🍺 THE MOP O'MENDING 🍺

"Neli. Neli!" Kamerissa shook her little sister. "Wake up Anneli! Wha' happen' 'ere!?"

Kamerissa had just returned from her weekly ghost fungus gathering. Her horn buzzed as she could sense strong magic was used. It was much stronger than the usual mop o' mending she came home to every week. She could smell the faint odor of burnt flesh, but couldn't find its source. Cook wouldn't wake up, and she had to step around the sprawled out bodies to reach the window dressings. Blinding light flooded the tavern when she pulled them back. All the patrons groaned.

Some of the patrons were more beaten than others. She searched among the bodies and found everyone. Wait. Not everyone. There were three missing from the pile. The old man and the rabbit that he doesn't go anywhere without, and… Gasp! No. It couldn't be! Panic rose from within her and she rushed back to Cook.

"Anneli!! Confound it, Cook! Wake up! Where is my Yothain?!"

Between Kamerissa shaking her and the blinding light, sleep was dragged from Cook. Her hair was disheveled and matted from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Dried spit crusted in the corner of her lips and down her chin on one side of her face. Her head was throbbing something fierce and she was struggling to keep her eyes open. She was a mess and she could feel it.

"Anneli! Wha' happen' 'ere? An' where's my Yothain?" Kamerissa demanded again.

Cook staggered to her feet, "wait, wha'? Huh? Yothain? Oh. He pro'ly wen' ou' ta collect eggs. He's fine."

Cook clung to the wall and let it guide her through the kitchen to the back of the tavern. There was a door back there that led to her personal bedroom. She changed her clothes and made herself presentable as best she could with her head in the state it was in.

Kamerissa went out the other door that led to the chickens. She saw splintered wood all about the ground. The chickens were quiet and huddled together inside the coop. That only flummoxed her further. Upon closer examination, she found they hadn't even been fed today. She looked to the sky and saw it was approaching midday.

She called for Yothain. No answer. She searched the surrounding area. Nothing. Where was that nephew of hers? His mother had entrusted him with her and Cook while she was away. Kamerissa spun around and rushed back through the door and nearly tripped Cook as she was coming out.

"He pro'ly wen' wanderin' off 'gain. Ya know how he does aft' the fights." Cook waved her hand in the air as she spoke. She looked like she had a hangover and was slurring her speech more than usual.

Cook wasn't drunk.

"No, Anneli. Somethin' happen' 'ere. Somethin' magical."

"Oh, tha' was jus' mop cleanin' up. Ya know tha'."

Kamerissa eyed her sister. It wasn't like her to not give the details of the night's events. She was either hiding something, or she really didn't know what happened. Kamerissa grabbed Cook by the hand and led her through the kitchen, grabbing a stool, she sat her sister down at the table the three of them shared.

"Look, Anneli. Somethin' more happen' 'ere last nigh'. I don't know wha' t'was, but strong magic was used."

"I tol' ya. Mop."

"No, Anneli. I'm talkin' more than mop. Stronger."

"Wha' ya sayin', Issa?"

Kamerissa smiled at the pet name. Cook hadn't called her that since childhood.

The six-foot-tall, dark-skinned elf stood at the entrance. His flowing silver hair rested at his waist with flawlessness, shimmering when the light from the windows hit it just right. Kamerissa eyed this newcomer with suspicion while the rest of the room was just getting their bearings.

The elf didn't come in further than the entry right away. Instead, he looked like he was searching for someone. The tavern was in perfect order, but it looked like a slumber party gone wrong. The patrons looked like they were either just waking up, or were sitting at the tables with their head in their hands. The dragon scale in his arm pulsed with a low orange glow. He could sense strong magic here.

"Is there no bartender here?" His eyes went wide when they rested on Kamerissa.

"Th' name's Kamerissa. I'm th' bartender 'ere."

"What's a child like you doing here, let alone, bartending?"

"I'm lo' older tha' ya think."

The elf shrugged his shoulders. "No matter. Have any dragon ale?"

"Fresh ou'. An'thin' else?"

"Nevermind then. I just need to speak with Yothain."

The whole tavern went silent.

"He ain't 'ere. Wha' does a drow like you wan't wit' 'im?"

