The Heroes of Tolmurr

The Saga of Fargrim, Pt 2

Setting: Thirsty Camel Roadside Inn, several miles outside of Milton

It was a regular Thursday evening at the ol’ Thirsty Camel for Roric Gray. As with every other night, he headed to the Thirsty Camel after a long day working at the lumbermill and before heading home to his lovely, so he keeps reminding himself, wife Hilda. A few rounds a the ’Camel helped remind himself of just how lovely his wife was.

The patrons of the camel never really changed: a collection of farmers, fishers and farriers from the surrounding lands. Interestngly, there was a new face in the tavern tonight: a burly, orange mohawked Dwarf sat in a corner table surrounded by no less than seven roasted chickens, a hind quarter of pork and a flagon of ale which was dutifully refilled by Linda the barmaid. Patrick couldn’t help but notice that leaning up against the wall next to the dwarf was an assortment of different weapons, mostly axes.

“Bit ov a funny wun to ‘ave in the camel on a Thursd’y, I reckon” Patrick said to the barkeep.

“Yer tellin’ me, Patty my ol’ boy. But he pays ‘is tab an’ scares away those wot might be lookin’ for trouble” replied the barkeep while absent mindedly wiping the same flagon he had been whiping for most of the evening.

Patrick paid no heed to the dwarf and focused intently on the ale before him. However, the Dwarf then began to sing:

“Pound the tables, throw the chairs
Take the ale and leave the swill
Break the mugs and throw them out
Down the beard my ale goes!

Drink and sing ‘neath stone and gold
Fetch me hammer, tongs, and bellows
Forge the ores in scorching coals
Down the beard my ale goes!

The time to drink is here again
Knock yer heads back, drink it down
Til our women don’t have chest hair
Down the beard my ale goes!

Diamonds may gleam like starlit nights
And gold may shine like bright of day
But Ale is more than either or
Down the beard my ale goes!

Pound the tables, throw the chairs
Take the ale and leave the swill
Break the mugs and throw them out
Down the beard my……"

The Dwarf was interrupted by the tavern door being smashed down off its hinges. Walking through the now gaping whole in the tavern was half a dozen brigands. More than just your average highway thugs, these men had armour and swords. Patrick suddenly wished he was at home with his ‘lovely’ wife….

“Right. We here are members of the Bandits of Barnoth and we have come to relieve you of your valuables. Hand them over and no one needs to get hurt” said the lead bandit, an Elf who was missing an ear.

One of the patrons, a miner at the stone quarry, stood up and swung a clenched fist at the nearest brigand. Before the blow struck, the bandit leader nimbly stuck a long knife through the miner’s eye.

“Now that, my dear friends, was a mistake. Now hand over your possessions” ordered the leader as the rest of his men started to shake down the patrons of the Inn.

“mumph mrmbl grmph phmble rmble hrm! yrm frrm cphm!” said a voice from the corner of the room.

“What??” questioned the bandit leader.

“I said” replied the voice as he swallowed the last mouthful of food, “that killing that man was a great mistake and that once I finished my food I would take my axe and kill every last fucking one of you”.

The last thing the bandit leader ever saw was the image of a mohawked Dwarf leaping over a table of roast chickens; two handed axe raised above his head.

FAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGRIM” the Dwarf roared as he soared through the air.

STOOOOOOOOONEBOOOOOORN” he bellowed as his axe separated the Elf at the waist.

The remaining were similarly cut down in a brutal fashion. Patrick marveled at the way the Dwarf moved: a seemingly endless flurry of axe blows, headbutts and kicks. It was as if every part of him was a weapon. As the last bandit fell the Dwarf stood still, chest heaving, and looked down at a dagger which had somehow found its way into his shoulder.

“Cunts” he said as he removed the knife from his shoulder.

“uhhh, I don’t suppose any of you know if he had a family?” the Dwarf said to the Inn patrons as he gestured a thumb towards the dead miner.

“.. a wife…and kids, I think. Live near the river” replied Patrick, still quite shocked by events of the last few minutes.

“Right, well, make sure they get this then” the Dwarf said as he plucked a coin pouch off of the dead bandit leader and chucked it to Patrick.

The Dwarf then dragged the bodies outside and put them in a neat pile, scrubbed the floorboards of the tavern, paid for his meal and fixed the door. Then he left. That was the last time Patrick saw the Dwarf.

Curiously, the next evening a cloaked figure entered the Inn looking for Fargrim, then he left.



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