ‘don’t fuck with me or my stupid flirty friend’.
The guards remained tense, then turned back to the carriage. After a few moments of quietly exchanged words, the cloaked figure stepped out, followed by a third guard who must have been with him inside the carriage. The three guards kept intimidating eyes on Beetle as they trudged towards the Marigold, disappearing through the doors. When they were finally safe inside, Jay relaxed, spun around to Beetle, and motioned for the bard twice her height to bend down.
She then slapped his face as soon as he was in reach.
“Hey, don’t blame me! They were the ones who threatened to slice me in half, Jay, I was just trying to be nice.” Beetle crossed his arms.
Jay made a few hand motions that could only be interpreted as ‘You dumb fuck you could have died’, though her silent rant was interrupted by a most ungainly snort.
Despite herself, Tipsy fell to the ground, tears springing from her eyes as she began to laugh so loudly she was sure half the town could hear her. Ziggy, of course, wasn’t pleased that she had fallen so behind in following Radan and Elowen, and was demanding that she pick herself right off the ground and go to the store of generals, but Tipsy didn’t care. By the eternal soul of Gruumsh, that one moment had made all of the previous day’s bullshit so, so worth it. She could already see Beetle going to trial for crimes of horniness-god damn he really had no self preservation. Not that Tipsy did either, but at least she didn’t walk up to mysterious carriages and stick her head in.
“Come on, come on!” Ziggy hollered, slapping little hands against her head, “I want to go! Listen to me!”
Finally, Tipsy regained some semblance of composer and stood. Jay, of all people, took her hand, looking up at the half-orc with sparkling eyes. Beetle, pretending as though the past five minutes never happened, took Jay’s free hand. Her feet just barely touched the ground, Jay began to sway back and forth, like a kid on a swing.
Ziggy looked at this with confused eyes, then jealous ones. “Hey, that looks fun! I wanna do that!” he cried.
“You’ll have to come down from my shoulders.”
“Never!”
The rest of the walk continued in blissful silence. Radan was long since ahead, but Elowen was clearly pacing himself to keep an eye on the four troublemakers. Well, one troublemaker and three bystanders. If this tabaxi got them all killed, Tipsy was going to be so pissed.
Belimar was a quaint town with a lot of fun buildings; perhaps she could convince Ziggy to spend just a few more days here before they set out on the road for...whatever that strange little dude wanted. She passed by a delicious smelling butcher, and a quaint little bookstore that, for whatever reason, stuck out to Tipsy. Maybe it was the way it looked so much older than the other buildings, or the fact that clearly, it very few patrons.
Harkin’s Dry Goods was a quaint little building, converted from what looked to be an old barn. Peeling white paint marked its name over faded red, and many townsfolk could be seen entering and exiting. Must of been a popular place to shop, though Tipsy supposed most general stores were.
By the time she entered, Radan was already handing the letter to a tall, muscular man with ginger hair and rosy cheeks. Alongside the usual rations, there was a wall behind the counter the man was at that had some more unusual goods; most notably, multiple weapons, from long bows to lances. Probably why those goods were behind the man, away from the usual customer poking and prodding. Elowen was distractedly looking at some of these weapons, from a good distance away. Beetle, of course, appeared to be scanning the crowd, and seemed vaguely disappointed by whatever he had found.
“I ‘ave a delivery from Clover.” Radan said as they passed the letter to the man at the counter.
“Ooh, that has my name on it! Thank you!” The man clapped, and took the envelope, tearing it open. He looked through the yellowed paper contents, and nodded. “Ah yes, this is last week’s bill. Thank you very much!”
The aptly named Harkin looked between Radan and the customers in line, that Radan apparently skipped right over to deliver the message.
“Actually, you look familiar. Have I seen you before?”
Radan suddenly looked very, very nervous. “Uhm, I’m not suuuure…? Probably not?”
“Are you sure? I don’t know-Perhaps we were star crossed lovers in another life? There’s a familiar aura about you, I’m not sure.” Perkins prattled on. Radan looked at him with their eyes narrowed, then, suddenly, realization struck. Radan’s eyes went wide, and they turned away.
“Yeah, no. Bye.” They said, and walked off. Harkin waved them bye as Radan made a beeline for, of all the aisles, the sweets section.
“Strange, strange...oh, hello tiny child! What can I help you with?” Harkins gave a toothy grin down, leaning over the counter.
Jay blinked, then pulled her collar back to show her...chest. Harkins looked further down, grimaced, and then gave an even wider smile.
“Oh, you are a halfling. I...am so sorry.”
Jay flipped him off.
“I deserve that, yes yes. Um...so, do you want to buy anything?”
Tipsy exhaled sharply, and looked around the room. Elowen was so clearly distracted, it’d be so easy to just...take a little…
“We could do a distract ‘n rack on the knight,” Tipsy said quietly, only for Ziggy’s lack-of-ears, “But he seems so nice, I’d feel bad.”
