Karldereth's Tale

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Here is the first part of a short story I've been working on for a little while. It isn't a great piece of work, but I enjoy writing it all the same. Anyway, if you enjoy it please give me some feedback for I need inspiration to continue, as always.

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No one in the large common room of the Sleepy Tailor tavern even raised an eye or head as the door opened and a newcomer entered. He was a large brawny fella’, probably six foot high. His arms and legs were like bulging tree stumps. It was obvious that this man had seen a good share of combat and conflict during his life. However, this didn’t appeal to anyone in the noisy, smoky, rat ridden pub. However, the large man smiled at the lack of enthusiasm in the tavern and removed his travelling cloak, approaching the bar.
“What can I be gettin’ ya’, my good man?” the barman asked. He was strangely short, standing on a stool behind the counter, and had a very long beard. It was silver and sparkling, and the large warrior could have sworn it extended further than the tiny man’s feet.
“I’ll just have an ale. And maybe some sausages?” The brawny man smiled.
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll have them right away. Take a seat, take a seat.” The small man gave a huge grin, smoothly gesturing to a nearby table that was empty. The warrior nodded a smile and turned away, walking to the table. The food arrived minutes later. A scrawny, attractive bar maid brought out a large mug of ale and a plat piled high in sausages. The man nodded and handed the maid a few coins. She smiled a dashed away, straight back into the kitchens.

The large man, Olson Harwich, gulped down a large mouthful of ale and leant back in his chair, grabbing up his first sausage. It flopped around in his large, grubby hand before Olson shoveled the entire thing into his mouth, chewing happily. It had been a week or so since the man had eaten a good sausage, and the warmth of the inn gave the atmosphere a happy feel. Now, with the plate of sausages in front of him and a good ale in one hand, Olson began to observe the inn quietly.

Nearly every table was filled. There were so many people in the large room, Olson wondered how such a grubby tavern stayed running. It was, though, obviously a good place to sit and chat, for that was what most of the customers were doing. At one end was a large platform that Olson guessed was for entertainment. At that moment, though, it was empty. The tables were all set up to face the stage, but no one was looking now. No entertainment tonight.

So there was the main bar, a stage for entertainment, and a few dozen tables. Nothing more, nothing less. This was a completely average, though dirty, pub. Olson wasn’t sure what he liked about it. The food definitely wasn’t great, the ale was a little watered down, and the entertainment was… well, missing. But there was something. Something attracted the man to this place. He guessed it just reminded him of home. Of the Seven Dragon’s Inn. He had enjoyed it there, working as a bar boy until he grew up into the adventurer he was now. Of course, the choice to leave town and go on such journeys was entirely his fathers. Olson had had no word in his future. His father had said he was a great brute, a warrior waiting to be made. And that was all. After the decision to go adventuring, and ‘get rich’, had been made, there was nothing else left to say. Olson had left town alone. He had never returned, fearing what would happen if he turned up at his father’s door and explaining he wasn’t a famous hero. Sure, it wasn’t a nice thought, but the truth was that Olson longed the day his father past on, the day he could see his friends and mother again. But, until that day, he would continue to wander the coast and meet new people. So far, though, that was a lost cause. Olson had left months before, and still knew no one and still traveled alone. But there was nothing he could do, save for nibbling on his sausages and guzzling his ale.

The large man was shaken from his memories as a cold wind blew over him, the tavern’s door opening. In walked a stick-thin man, his hair grey and beard long. His eyes caught Olson’s attention immediately, for they were not average. This man didn’t have any eyes! He had two empty socket, two small wells of blackness.

