Rune of Oldfyre

Chapter One

The Magic Shop was quiet, peaceful and non-labor intensive tonight that is until Wilhelm, the owner, walked in and ruined it all. “Ardunt,” He said my name to me as if I had forgotten or you, the reader, needed to know it. “Before you close the Shop, I need you to sell three more ‘Trolls Eyes’.”

I looked around the shop and out into the foggy night, then back to the aged owner. “That’s not going to happen; we haven’t had a customer in five hours.” I said to him hoping that he might, however unlikely, listen to reason for once.

“No, you have to. If we don’t sell at least three more, then there is going to be lay-offs.” He asserted. Lay-offs were always a threat, except in this case, I was the only employee; Wilhelm the Doom of all Kobolds, also had several thousand gold pieces stored away from his time as arch wizard or something cushy like that. He had enough to keep this place open for three generations after he was dead and in the ground.

I decided that this wasn’t something worth arguing over, so I pretended to get back to work; I sat and looked into my spell book, cleverly concealed by the store catalogue; I’m an amateur Wizard (I can juggle lightning between my fingers). I waited for Wilhelm to fall asleep in his big chair in front of the hearth, blew out all the candles, and walked out into the night.

If you are looking to get roaring drunk in Fraywood, there is a tavern called The Moon Lady; if you’re looking for good food or good people, there is a village a few miles from here called Horn Hill. The Moon Lady was as dark as the night outside aside from the few very cheap and very dim candles if had sitting at all the tables. I quickly sat at my usual table, so the other three or so patrons didn’t decide to play musical chairs, plus I wanted to avoid the tavern’s singer, Dirk. Dirk was an asshole, he gives me the feeling that he was one of those guys in school who’d laugh at dead baby jokes.

I couldn’t avoid him. He sauntered over in a manner that made it look like a giant stick was shoved up his arse; which, knowing him, it’s quite possible.

“Hey Ardork, whatcha doin’ here?” He said at me. I ignored him hoping that if I do, he’d get distracted by something shiny. “I said, watcha doin’ here?” For a singer he didn’t seem to put any eloquence into his mannerisms; I’ve never heard him sing, he probably took this job for the half price alcohol, but if he did it would sound like a raccoon rubbing its intestines on a harp.

Before I could continue ignoring him I found a fairly large dagger sticking out of my hand. It appeared Dirk had left it there for safe keeping.

“I'm gonna to ask one more time, Whatcha doing here?” His persistence for friendly conversation was admirable to say the least. He went to grab for the dagger, probably to gouge my eyes out. As he grabbed it he began shaking violently and fell to the floor, Some arks of lightning still bouncing from out the end of the dagger. This happened just as my friend Allistar Smythe walked in. He was a playwright for a group of mummers in Fraywood, they aren’t that good.

“Did you hear the big news?” he asked, barely glancing at the convulsing singer on the floor, “The king is marching north.”

“Really, why?” I asked, not looking up from my book.

“Don’t know.” He answered quite helpfully.

I wasn’t worried; any evil army worth their shit would avoid Fraywood like the plague. Before he could reply, Anya sat down at our table; we hadn’t even heard her enter.

“What’s with the singer?” She said looking at Dirk, now foaming at the mouth.

“I must have said something shocking to him. We were in an electrifying conversation.” I answered, we’ve had this conversation several times; this happens almost every night, the demon thing was new. “Did you hear about the king.” I asked Anya.