“Why feel bad for him? We don’t know these guys, who gives a shit!” Ziggy thundered down at his taller companion, earning multiple glances. Oof, they were going to have to do another talk about his indoor voice again. “This is so boring, there has to be something to do!”
“There was that bookstore we passed, wanna pick up some kindling for the road?”
Ziggy very much agreed with that idea. And, somehow, the rest of the party, one way or another, had the same idea. As she exited the converted barn shop and walked to the bookstore, she noticed Jay and Beetle lagging behind, a shiny new slingshot in Jay’s hands. Elowen and Radan were just up ahead, glancing between each other but saying nothing. People kept looking at Elowen, eyebrows raised, but said nothing to one another.
When they arrived to the tiny wooden shop, Elowen held the door open for Radan, and noticing the rest of the group coming towards them, kept the creaky door in place until everyone had walked in.
There was a distinct stench of must and dust. An old human man sat by a small desk, reading some ancient looking book on arcane spells, adjusting tiny bifocals. He glanced up, made a face, and looked back down.
“What do you want?” The old man spat.
“I...I’m just here to peruse.” Elowen said. The old man grumbled, and went back to ignoring their existence.
Radan subtly nudged Elowen, and motioned the armored knight forward. Tipsy kept a close eye on them, and as lowkey as she could possibly be, kept a few paces behind them. She wasn’t usually one for straight up spying, but...well, no, she was, she was a curious bastard and wanted to hear the drama. For whatever reason, Beetle and Jay were close by as well, clearly listening in as well, though Beetle seemed to reading some kind of romance and Jay kept pulling out books, observing their interiors for just a moment, slamming them shut, and then moving on to the next book.
Her fingers ran along dusty history books, until it hit something much smaller and softer. She pawed for it, pulling out a tiny picturebook, alongside a giant cloud of dust.
“Ah-fuck!” Tipsy cursed, just able to to stop herself from sneezing and dislodging her passenger.
“Watch it!” Ziggy hissed, clearly remembering what happened the last time Tipsy sneezed when he was still on her shoulders.
He had been a very unhappy and very muddy grung that day.
A frustrated growl emerged from her throat as Tipsy flipped through the book. It was clearly old, the ink all faded and pages stiff and yellowed, but its contents were still readable. It was instructions, on how a child can survive a dragon attack.
Gods, Ironhaven was weird.
Elowen was at the back of the store, looking at old battle texts, though it wasn’t that big of a space so Tipsy was still able to see him. Radan snuck up behind him, casually leaning against a shelf, arms crossed as if they didn’t care about anything.
“So, you’re a paladin.” Radan said simply.
“I am.” Elowen replied, clearly unsure what Radan was trying to get at.
Radan glanced over at the old man, distracted in his readings. Quietly, they leaned over to Elowen. “You were lookin’ for a warlock?”
Elowen tensed. “I am, yes.”
Radan went in for the kill. “Do you know their name?”
“...I do. What makes you so interested?”
Elowen shut the book he had been half reading and put it against the shelf, right back in its original place. Couldn’t let the book be disorganized, though the store was already a chaotic dump.
“I’ve been living around these parts for a long time. I know almost anyone.” Radan said smugly, a slight smile playing on his lips.
After a moment of consideration, Elowen leaned in. He whispered-
“You gonna pay for that?”
Tipsy grumbled. The old man was leaning over his desk, a pointed stare in Tipsy’s direction. She begrudgingly shut the picture book and shoved it into the shelf, ignoring Ziggy’s feeble attempts to command her to grab a few of the heaviest books he could spot and get him sone fine kindling. The man clearly didn’t appreciate that, and it took a few jabs for Ziggy to finally get some form of a hint and shut up.
She glanced back over to Elowen and Radan. Whatever Elowen had said or asked, Radan seemed displeased and a little confused, shaking his head.
“Regretfully, no, I don’t think I have. But there’s all sorts of witches living in the mountains around here...” Radan looked at the ground, hooves tapping against the wooden planks.
“I’m looking for that one in particular.” Elowen replied.
“Do they have something of yours?” Radan questioned. Elowen tensed again, then seemed to...laugh, almost, and Tipsy could almost imagine the small smile on his face.
“They have a lot of things of mine.”
Radan gave some kind of weird, half sympathetic grunt.
“Yes,” Elowen nodded, “Quite…’eugh’.”
His attempt to mimic Radan was as cute as it was funny. Tipsy had to stifle a laugh, which definitely caused both of them to glance at her, and probably blew her cover, but screw it, the damage had mostly been done. Besides, Ziggy had already forgotten his lesson and was staring directly at Elowen again, and somehow Tipsy didn’t think the grung would be able to distract the paladin with a well placed comment on his size.
“I haven’t had much luck with magic users myself.” Radan said, looking back to Elowen.
“You haven’t? We should swap stories one day.” Elowen said. Radan chuckled.
“Maybe. ’Say that as if we’re gonna see each other again.”
“Yes, well, you’ve been quite persistent in following me around.” Elowen folded his own arms, daring Radan to say something.
“Yeah. You’re big an’ shiny.” Radan tapped against the floor.