Olson shivered. It seemed an eerie sight, un-natural or the like. However, even thought eh sight of this old man made Olson’s warrior stomach turn, he couldn’t move his eyes from the man. He watched him pass across the floor to the bar, the small man there waiting for an order. He was un-touched by the old man’s ‘disfigurement’ and simply smiled as the eyeless one spoke.
“Julius, I assume. How are you?” The old man asked the bar man, who’s name was obviously Julius. Olson could only see the eyeless’ back now, but he could hear a smile in the old man’s words.
“Good, good. And you, my old friend? Keeping up, are you?” the small man smiled.
“Oh, you rascal. Old age hasn’t got the better of me yet, if that’s what your asking.” The eyeless one gave a small giggle. It was so strange to hear an old man giggle like he did, and Olson was shocked. The man was such a cheery chap. It was uncommon, to say the least.
“Very well, very well. I s’pose you’ll be wanting some Scarlet wine tonight, seeing as it’s Monday, yes?” Julius asked the eyeless man, Olson simply watching the conversation unfold from his table.
“Yes. Of course. Scarlet. My favourite on a Monday. Yes indeed.” The old man gave another short chuckle. Olson smiled. He was so amazed that an old, fragile man ran such a seemingly happy life.
“Very well, very well. I’ll get you a glass. You go take a seat, lest you want your knees to collapse.” Julius teased, the old man laughing as he turned around. Olson jumped and turned away, looking down at his empty plate and shallow mug. Even though the man had no eyes, Olson feared he had been spotted ‘spying’ on the two men. He was shocked, furthermore, when the eyeless man took up a seat across from the warrior. He gulped, but made no sound. After a moment, the eyeless man faced Olson and smiled.
“Oh, hello there. Sorry, I didn’t realise you were sitting here. I’ll just…” The man stood and bowed, ready to turn away.
“No. Please sit. It’d be my honour.” Olson said quickly, subconsciously. He didn’t know why, or how, but it had slipped out.
“Oh. Oh, in that case. I hope you don’t mind. My name is Karldereth Burkski.” The old man sat again, his arm extended straight to Olson. The warrior hesitated, almost as if he didn’t know what was happening. Finally, he shook the man’s hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you Karldereth. My name is Olson Harwich.” Olson smiled back. He couldn’t dismiss the strange, un-welcome feelings inside him.

The two sat for a moment, but Karldereth took no time in getting a conversation going. He, as Olson would soon learn, was a person who never had nothing to say.
“Well, Olson. As you’ll already know, I can’t really say ‘I’ve never seen you here before.”, can I?” The man chuckled.
“But, I can tell you’re a new comer. Tell me, where did you come from Olson? Are you new to the town, or just this tavern?” Karldereth asked, leaning back in his chair the same seductive maid that had served Olson handed him a glass of bright red wine.
“Well, I originally came from down South in Weatherport. However, I’ve been on the road, stopping here and there, for months. I found this sweet little town and decided I might stay a while. It seems a nice enough town.” Olson was surprised at how open he was to the man. Again, he had said everything without knowing. There was something about this man, something that made Olson feel uneasy and comfortable at the same time. Something that told Olson it was fine to tell this man anything.
“Weatherport, eh? Heard that place has a roaring trade in Summer.” Karldereth smiled, sipping his wine gently. Olson didn’t have much to say, and the eyeless one could tell. He immediately began to speak again.
“Well, as for me. I’ve lived here all my life. Sure, I have left many times, but good old Snow-Wood would always be my final destination. I’ve seen so many things pass through this town. Conflicts, peace, deaths. So much has happened and I remember them all. That, I believe, is the only thing really left for me at this old age. I always have a tale to tell, I can admit that.” The old man chuckled again.
“No, but it’s not that bad. Sure, I don’t do anything that is even close to my adventuring days, but my life is still bright enough. Good times, old age can’t destroy.” But Olson had stopped listening at the word that was so familiar to him.
“You were an adventurer?” He asked straight away, blinking at the fragile man before him.
“Me? Why, of course. Sure, those I tell my tales to never can believe them for I was adventuring long before their time. Long before your’s too, I’m sure. But yes, I was an adventurer. Many days and nights spent in the wilderness. So many beast caves and wolf dens, I have passed through. So many beasts did I slay. No, but I am old now. All I have is my health, which is definitely dying with me,” Karldereth smiled, “and my stories.” There was a silence as Olson contemplated his next move. Finally, he gave up.
“I am an adventurer, you know?” He said, waiting for the response so he could continue.
‘Indeed? For how long, my friend, have you been adventuring?” Karldereth leant forward happily, obviously pleased to speak of such things again.
“Only a few months. I have few tales to tell, and none as heroic as yours sound. But I have been adventuring for a while. All because of my father who…” Olson stopped there. Was he really about to…?
“Your father? What about him?” Olson sighed and decided to proceed. No point in holding back now, the urges in his stomach stronger than ever.

