Mathron held the yellowing parchment in his grasp, unsure if he could believe what was contained therein. The text described a container which had the power to produce a never ending supply of a certain substance- something Mathron had been searching for a better part of his years. A chalice of immeasurable standards, a literal Holy Grail- The Mighty Thor's Ale Horn. It had been lost to centuries untold, but here he held a parchment describing with unmistakable detail the item which Mathron had seen so frequently in his dreams. The problem, Mathron realized now, was the same problem he had always had: Finding it.
"You no doubt see something that captures your fancy, Sir Master Elf." Gilorhem said, a sparkle in his eye. "The words on the parchment are all true, and I can even lead you to the dungeon that contains the relifact you seek...but not for free." He smiled a wide toothy grin that simmered Mathron with a cold rage.
"What is your price, Dwarf?" Mathron regreted the answer before he heard it.
"Oh, nothing much, simply your...how shall I say...protection...while I pursue another magical item of my interest. And the help in gathering a competent team to aid in the recovery of these artifacics."
Mathron did his best to not frown, or rather not frown more. "I am a solitary person. I do not think I could tolerate others, much less guarantee their safety."
"Who said anything about their safety? Fuck their safety!" The Dwarf swore loudly. "Just keep me alive, that's all!" He threw back his head and cackled wickedly.
"I agree then, with one condition." Mathron said standing. "I shall protect you to my dying breath 'til our deal is done, but know this, 'Mad Dwarf', I am Thor's servant first and foremost. Give me but one reason to think you are in league with the Trickster," Mathron paused, and leveled his hammer at the Dwarf's face, "And I shall smite you so violently it will be hard to tell from whence the crater of smiting destruction ends and the Dwarf begins." Mathron's gaze was cold steel and his voice a clash of thunder as he spoke, swearing the words.
Gilorhem quickly rose and took Mathron's hammerless hand into his own, speaking in exctited tones. "Oh yes, Lord Paladin Elf Sir, oh yes." His toothy smile again appeared. "We shall be wonderful friends."
This time it was no rage that seized Mathron's heart, but icy black dread of what was to come.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Meeting in the Dark Wood
Clad in dirty unwashed robes of musky earth colors, Gilorhem eyed the approaching Elf warily. Gilorhem crouched low in the dense shrubs, attempting to blend in as he observed Mathron. A bright red cape wrapped the Dwarf's stocky form, making him appear eerily flamboyant and slightly diminishing his ability to hide and appear sane. A twisted smile formed under his scraggly knotted beard as Gilorhem reached into his cloak, withdrawing an ornate hourglass. Briefly studying the gently glowing sands within, Gilorhem mumbled and nodded to himself. "Yes, yes. He's the...Yes."
Mathron had pitched his tent and unrolled his bed roll by the time Gilorhem entered his camp. It being the dead of night, Mathron instinctively reached for his hammer upon hearing the raspy voice of Gilorhem call out, "Hello Master Elf!" The tone was jovial, but the voice sounded like it had been smoking heavily for the past several decades. "Mind you no malice, Friend Elf!" Gilorhem continued, tittering anxiously, "Here, let us have a fire."
Gilorhem gestured and placed his hand on the ground, causing portion of the Earth to suddenly be stripped bare. In but a moment a ring of stones appeared and lined the now exposed dirt, then were soon accompanied by a mass of split logs dropping from the sky. Gilorhem pulled a bucket of water from behind his back and splashed it on the wood, causing it to burst into flame. Seeing a slightly confused expression on Mathron's face, Gilorhem remarked, "My magic. Best if left unexplained. Ah, but if that isn't warm though."
"Who are you?" Mathron said, eying the Dwarf warily.
"Me? A friend. An ally. A--"
"Your name." Mathron interrupted, speaking flatly.
"Gilorhem is my name, though most call me the Mad Dwarf, that having nothing to do with my temperament. But enough about me. What of you? Strange thing to see one raised in the Elf lands following a Northern God." The Dwarf said, gesturing to Mathron's symbol.
"I am not from the Elf lands." Mathron replied, his interest in this discourse waning. He wondered if the Dwarf would just leave if he ignored him long enough.
"I can sense you don't think I'm worth your time." Gilorhem remarked, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a scroll. "Perhaps this will change your mind." Passing the scroll to Mathron, the Elf silently unrolled the parchement, read a few lines and swallowed hard. His mouth had become painfully dry.
"Is this true?" Mathron said after some moments.
"Ah, to have a captive audience." Gilorhem said, idly staring into the fire.
Mathron had pitched his tent and unrolled his bed roll by the time Gilorhem entered his camp. It being the dead of night, Mathron instinctively reached for his hammer upon hearing the raspy voice of Gilorhem call out, "Hello Master Elf!" The tone was jovial, but the voice sounded like it had been smoking heavily for the past several decades. "Mind you no malice, Friend Elf!" Gilorhem continued, tittering anxiously, "Here, let us have a fire."
Gilorhem gestured and placed his hand on the ground, causing portion of the Earth to suddenly be stripped bare. In but a moment a ring of stones appeared and lined the now exposed dirt, then were soon accompanied by a mass of split logs dropping from the sky. Gilorhem pulled a bucket of water from behind his back and splashed it on the wood, causing it to burst into flame. Seeing a slightly confused expression on Mathron's face, Gilorhem remarked, "My magic. Best if left unexplained. Ah, but if that isn't warm though."
"Who are you?" Mathron said, eying the Dwarf warily.
"Me? A friend. An ally. A--"
"Your name." Mathron interrupted, speaking flatly.
"Gilorhem is my name, though most call me the Mad Dwarf, that having nothing to do with my temperament. But enough about me. What of you? Strange thing to see one raised in the Elf lands following a Northern God." The Dwarf said, gesturing to Mathron's symbol.
"I am not from the Elf lands." Mathron replied, his interest in this discourse waning. He wondered if the Dwarf would just leave if he ignored him long enough.
"I can sense you don't think I'm worth your time." Gilorhem remarked, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a scroll. "Perhaps this will change your mind." Passing the scroll to Mathron, the Elf silently unrolled the parchement, read a few lines and swallowed hard. His mouth had become painfully dry.
"Is this true?" Mathron said after some moments.
"Ah, to have a captive audience." Gilorhem said, idly staring into the fire.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Showdown at the Inn of the Welcome Wench, Part 2
Wood scratched against wood as chairs were pushed back and several locals staggered to their feet. Mathron felt his jaw tighten as he realized he'd now be facing an entire bar of inebriated angry men who were set upon mashing his face in.
"My quarrel is with only the man who deprived me my meal." Mathron stated bluntly, but saw it did little to defuse the situation. Mathron sighed, and reached for his holy symbol. The followers of Thor do not run from any fight, and if these men wished for battle, Mathron was willing to oblige. As the mob began to close around him, Mathron whispered magic words, praying for his God's might in the up coming skirmish. His prayer seemed to be answered almost immediately as the Elf began glowing with a pale white light. This however did nothing to stop one of the attackers from crowning Mathron with a wooden chair, which broke over the paladin like a wave crashing upon the shore. Strangely, Mathron seemed unaffected.
Mathron felt his training take over has he shifted his weight and pivoted to meet his now chairless attacker. Taking a quick step into the man's proximity Mathron landed a sharp cross on the man's jaw, dropping him. With a swift step back the mob was upon him, clambering over themselves to try and get a swing off at lone 'protagonist'. Mathron back pedaled, ducked and weaved avoiding blows. When the perfect moment struck Mathron lunged forward and connected with several telling blows to the closest drunk. The man's face distorted under the rapid blows from Mathron's fists, and soon the man was trampled by a now frothing mob more intent than ever upon tearing the Elf to pieces. Mathron deflected blows from all angles, only occasionally finding blows coming through to him while he continued to break teeth and ruin faces.