“Well…,” Elowen sighed, letting his arms relax to his sides, “I could use the help of someone who knows these parts well.”
That was exactly what Radan had wanted. They put their hands behind their head as they leaned even further back, grinning. “I sup’ose I could help out...for the right price, of course.”
“There’s always a price, isn’t there.” Elowen didn’t just sound tired, he sounded exhausted. “At this point, I’d be willing to do anything.”
“Sounds like a deal to me.”
Just when Elowen was about to speak again, the old man slammed his book against the desk. “Alright!,” he yelled, “Get out! This store is officially closed! All sales are final, and no returns!”
“Of course, sir-sorry for the trouble, we’ll head out immediately.” Elowen bowed, and began to shuffle Radan out the door. He tapped Tipsy and gave a gentle, yet firm, push towards the door, whipping around to Beetle and motioning for the bard and mime to come forth. Mysteriously, Jay was holding a weathered-looking book, with seemingly blank pages. Whether she paid for it or not, Tipsy didn’t know, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme with the halfling.
The walk back to the tavern was silent, aside from Ziggy occasionally making snide comments at passerbys. Actually, now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure Ziggy had been making snide comments the entire time during their trip to the bookstore-probably why the old man hated them so much, but Tipsy had quickly learned to tune Ziggy’s rants out. The sun had just began to set when they got out of the bookstore, and after they had pushed through all the gathered people, the stars were glittering high up above. It was a picture perfect night.
“Ah, Radan, hello!”
Just outside the tavern, Clover waved.
“I got your delivery done.” Radan said. Clover smiled.
“Thank you, thank you! Here, put your hand out.” Clover requested. After a moment of hesitation, Radan did so, and Clover quickly slapped not one but two gold coins into his hands. “For fast delivery.” She said, winking.
Radan gently took Clover’s hand, and kissed it.
“Awww, ever the gentlefaun,” Clover cooed, “I’m actually out to go and see the fireworks! You’re welcome to go back up for the night, but I highly recommend you see the fireworks. We’ve been saving up for a couple years now, some of the best in the kingdom, if I do say so myself.”
Jay was already hiding behind the inn door.
“Wait, actually, before you head off, did you happen to see a young man in a cloak with three guards?” Beetle waved his hands around to get Clover’s attention.
Clover laughed nervously. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”
Beetle puckered his lips and leaned in far too close for comfort to the innkeeper. “Clover, please, let me know.”
“Of course I will!” Clover promised. And then, much more quietly, with complete sincerity, “I will not. Now go! Shoo! Enjoy the fireworks.”
She trotted away, disappearing into the crowd of excited townsfolk. Tipsy leaned against the front of the inn, eyes half closed, Ziggy hopping onto her shoulders and standing to full height to see against the crowd.
“Wanna watch?” She asked, as if there was any answer other than ‘yes of course I want to see stuff explode into colorful flames you stupid half-orc’.
There was a light whistle in the distance, and after a moment of silence, an explosion of blue and yellow lit up the sky.
The crowd went nuts. People hooted and hollered as more and more fireworks went up, of all colors and enchantments. Reds, greens, yellows and whites, in so many different shapes. Starbursts, mini comets, strobing balls and little pearls that shot into the air one after another. Some fireworks would burst out and make little trails, spelling out different words-‘Long May Ironhaven Live’ and ‘Blessed is our Kingdom’, mostly. Sometimes, the fireworks would shoot up and make intricate illustrations, of knights fighting against demons, or the Ironhaven Family Crest. Tipsy’s favorites were the fireworks that shot up and spiraled outward, like drunken revelers.
She had never seen anything like it. Not even Ziggy said a word, and he always had a comment to say on everything. For a moment, the whole town-no, the whole world seemed transfixed on the fireworks display.
It was simply breathtaking.
But then there was the glow on the horizon.
It was subtle, at first. Just the vaguest hints of orange and red, easy to brush off and assume it was nothing more than the fireworks being lit. But then it started to get stronger, and stronger, until the smell of burnt smoke and burnt meat began to carry itself through the air, and it started to hurt to look outwards.
People were mumbling. People were talking in hushed tones. People were happy, then confused, then nervous.
In the distance, screaming began, and that was all it took for panic to take hold.
Kids were crying out, but lost in the rampaging crowd, their parents couldn’t find them. Tears, a fountain of tears, you could sail through the amount of tears springing forth from people’s disbelieving eyes. Tipsy was vaguely aware of Clover running past her and into the inn, peaking out behind the door alongside Jay.
In the distance, a lone towns guard, beaten and bruised, ran forward, frantically waving his hands in the air.
“The kobolds!,” he screamed, voice hoarse and desperate, “The kobolds are attacking!”
Tipsy and Ziggy stared at the inferno in front of them.
“Oh baby,” Ziggy said, “Look at THAT! I wish I made that.”
It was then Tipsy realized her third mistake, which perhaps, in hindsight, was her first mistake.
Not taking the damn boat to Hammershire.