Before he knew it, Olson was telling the poor old Karldereth his life story. He told of the inn work, his old friends, his mother, his father. He told of the decision his father had made, of how he had had no choice or say in the matter, and of the expectations his father had of him. The warrior even told of the tales of his short adventure, in which he fought with a great troll and slew a camp of orcs. No, they weren’t great feats or stories, but Karldereth listened excitedly, the words bringing back memories of his younger days. In fact, Olson had been so engulfed in the story telling that, when he had finished, he hadn’t even noticed that the inn had nearly emptied. The warrior was so surprised that he had told this old man, a man he had thought strange almost an hour ago, his entire life story. Olson was taken aback.
“Well, Olson my friend. You are quite a storyteller, I must admit. You remind me quite of myself. However, the night is growing old. I suppose you’ll be getting ready to leave in the morning, and I need my sleep.” Karldereth slowly rose, stretching his legs to the side and reaching to the roof with his arms.
“Well, I was great listening to you. If ever you return to Snow-Wood, I would enjoy speaking again. Maybe I could tell a tale or two next time.” With those words and smile, the old man headed to the door, grabbed his cloak and headed out the door. Olson smiled involuntarily, watching Karldereth leave. Then, he turned to Julius who was sitting at the bar, on the customer’s side now, writing notes on a little piece of paper.

Olson looked around the room, stretching, and saw seven other people in the room. They all sat at the same table, and were all asleep.
“Well, I suppose I’ll be leaving.” Olson said to Julius, who turned and smiled.
“Been talking to Karldereth I see. He’s a nice fellow, ain’t he?” Julius replied.
“Indeed, he is. Come here every night, I suppose?”
Julius nodded.
“Yes. Poor old Karldereth is here every night, usually sitting alone at that table. Whenever he has company, like you, though, he will be talking all night. Love to tell tales, that man. I must have heard the tale of the black dragon sixteen times now.” Julius chuckled. Olson smiled, heading to the door.
“Well, I’ll be off now. Karldereth sure is a nice one. Good health to you.” Olson gave one last smile and grabbed his cloak, heading outside.

Snow-Wood was a small village. It had one main street, constantly covered in snow, and a few back streets where the main houses were. The town had a friendly feeling to it. A feeling that made Olson feel at home.

He walked off down the street towards the inn he was staying at, amazed he had only drunk one ale all night. His thoughts, for the rest of the night until he fell asleep, were on the strange Karldereth. Olson liked this man. He reminded Olson, strangely, of a father he had always wanted. That was his last thought, as sleep took him from his rough, inn bed.

 

Good beginning. I look forward to the next installment.

 

Well, here's the next part. Not sure how long this is going to go for, but I hope to finish soon. Been busy recently so this might be all for a couple of days. Enjoy:


The next morning, Olson woke up quite late. By the time he had got dressed, packed his belongings and gone downstairs for breakfast, it was almost midday. Olson helped himself to some cold eggs and a measly piece of bacon, taking up a seat in the corner of the inn’s common room, next to a window. The street outside was still covered in snow, but it was a lot more active now. Outside some of the shops, small shelters ha been set up. It looked like a row of market tents, each leading into a larger shop. People walked here and there, talking, haggling and shivering the in cold breeze blowing up from the south. The sky was relatively clear, though, and the snow on the dirt road was fading away slowly. The sun was bright, but not warm enough to keep away the breezes chill.

Olson shuddered just thinking about the cold, so his gaze fell back on his meal. It was cold and puny, but it was a meal just the same. And it was free, so Olson happily helped himself to seconds, and a large mug of hot water. Hot water wasn’t a delicacy, to say the least. But it did keep people warm in the snowy lands, so it was used a lot.

Olson finished off the mug, paid the cook a little for the meal, despite it being free, and headed off into town. He had put on his large cloak, now accompanied by a huge, long scarf and a hat his mother had made him I his teenage years. It was quite small now, but still snug and warm. The hate was simply leather, with a thick layer of wool on either side.

Walking along the snowy street, smiling hello to everyone he met, Olson could feel the chill but didn’t mind it. He had experienced a lot worse in the wilds of the land, and this was a pleasant breeze. It wasn’t until now, when he was just exploring the town, that his thoughts fell on old Karldereth. Olson instantly wondered where the old man lived. Quickly, as if on purpose, an old lady grabbed his attention, pushing Karldereth to the back of the warrior’s head.
“You be needing some warm clothes, sir?” She asked from inside her small tent. It was obviously a clothes stall, and Olson simply shook his head with a smile and continued on. It was such a friendly town.

Olson lost track of time as he moved through the streets, talking to many people he came across. They were all interested in his adventuring equipment, and the man often saw people whispering and looking in his direction. It was as if he was a local hero. The little town obviously didn’t have much excitement in the air, and this great warrior was sure to be a gossip topic.

Before he knew it, Olson had arrived back at his inn and the night was ready to wake up. The sun had hit the horizon and was slowly sinking down to it’s bed, ready for a peaceful night, and clouds had sneaked across the sky deviously. Olson had headed upstairs, unpacked his belongings, informed the inn keeper he’d be staying another night (the man was pleased for Olson was a very generous customer) and returned to the common room for an early dinner, for he had had no lunch.

As he ate a pile of vegetables and mashed potato, his steak already gone, Olson tried not to think of Karldereth for some reason. Maybe it was because he already knew, no matter how hard he tried, that he would soon be walking down to the tavern to meet the eyeless one again. It was, frankly, inevitable.
And he was right, too. Twenty minutes later, Olson was walking down the slippery road as the snow began to fall again. He was heading, of course, towards the Sleepy Tailor. As he entered, the first person he saw was Julius, the barkeep.
“Good night, Julius?” Olson asked, hanging up his cloak and scarf, walking to the bar. Julius wasn’t surprised that the newcomer knew his name. He had been talking to Karldereth, after all.
“Yes, yes, yes. It’s all good tonight, my friend. The usual drunks.” The little man presented a cheeky grin, filling a large mug with ale.
“The names Olson, my friend.” The warrior smiled back, taking his ale to his table and sitting.

Then it happened. Olson felt something strange in his stomach, something he couldn’t explain. Was he excited to be seeing Karldereth again? And then, as if by coincidence, the eyeless one entered.

He was wearing the same cloak as the night before, which he hung on a hook and headed to the bar.
“Julius, how are you?”
“Good, good, good. And you, my dear friend? Enjoying the cold?”
“Oh, of course.”
“A Snake Blood whiskey, tonight? Tuesday, after all.”
“Yes, yes. As always, Julius.” Olson watched the conversation, just as he had the night before, with awe. He didn’t know what it was, but something about the old man amazed him. Maybe it was his will to continue in life. Olson couldn’t tell.

Then, by obvious instinct, Karldereth turned and headed for the table. He took up his usual seat and noticed Olson instantly.
“Olson! Why, and I’d thought you’d gone off adventuring again. How are you?” The smile of happiness on the eyeless ones face struck Olson so deeply, he took a second to even respond.
“Well, I was convinced by the weather to stay in town for a little longer. No use getting the chills if you don’t have to.” Olson lied, not knowing how to explain that he wanted to talk to Karldereth again.
“Well, I’m quite pleased to see you again.” Karldereth laughed, and Olson too along with him. The old man was so alive.
“Well, how have you been, friend?” Olson asked, leaning back comfortably in his chair and sipping the mug of ale in his hand.
“Oh, the usual I suppose. Been a little cold, hasn’t it?” Karldereth replied warmly.
“Yes, indeed. I noticed the snow has begun to fall again. Seems I’m destined to stay in this sleepy village.” Olson chuckled. The old man before him smiled.
“Well, it may be a little rushed, but I believe it’s my turn to tell a tale. Is it not?” Karldereth sipped his whiskey again, then set it down on the table and leant back, folding his arms.
“Well, I wouldn’t feel right if I was to bore an old man with the tales he ahs told so many times before, good Karldereth.” Olson said, though he knew deep down that a tale from the eyeless one was what he had come for.
“No, no. It’d wouldn’t bother me. It’s you, I’m afraid, who probably has better things to do than listen to an old timer speak of his younger days.”
“No. I wouldn’t love to hear a tale form such an experience man such as yourself, good Karldereth.” There was a short silence then, as Olson waited for a reply with a mouthful of ale. Karldereth sat there silent too, his face scrunched up in concentration as if he was trying to force something out of his mind. Finally, he spoke.
“Very well, then. Very well, Olson. I will tell you a tale of my adventuring days. In fact, I don’t believe I have ever told this certain story to anyone.” At these words, Olson seemed very interested. He leant forwards, the mug in his hand, ready to listen to the words of the wise. The warrior also noticed that Julius, though still at the bar, was listening intently to what the old man had to say next.
“Well, Olson. This tale is of what was in fact my last adventure outside Snow-Wood. It is, as you may find interesting, the tale of how I came to be blind. Of how my eyes were… lost.” Olson was shocked. This was no doubt going to be a tale he would never forget.
“It was years ago, when I was a little older than you, my friend. Firstly, you must know of my adventuring friends. There was Sampson, always a cheery chap but not much of a fighter. Usually, Sampson would hide away in a tavern to enjoy the music and wine. Then, of course, there was Avergius. Never much liked him, myself, but he was nevertheless a faithful friend. Blu. Now Blu, she was a good friend. I had known her for, what, thirty years? I had only been a wee boy when I had met her. Great lass, Blu. Then there was Sampson’s girl. Karren was her name. Strange couple they were, for she was the one always wanting to kill orcs and trolls. And finally, there was Shory. My one good friend that’s been there since the beginning. And so the tale began, right here in Snow-Wood…”