After several minutes of heated blow exchanges most of the mob had been serviced in the face repeatedly by Thor's justice. Many realized they were severely outclassed by this wandering warrior and staggered back to their drinks, while others crawled off dragging near unconscious comrades. Mathron approached the prone and trampled drunk who had started all this business. Placing a hand upon the drunk's forehead, Mathron gently whispered a request to his mighty God, causing the wounds upon the drunk to glow with a bright light. The man stirred as his wounds closed with unnatural celerity, slowly regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw Mathron.
"You owe me a meal and an ale. Do not make me beat you again."
About a half hour later, Mathron walked out of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, content and full of hot lamb and ale. Leaving town, he made for the woods to set up camp. It was here that he crossed paths with Gilorhem, the Mad Dwarf.
"My quarrel is with only the man who deprived me my meal." Mathron stated bluntly, but saw it did little to defuse the situation. Mathron sighed, and reached for his holy symbol. The followers of Thor do not run from any fight, and if these men wished for battle, Mathron was willing to oblige. As the mob began to close around him, Mathron whispered magic words, praying for his God's might in the up coming skirmish. His prayer seemed to be answered almost immediately as the Elf began glowing with a pale white light. This however did nothing to stop one of the attackers from crowning Mathron with a wooden chair, which broke over the paladin like a wave crashing upon the shore. Strangely, Mathron seemed unaffected.
Mathron felt his training take over has he shifted his weight and pivoted to meet his now chairless attacker. Taking a quick step into the man's proximity Mathron landed a sharp cross on the man's jaw, dropping him. With a swift step back the mob was upon him, clambering over themselves to try and get a swing off at lone 'protagonist'. Mathron back pedaled, ducked and weaved avoiding blows. When the perfect moment struck Mathron lunged forward and connected with several telling blows to the closest drunk. The man's face distorted under the rapid blows from Mathron's fists, and soon the man was trampled by a now frothing mob more intent than ever upon tearing the Elf to pieces. Mathron deflected blows from all angles, only occasionally finding blows coming through to him while he continued to break teeth and ruin faces.
After several minutes of heated blow exchanges most of the mob had been serviced in the face repeatedly by Thor's justice. Many realized they were severely outclassed by this wandering warrior and staggered back to their drinks, while others crawled off dragging near unconscious comrades. Mathron approached the prone and trampled drunk who had started all this business. Placing a hand upon the drunk's forehead, Mathron gently whispered a request to his mighty God, causing the wounds upon the drunk to glow with a bright light. The man stirred as his wounds closed with unnatural celerity, slowly regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw Mathron.
"You owe me a meal and an ale. Do not make me beat you again."
About a half hour later, Mathron walked out of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, content and full of hot lamb and ale. Leaving town, he made for the woods to set up camp. It was here that he crossed paths with Gilorhem, the Mad Dwarf.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The Showdown at the Inn of the Welcome Wench, Part 1
Mathron sipped the warm ale as the atmosphere of the surrounding tavern washed over him, making him feel slightly more at ease. His pocket coined two silver- enough for his ale and meal, leaving the Elf with a bedroll, the stars and the great outdoors as his accommodations tonight. It had been a long rough day of travel, and with each slip of cathartic ale Mathron felt increasingly numbed to his near overwhelming fatigue. To tired to even remove his chain mail, Mathron had headed straight for the tavern and sat in the first unoccupied seat. After placing his order the waiting game began. His hot meal would arrive soon, and Gods his mouth was watering at the thought of hot mutton shank.
The bar seemed to be getting increasingly rowdy, and Mathron cast a glance around, too tired to even care what the commotion was all about. Idly toying with the holy symbol around his neck, Mathron half wondered if he, as a paladin, should feel guilty over his current apathy. He nursed another sip from the generously large ale horn his silver had bought, and felt much less conflicted. If there was no due cause for him to get involved, then why should he? Even though the sound of voices seemed to be escalating to the point of violence, it was a tavern, Mathron reasoned. 'I am but a paladin, not a baby sitter for all around me' Mathron thought to himself. 'If they give each other a few lumps, what of it? Mighty Thor call us to all battle at times...' Mathron found his thoughts interrupted by a plate of hot lamb, large baked sweet potatoes and rich, hearty vegetable stuffing, all covered in some kind of brown sauce. The waitress placed it down unceremoniously in front of the starving Elf and was off again in an instant.