Narissorin recognized the signs. "I have found you old man." He took an orb out of his satchel and tossed it into the air. It rewound time in slow motion as if it were a projection for all to see. The old man leaving with Yothain, the mop, the darkness, and the fight rewound in 1/16th time.

Anger crossed his face and his red eyes glowed with an eerie pulsing light. "Where can I find this old man!?" The tavern fell silent. The orb returned to him. The drow's hands began to glow with a dark ancient draconic arcane aura. The level of intimidation rose as his hair began to levitate.

"If you do not tell me where to find this old man, I will kill you all." The deep inhuman voice erupted out of his throat. The fear in the tavern rose exponentially. Silence. Zug was the one that broke the silence.

"He lives just outside town in the old abandoned watch tower."

Kamerissa eyed Zug with a look that could kill. Drows cannot be trusted, didn't Zug know that?

Narissorian let his magic die down. "Thank you."

He turned and left the tavern in a rush. When he left the front door, Kamerissa left out the back. She had to find the old man before the drow could harm Yothain.

"Ramken, The assassin will be here soon. We must act now!" Jurok allowed fear to edge in his voice. "You know what to do."

"And what if I can not follow through? He is my friend. He is too young."

Jurok shook his head. "We both know what happens if we fail."

Her ears fell. "Yes sir."

She drug her feet, fighting with what she knew she had to do. When she reached the boy's door, one hand reached for keys to unlock the cell and the other gripped the dagger at her belt. Ramken unlocked the door and watched Yothain sleep for a moment before approaching. As she walked over to him, she pulled the dagger from her belt and turned it around in her hand. Her eyes went to his neck and she caught a glimpse of braided twine. She used the knife blade to pull on the thread. A stone came out from under his shirt, and her eyes went wide.

This changes everything.

"I am sorry Jurok, I cannot do it." Ramken put the dagger back in her belt, and shook the boy. Hard. "Hurry Yothain, we have to get out of here. Jurok isn't who he seems to be and there is a dark elf assassin sent to kill us both!"

Yothain's eyes shot open at the word assassin, and fear filled his heart. He didn't question his friend. He just let her lead the way as they descended the tower stairs and snuck out the back.

"We must leave town, the assassin is here!"

Yothain looked at her like she had grown two heads. "You want me to leave town? But I have to tell my aunts!"

"We do not have time," she snapped back at him.

"You are a hard one to find, old one." The drow had slipped into the building unnoticed and was standing in the shadows of the library.

Jurok narrowed his eyes at the elf. "Took you long enough. What do you want with me, drow? I heard rumors of you seeking us."

"I need a pint of your ale. Catarina has fallen ill and you know she is like family to me." Narissorian placed his hand on the hilt of his drow blade.

"What does Catarina have to do with me?"

"She is sick with the darkness. Please, Great One. I mean you no ill will." He knelt on one knee.

Jurok eyed him with curiosity. "Fine, I will give you the ale on one condition. You must escort the boy to the floating isles. It is time for there to finally be a Victor." A sly smile crossed his face.

Yothain looked up from his chores and watched the old man come through the door.

"Sorry, sir, but we ain't open yet."

The old man ignored the boy and limped to the table in the corner away from the window.

"I'll wait here until you're open, if it's all the same to you." The old man's voice was just as ragged as he looked.

Yothain set the broom down and walked around the bar. He poured a pint of their finest mead and delivered it to the old man. He grunted a rough thanks to the boy as he put six silver pieces on the table.

"You gave me too much." Yothain only took one.

"Keep it. My gift."

The sound of shattering glass pierced through the air. Everyone in the tavern froze in horror. The old man hid the broken bottle behind his back.

A seven-foot-tall goliath stood from his seat. Wine dripped down his head and rolled over his toned muscles. He looked at the old man who saw it all and sneered.

The old man put his empty hand up, looking innocent. He nodded in the direction of the little green goblin behind him as he gripped the broken bottle a little tighter.

Zug was oblivious to the occurrences in the room.

Snaglak growled and stormed over to Zug. He yanked the chair out from under the goblin with a harsh movement. Then he smacked the poor creature with it across his back, sending the goblin flying across the room.

The whole tavern flinched at the sound of the impact on the far wall. A smirk came across the old man's face as he had to duck out of the way.

His smirk only grew as he danced around the remaining goblins when they launched themselves in a fiery assault on Snaglak.