* * *

Karldereth, being a lot, lot younger, was actually quite a handsome chap. He was large, muscular and had long, attractive, shaggy hair. His eyes were a dark blue colour, standing out from all others in the town. However, at that current moment, Karldereth wasn’t that attractive at all. His shirt had been half torn away and his chest was scarred deeply. Blood covered his torso, hands and face, all mixed in nicely with a thick layer of body sweat. In one hand, Karldereth was holding a long, metal tipped staff. In the other, a short, foot long sword. The sword alone was splattered in blood and it’s blade was dented and scratched all over.

He was running down the main street of the town, his sword held low but his staff raised. The snow crunched beneath him, though it was half water that had been produced by the summer sunlight that rained down. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath of wind in the air.

At the end of the street, near the main entrance to the town, was a mass of people and creatures alike. As Karldereth drew nearer, he could identify human from orc a lot more easily, and with a scream jumped in the fray. There were so many creatures, their chainmail-covered green skins sliming up the ground. And there were equal numbers of villagers, too, all whom held large axes, swords, chains and some even pieces of wood. It was a fight for survival, and the residents of Snow-Wood were doing all they could to do just that. Survive.

As soon as Karldereth entered the fray, the morale of the villagers rose at the sight of the warrior. Ina second from entry, Karldereth had spun around and knocked two orcs down with his staff, skewing another with his small sword. As he pulled the blade back out, the two orcs near him began to rise, large bumps already upon their heads. Slash. Slash. Two more creatures fell to the warrior’s tiny blade, their chest’s being ripped open. Now, with Karldereth in the picture, the tables had turned.

Within minutes, the battle was over and the villagers cheered as the remaining green-skinned beasts retreated into the forest, squealing for their lives. However, the celebrations ended quickly as the wounded were tended to. It took a few minutes for all those who had been injured to be moved to the inn, but when they had gone, Karldereth looked upon the decay at the village’s entrance. Over a dozen orc bodies were strewn across the snowy ground, black blood spilt all over the place. Among the evil, though, were at least five human bodies too. Villagers who had died in a struggle to defend what always had been rightfully theirs. It wasn’t right.

It was in this mournful moment that Karldereth sealed his fate. He decided, then and there, to avenge those innocent people who had fallen that summer morning. And so, without second thoughts, Karldereth set off into the town for supplies and the like, all the while keeping an eye out for a group who might also wish to follow him. For company was the best thing on an adventure. Though, to tell the truth, Karldereth hadn’t believed he would go off on the adventure with his usual party. He had thought that Sampson and the others would have seen such a feat as too dangerous. But, nevertheless, they were the ones who inevitably set off with Karldereth. For revenge.

* * *

It took Olson a few moments to realise where he was, who he was, and what he was doing. He hadn’t noticed the old man had stopped talking. He looked up at Karldereth, who’s face was blank.
“And so you and our friends set off into the wilderness. Then what happened?” But Karldereth didn’t rpely. He took a last sip of whiskey and smiled up at Olson.
“I think, my young friend, that that’ll do for tonight. Maybe, tomorrow, I can continue my story.” Olson agreed, for time had past quickly and the inn was already empty. Even Julius was half-asleep at the bar. So, saying good-byes, Olson left as did the eyeless one. Olson, once in the warmth of hi inn room, found himself wondering what was to happen next in the old man’s tale. Sure, it made him feel like a child again, but the warrior couldn’t help but dream that night of Karldereth and his adventures.

 

This very good. Keep it up.

 

Great descriptions...
Good stuff!