“Female! Where’s my mushroom mead!” The Shewish Giant, Gromp, pounded on the square wooden table.
“Where’s our drinks!” Shouted another.
“I’m hungry! What about our food!” came a third angry voice.
“This is coming out of your pay!” called out the voice of the Rirorni General Pol.
My‑re sat, holding the Grey Wand, peeking through her fingers, covering her eyes, and looking at the room full of patrons at the Broken Sword tavern. They were all surrounding her, shouting demands she couldn’t fill. She closed her eyes, covered her ears, and rested her forehead on the table.
They’re not real. They’re not real, My‑re told herself over and over. She had to clear her mind and figure a way out of her plight, but the noise and distraction were constant. Leaving wasn’t an option. A void of darkness covered the landscape as if nothing existed outside these four walls. A dream, well, a nightmare, and one she couldn’t wake. The Lake of Mist’s monster was not some fish but a sentient creature, likely not from this realm, that somehow inhabited her body. It had the power to transport her to different scenarios from her past, which felt real enough. It could access some of her memories but not her knowledge. She had lied and told the creature the crew of the Nightie referred to it as the ‘Creature from the Black Lagoon,’ shortly after that, the patrons arrived and began shouting demands at her. Likely a punishment. So, now she knew two things. One, it couldn’t tell when she lied. Two, and more importantly, she knew what it wanted: the Grey Wand.
“What is all this commotion?”
My‑re glanced up and saw the Lake of Mists’ monster, in the form of Chuck, the wagon driver, enter the tavern. She cringed in disgust at his gargling voice. His vertical mouth with serrated teeth moved unnaturally from side to side.
“Uncle Chucky has what everyone wants,” Chuck said. He placed two small, tapped hogshead barrels on a nearby table. “Drinks are on the house!”
The crowd instantly departed and headed to the kegs. Not pleased with the sight of the creature, she welcomed the relief from the patrons’ uproar.
Dusting his hands clean of the situation, Chuck approached, sat across from My‑re, and breathed out heavily. “Ready to give me the Grey Wand?”
“Nope.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Chuck said, “Thought I’d ask.” Pausing momentarily, he continued, “So, where would you like to go today? Family’s burning building? Running from the Rirorni horde? Tower of Death? Oh, that seems like a nice place.”
“You gave your word. No more running from the undead,” My‑re said.
“Yes, I did,” Chuck grumbled. “However, you lied to me, which should void me from keeping mine. Give me the Grey Wand, and all will be forgotten.”
“Why do you even need it?” My‑re asked.
“It is a key. Nothing more. I wish to be reunited with my kind.”
“More likely release them from some prison they’ve been placed in. I know better-”
Interrupting, Chuck said, “I am your better. Your childlike race, the ones that will remain, will probably never ascend to the level of the Elkarrish.”
“The Elkarrish,” My‑re said. The word triggered deep memories she suppressed, maybe forgotten, like a dream. She had encountered one in the Tower of Death. It, too, had inhabited her body, as it seemed like this one had now. She defeated it with a chaos weapon, which manifested into her battle axe, but she didn’t have it with her.
Chuck snorted in amusement. “Look at me, about to go on a monologue. Yes, I’m an Elkarrish, not that it means anything to your child-like mind. In any event, I’ve shared enough with you today, so…I know. I’ll place you in the Blood Games arena. That’s quite a nasty place. Limbs being hacked off, heads being hewn from bodies, and lots and lots of blood.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” My‑re stammered.
“I have things to do, child, and people are asking me question after question after question.” Chuck sighed.
“Keep me here, and I won’t lie to you again,” My‑re said.
“All I desire is the Grey Wand. Give it to me, and I’ll keep you here and with happy customers.”
Several heartbeats passed.
Chuck continued, “No? Then it’s off to the Blood Games arena.”
“Wait, there are other things the wand can do,” My‑re said.
“Like what?” Chuck replied.
“Like casting lightning bolts,” My‑re stated, thrusting the wand straight at Chuck’s chest. Nothing happened. She felt awkward pointing the stick at him like a toy. The heat from embarrassment rushed to her face. What in the nine hells? She saw Sheila Greywand do it several times on the Nightie.
“It amuses me how little you know about the simplest of artifacts. I’m surprised your race even remembers to breathe,” Chuck said in mirth.
“But…” My‑re paused and lowered the wand. Sheila had cast bolts several times. She saw it. The creature had to be lying to protect itself. Remembering battling the creature in the Lake of Mists, a magical force manifested itself with a thought, but the same didn’t happen when she attempted to cast a bolt of lightning. If what the creature is saying is true, Sheila wasn’t using the wand to cast the spells. Maybe Sheila wanted everyone to think she used it? A hoax? A misdirection?
“Why are you making that face? Learning, are we?” Chuck snorted. “It doesn’t matter. Just because you can speak doesn’t make your race intelligent. Besides, I doubt you have the strength to remove me so I can do what I want with you.”
Think, My‑re think! Someone asked it questions. Questions it likely couldn’t answer. Maybe she could help tip them off something wasn’t right and she wasn’t in control. She had to get a message out, feed it misinformation, or better yet, purge it from her. This was her body. The creature didn’t have complete autonomy or would have taken what it wanted. Maybe the wand determined that control, and she had to offer it freely. That could mean she still had influence. Looking at the mob of patrons hovering around the two kegs Chuck brought in, she had an idea.
“I might not have the strength, but I bet he does. Gromp! How’s that mushroom mead!” My‑re yelled across the room.
“No mushroom mead. Why Gromp treated this way?”
“That’s because Uncle Chucky over here drank it all himself, didn’t share, and didn’t pay,” My‑re replied.
Gromp snorted in irritation. Heavy footfalls followed the Shewish giant over to their table.
Chuck’s eyes widened. Gromp’s gargantuan hand clasped tightly around his neck. “Maybe the tavern is a good spot for you today,” Chuck choked out in his liquid-sounding voice.
“Toss him out. He’s banned from the Broken Sword tavern for life. Don’t allow him back in.”
Gromp carried the struggling Chuck by the neck. My‑re followed. He opened the tavern’s door and tossed him into the void. Chuck’s form disintegrated into the unknown.
Snorting in satisfaction, My‑re noticed the tip of the Grey Wand began to glow. In the distance, a similar twin light rapidly approached.
Something was coming.