Yothain strolled out of the kitchen with plates piled in his arms. His face fell. Not this again. He searched the crowd for the old man and spotted him dancing around the chaos with a broken bottle in one hand, chalk in the other.

Yep. Just as I thought.

"Whatcha doin' back in 'ere? Them tables need food." Cook eyed Yothain with a cynical glare.

"The ol' man is back."

Cook nodded with understanding. She grabbed her dirty mop. Without a word, she worked her way through the kitchen doors and bellowed.

"Wha' in the name of Guthkug is goin' on ou' here?"

The scene in front of her was utter chaos. The typical Friday night activities had begun.

There was a goblin hanging from the rafters, and two more hanging by their toes from Snaglak's giant fists. They were pounding their fists on Snaglak's legs with no effect.

Zug was out cold against the far wall.

A buff bipedal rabbit jumped onto a tavern table. She thumped her foot on the table to get the old man's attention and raised her glass high in the air.

"Old Man! Get out the score card! I am about to come out on top tonight!"

She took her war paint out of her bag of holding and smeared the black substance across her face. She let out her fiercest battle cry for a creature of her small stature.

"For the glory of Guthkug!!" Then launched her two and half foot frame at Snaglak.

Cook's eyes swept the room, finding the old man snickering in the corner with ease. A broken wine bottle had rolled under his chair.

The cook started threatening all the patrons with a beating from her dirty mop. Even the fiercest creatures cowered at the presence of this mop.

Filth dripped from the wet, soggy brown top of the tool. A horrible odor that smells of rotting meat wafted off the item.

Some rumors have been spread around that the mop was even cursed, or that it absorbed the black plague itself. None wanted a beating from it, not after they saw it used once.

The poor goblin just couldn't calm down from the fight and got a smack from the tool. He stunk for a week and then vanished. Said to have smelled so bad he was exiled from the village.

An eerie silence fell through the whole town. The high-pitched squall of the wind was how you knew it was them.

Tonight they acted differently… darkness settled over the tavern and the mist seeped into the building through the broken windows.

The swirling void took form as a large ungodly looking beast. The unholy was now standing before Yothain.

A deadly weapon now, being wielded by the monster. It looked down at Yothain and inhaled deeply.

Yothain squealed like a girl and jumped backward, barely missing the creatures swinging weapon.

The guttural howl that erupted from its throat sent ice through the veins of all those that could hear the dark vibrations.

The old man dropped his hood and stood tall. His countenance changed from a feeble old man to the fierce orc lore keeper that he was.

Rushing between Yothain and the monster, an incantation flowed smoothly from his vocal cords. A bright, explosive light erupted from the old man's cane.

The dark abolth snarled and squealed in pain. When the light died down most that witnessed the light laid unconscious on the tavern floor, what was left of it.

"Wh … what was that?" Yothain stammered in horror. Other than the old man he was the only one unaffected by the divine light.

The old man turned to Yothain. "Interesting. None but the chosen hero can withstand the white dragon's light of purification. She could have picked a more meaty hero, but I suppose you will have to do." He surveyed the scrawny weak half-orc before him.

"Come young apprentice, I have much to teach you."

The young half-orc looked around the tavern. He was in shock. The ceiling was only standing by the four corner posts and the middle support beam. The walls shattered; splintered wood was scattered across the floor.

Everyone important in his life lied unconscious on the floor. "Go where? I …. I have to talk to my aunts. Is everyone going to be ok? What just happened here?!"

Yothain was in shock, his eyes fully dilated, and fear ebbed into his voice.

The old man chuckled. "Look, boy, If that thing returns and you are still standing, it WILL send you to the underworld. Your friends will wake with a headache but will not remember anything. We must go, now!"

Yothain looked to where the darkness was forming, he yelped in fear and jumped high. The old, surprisingly strong man caught him.

Carrying the young boy out of the scattered tavern he sighed. "Got a lot to teach you about courage boy."

He laughed as Yothain only hid deeper into the old man's embrace.

The shock overcame Yothain, and he passed out in the old man's arms. The old man pulled his hood back over his head and smirked.

He watched for a brief moment as Cook's mop got angry at the destruction of its tavern. It weaved its magic and began repairing the damage.

With the young half-orc in his arms, he retreated back to his tower.