Sighing contentedly, Mathron placed his ale horn to one side of his plate, and reached for his holy symbol to offer thanks for this meal when it happened. A very large, very drunk man suddenly filled Mathron's vision for a split second before crashing down on top of his table, destroying it and his meal. And his ale. Mathron looked down upon the wreckage of unconscious man and ruined mutton, and then sideways to the source of his malcontent. Another very large, very drunk man, though this was victorious over his foe, accepting congratulations of fellow drunks. Mathron stood and faced him. "You owe me a meal. And an ale." There was no malice present in Mathron's voice, only a quiet rumble, like a storm on the horizon.
The drunk spit on the tavern floor. "Ha! You'll get nothin' from me you stinking Elf!" The man taunted, drunk off his first victory and the 12 or so ales he'd had already.
"You will buy me a meal, or I will take it's value from your face." Mathron, much like his deity, dealt with conflicts in absolutes.
"I would like to see yo-" Despite being clad in heavy chain mail, Mathron often surprised people with his spectacular speed. Recently, he surprised this drunk man. Mathron's fist pummeled the man's jaw, sending his head whipping backwards. His form followed suit, and within a heart beat the man had fallen, sprawled out on the ground.
Mathron looked down at the man, who was barely conscious. "A meal. And an ale."
The bar seemed to be getting increasingly rowdy, and Mathron cast a glance around, too tired to even care what the commotion was all about. Idly toying with the holy symbol around his neck, Mathron half wondered if he, as a paladin, should feel guilty over his current apathy. He nursed another sip from the generously large ale horn his silver had bought, and felt much less conflicted. If there was no due cause for him to get involved, then why should he? Even though the sound of voices seemed to be escalating to the point of violence, it was a tavern, Mathron reasoned. 'I am but a paladin, not a baby sitter for all around me' Mathron thought to himself. 'If they give each other a few lumps, what of it? Mighty Thor call us to all battle at times...' Mathron found his thoughts interrupted by a plate of hot lamb, large baked sweet potatoes and rich, hearty vegetable stuffing, all covered in some kind of brown sauce. The waitress placed it down unceremoniously in front of the starving Elf and was off again in an instant.
Sighing contentedly, Mathron placed his ale horn to one side of his plate, and reached for his holy symbol to offer thanks for this meal when it happened. A very large, very drunk man suddenly filled Mathron's vision for a split second before crashing down on top of his table, destroying it and his meal. And his ale. Mathron looked down upon the wreckage of unconscious man and ruined mutton, and then sideways to the source of his malcontent. Another very large, very drunk man, though this was victorious over his foe, accepting congratulations of fellow drunks. Mathron stood and faced him. "You owe me a meal. And an ale." There was no malice present in Mathron's voice, only a quiet rumble, like a storm on the horizon.
The drunk spit on the tavern floor. "Ha! You'll get nothin' from me you stinking Elf!" The man taunted, drunk off his first victory and the 12 or so ales he'd had already.
"You will buy me a meal, or I will take it's value from your face." Mathron, much like his deity, dealt with conflicts in absolutes.
"I would like to see yo-" Despite being clad in heavy chain mail, Mathron often surprised people with his spectacular speed. Recently, he surprised this drunk man. Mathron's fist pummeled the man's jaw, sending his head whipping backwards. His form followed suit, and within a heart beat the man had fallen, sprawled out on the ground.
Mathron looked down at the man, who was barely conscious. "A meal. And an ale."
Friday, April 29, 2011
Introduction
This will be a blog chronicalling the adventures of Mathron Nailo, an elf warrior from the realms of TG. He will fight numerous evils for the ultimate reward/motivation: Ale and whores. It will be a comedy of errors. Good men will die. Bad men will also die. Innocent victems will be victemized. Etc, etc.
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