“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 General Pol.
My-re was sitting, holding the Grey Wand, and peeked through her fingers covering her eyes and 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 was constant. Leaving wasn’t an option, as a void of darkness covered the landscape, as if nothing existed outside these four walls. It was a dream, well nightmare, one she couldn’t wake. The Lake of Mist monster was not some fish, but a sentient creature, likely not from this realm that somehow inhabited her body. It had the power to move 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’, and shortly thereafter, the patrons arrived and began shouting demands at her. Likely as a punishment. So, now she knew two things. One, it couldn’t tell when she was lying. 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 Mist monster, in the form of Chuck, the caravan driver, enter the tavern. His boots and pants were brown cowhide, well faded and stretched out and appeared to have been nice once. He wore a low cut, tan cotton shirt, which revealed white and grey chest hair. She noticed his belt showed a progression of notches corresponding with the man's expanding waistline. Sporting a full white beard, his white hairline was receding on both sides of his head, the middle was thinning and was slicked back from sweat. She cringed in disgust at his gargling sounding voice as his vertical mouth with serrated teeth moved unnaturally from side to side.
“Uncle Chucky has what everyone wants,” Chuck said as 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 was pleased it relieved the uproar.
Dusting his hands clean of the situation, Chuck approached, sat across from My-re with a drink in hand, and breathed out heavily. “Ready to give me the Grey Wand?”
“Nope.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Chuck adjusted his thin spectacles and said, “Thought I’d ask.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, “So where would you like to go today? Families burning building? Running from the Rirorni horde? Tower of Death? 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 did lie to me, so that should void me from keeping mine.”
My-re swallowed hard.
“However, I am your better. Your child-like race, the ones that will remain, will probably never adhere to the level of the Elkarish-“
“The Elkarish?” My-re interrupted.
Chuck snorted in amusement. “Look at me, about to go on a monologue. Yes, I’m an Elkarish, not that it means anything to your child-like mind. In any event, I’ve shared enough with you today, so…Oh I know! I’ll put you in the Blood Games arena. That’s quite a nasty place. Limbs being hacked off, heads being hued 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 her and I won’t lie to you again,” My-re said.
“All I want is the Grey Wand. Give it to me and I’ll keep you here.”
Several heartbeats passed.
Chuck continued, “No? Then it’s off to the Blood Games arena.”
“Why do you want the wand?” My-re asked.
“I have an interest in what it can do,” Chuck replied.
“Like cast lightning bolts?” My-re asked and thrusting the wand to its fullest square at Chuck’s chest. Nothing happened. It was awkward pointing the stick at him, like it was a toy. 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. Was the creature lying to protect itself? Remembering battling the creature in the Lake of Mists, the shield 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 was using 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, you don’t have the strength to remove me, so I can do what I want with you.”
Think, My-re think! Someone was asking it questions. Questions it likely couldn’t answer. Maybe she could help tip them off something wasn’t right. That she wasn’t in control. She had to get a message out or feed it misinformation, better yet purge it from her. This was her body and the creature didn’t have complete atomy, or it would have taken what it wanted. Maybe the wand was that control and she had to freely give it over. That could mean she still had influence. Looking to the mob of patrons hovered 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. Just this human horse urine called beer. Gromp good customer, Gromp tip well, 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 went wide, as 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.
“Throw him out. He’s banned from the Broken Sword Tavern for life. Don’t let him back in!”
Gromp carried the struggling Chuck by the neck, as 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 begin to glow. In the distance a similar twin light rapidly approached.
Something was coming.