KaiserIncorporated
New Member
The Lie He Tells Himself: Part 1
The chill of a frosty glass envelops his palm. The weight of liquor weighing it down as he lifts it to his mouth, tipping it slightly. A burning sensation passes his lips and down his throat. He releases a small and involuntary sigh. An action accompanied by the sound of an empty glass hitting the wooden countertop. Letting his wide-brimmed hat droop over his face, he peered around the room. A Stale, musky smell of wet wood and ale fills the air. A woman sits in the corner of the room, sliding her fingers across the strings of a harp. Her hands moving with the effortless precision of a trained professional. The bartender leans against an open window at the far end of the counter. Smoke from his pipe weaved trails of gray into the dim light of the street outside. The torches mounted throughout the room flicker with life, filling the room with a warm orange glow. For a moment, the peaceful tavern was still in time as if nothing outside its interior ever existed. But then, as the novelty wore off, a sound of muffled, hearty laughter could be heard. The front entrance was thrown open as a man, only described as a walking wine barrel, stepped across the threshold.
"I'll have a boot of wildflower mead if you would kind sir!"
Patting his large stomach with both hands, he stumbled across the room, Narrowly dodged a few of the still decor before slumping into a barstool. The large man looked around, taking note of the only other patron a few seats away from him. Then, he looked up with his glazed brown eyes and bellowed "If you'll be quick about it my good man, my buzz is begging to fade from me!" If the bartender was at all agitated by the fellow's presence, he hid it well. Tapping his pipe against the windowsill, he watched the ashes drop to the street below. After a moment, he turned toward the interior of the tavern and stared blankly at the man. Sliding his pipe into his pocket in one flawless, practiced motion. "Right away sir." he replied with the tone of a man that's been doing this job for far too long. He began the steps required to fulfill his task, His body and hands flowed through the motions as if this pattern was all he knew. Both patrons watched the man with a varied intensity before the large man spoke again. He directed his inquiry to the figure seated near him. "What's the matta with you boy? You have the look of death about ya." His right arm gesturing in wide arcs as he spoke, it finally resting on his leg. He placed his other hand on the counter before leaning towards the smaller man as if expecting a response. A moment passed in silence, the sound of liquids being poured into a large glass filled the air. The reclusive man peered sidelong at the other from beneath his hat and grinned slightly. "If it is another day in the land of the wicked, then I shall tempt the wheel of fate with song." the man murmured. "Did your troubles scramble your mind into ramblings lad?" The larger man asked. "It's a phrase from my homeland. It means that nothing is so bad that it cannot be remedied with small acts of kindness," he replied. The bartender slid his sweet-smelling concoction across the counter toward the barrel stomached fellow. With a smile, he grabbed the glass and eagerly began slurping at its contents. Drinking with the fervor of a man lost amongst the sandy dunes for days before salvation."What is your name fine sir?" The smaller man interjected. Only after half the large container was emptied, did his companion release the cup from his lips. "Earlheart Mangrayvious, but my friends call me Earl." replied the large man between heaving breaths. "Well Earl, would you care to hear a poor man's tale this night? I'll even repay such kindness, starting with that mug your holding." A mighty chuckle erupted from Earl's chest as he slapped the countertop. "Aye lad! If your paying for drinks ill do whatever you damn well please!"
"Then drink on my friend, for this story begins with two men of equal standing, but different ideals."
Last edited: