A small tavern on the edge of a hardworking village is bustling with life. If you were to enter that tavern on this particular night, you would see 2 unlikely mates are having a heated discussion. Sarkon, high-browed elf of the Fuckass clan, and Grushnag, previous Warboss of a large orc hoard, were having a heated debate over who actually killed the White Wizard. Grushnag fervently exclaiming that it was he, with his legendary Bone Ax Arm of Mass Death(TM) that slayed the great White Wizard and Sarkon obviously didn’t do the deed. Sarkon scoffs.
"How could it have been the Bone Ax Arm of Mass Death(TM) when you, Grüshnag, weren’t even pulled from the dirt and mud orcs normally are made of?" Sarkon protests.
Whilst impressed at the Bone Ax Arm(TM) itself, Sarkon is not impressed with Grushnag’s braggadocios attitude. Grushnag throws his arms up in the air and scoffs louder but then barks at the nearest tavern wench to bring another 2 rounds of ale for the table. The bar wench, timid yet swift in her actions, fills up the mugs. She *accidentally* doesn’t ring them up on the tab. Silly mistake. They hit the table with a satisfying thud and a glistening head of foam was visible, even in the dim light of the hearth. Sarkon quick as a flash, snatches the closest one up and drinks heartily before peering over his mug at Grushnag. Grushnag, never to be outdone by an elf, grabs the remaining 3 mugs and guzzles them at what seems like the same time, stacked one on top of another and promptly pulls... “This drink. I like it. Another!” He smashes the last mug to the ground, the wood shattering against the hard, compacted dirt floor. In response to Grushnag drinking up all the finest ales, Sarkon threw down his gauntlet and demanded a drinking contest.
"We go drink for drink, orc, until someone is under the table..."
******
The next foggy, bleary-eyed memory the 2 have is rolling themselves over, trying to get off the floor of the upstairs guest room. Grushnag wakes up and looks around confused as to where he is but, also very concerned because he is unable to find his Bone Arm Ax. His eyes fall to Sarkon. He stumbles to his feet and tries to pick him up but trips and collapses on top of him. Another attempt at standing has them both go barreling against the tavern bed. Sarkon, barely forming the first coherent thoughts, feels first a crushing weight fall on him. Quickly following the crushing weight, the sickening stench of sweat and booze begin filling his acute senses before taking away his breath. He then feels his head land a glancing blow on the solid bed frame, knocking any semblance of rational thinking away. In a near panic, Sarkon heaves the sickly smelling mass off him. Only the last of his strength freeing him. Exhausted and still hungover, he passes out. As Grusgnag, very weakly, is flipped off of the bony mass he laid upon, he feels the pressing in his gut that causes him to hurl a great deal. It projected all over: onto the nearby walls, bed posts and even a little down the front onto Sarkon. Grushnag then feels much more lively from the release of the vile spew, coming to full consciousness and most clarity. He gets up to leave as Sarkon passes back out....
Sarkon is out for about an hour, maybe two. He awakens to find the room vacant and filled with most vile of sick on EVERYTHING. Rousing himself to a sitting postion, he straightens his tunic only to find it too is covered in sick. Queasy from the mess, he strips down and looks to go soak in the tubs provided by the tavern. Fumbling down the stairs near naked with but a light towel to cover himself, he passes the doorway to the main hall to see Grushnag. Not seeing clearly enough due to the smoke and dim lighting to see exactly what Grushnag is doing, Sarkon forces himself forward to hit the doorway to go outside. A wench has just finished topping off a tub with fresh, hot water. Excitedly, Sarkon strips the remainder of the way and hops in. The warm steam is now wafting slowly off the surface of clear water. Sarkon inhales deeply and settles in.
Grushnag sips on a Grozzleberry mead while casually munching on a full haunch of grilled stallion meat. His go to hangover cure. As he is fixing himself up, he noticed Sarkon heading in the other direction and calls for the closest tavern wench, a short gnome barely of legal age to drink herself, to go take care of that elf or else he would take care of her. Grushnag smiles, after which he raises his mug, thinking he is flirting with her but has instead terrified her so much she dashes out towards the main exit towards Sarkon with due haste.
The bathing area cleared out for just a moment before a very young gnome wench came running towards Sarkon with a look of barely disguised fear.
“Sarkon blaze you,” Sarkon began. The traditional greeting of the clan.
The little wench came forward sheepishly, “Master Orc says to take care you. What would you like, Master Elf?”
Sarkon pauses a moment, steam still rolling lazily off the bath. Finally, “I’m fine. Hungover and tired but the bath is now clearing my mind, somewhat. Has the Master Ork stated his intentions for the day?” Head clearing a little more from the conversation, Sarkon continued, “Actually hold on. Get a nice bowl of stew and large glass of Elven wine for me at the Orc’s table. I’ll be in momentarily.”
The little Gnome, eyes filled with relief and glad to be tasked with something other than fidgeting and staring at the ground, curtseyed and left. Sarkon stared off into the small village for but a moment contemplating the day. He quickly finished washing away the prior days work and filth. With one last breath, he heaved himself from the tub and headed inside to grab fresh clothes. Peaking into the tavern proper, he greeted Grushnag. After dressing and all, Sarkon saw the Bone Arm Ax. It was somehow wedged underneath the bed and stuck prying at section of wall and flooring at the same time??? Confused and hungry, Sarkon shook his head in disbelief and headed downstairs. Hunger pangs finally hit telling him the day was about to start.
Grushnag somberly chews away at his meat and guzzles his drink. He finished and releases a seismic belch that causes the items on the tables to shake but only for a moment. He laughs a hardy orc laugh and thinks to himself that he could really use a bath himself. He starts to get up from the table to go find Sarkon and join him and as he is walking towards the door he notices a piece of paper nailed on the wall. He grabs it and takes it to the barkeep and asks him what it says.
The barkeep responds that it’s a bounty for some local bandits that keep terrorizing travelers coming in and out of the town and there is a reward for bringing back the leader, dead or alive.
Grushnag excitedly says, "That’s what I thought it said..." *pointing his large white finger/claw at the picture of the bandit chief* "I will bring you this bandit immediately," he tells the barkeep.
Grushnag immediately turns and heads back to the table to get another mug of mead and to wait for Sarkon. Sarkon walks in just as he takes his first sip.
Grushnag exclaims, "We have a job to do!"
The barkeep waves his hand and tries to tell Grushnag that he isn’t supposed to bring the bandit to him but to the higher courts of the town but he couldn’t get Grushnag’s attention. After a minute, he said forget it.
“Grushnag, old friend, what is the job? What is the excitement about?” Sarkon asks.
Grushnag excitedly points at the poster in his hand, long jagged finger nail by ‘Reward’.
“I see. Feeling a little light on coin?” Sarkon asked with a bit of mocking tone.
Grüshnag’s face turns to a bit of a scowl at the playful jab.
Realizing he needed his weapons for the work, Grushnag immediately asked, “Have you seen Bone Ax arm? I need it for the fighting.”
Sarkon nods, pointing to the room upstairs with a small laugh. It was really stuck in that weird wall/floor space under the bed somehow. What the heck did they do last night? Grushnag nods and runs off to the room looking for his axe. Spotting it, he grips the handle, ready to jostle it out of its lodged position. As he maneuvers it, the ax begins to chip the boards and rips the whole panel off the wall revealing a small scroll inside it. Grushnag reaches for it instinctively and opens it to find the old Elven language scrawled upon it. Unfortunately, his time spend with Sarkon and his former Elven master wasn’t enough for him to be familiar with this dialect. Grüshnag pockets the scroll to show to Sarkon and looks at his ax. It seems to be in pretty bad shape from the previous nights events and the years of battle it’s been through. As he tries to clean the ax and get the paneling off, it crumbles and turns to dust. It was no true surprise seeing as it was made of the arm bones from the old arch-viceroy of the Black Chasm. Grushnag sheds a single tear as his treasured weapon vanishes before his eyes. He sighs and smiles after, reflecting a moment on the fulfillment he had from his ax and the memory of his legacy as commander. He gives an orcish farewell to his ax and heads back down to Sarkon.
Sarkon hears Grushnag approaching a few moments before he can see him. The orc is moving slightly more hunched and slower than before. Seeing no more than some old bonemeal on Grushnag’s hands and rags, he realizes what must have happened. Without a word, they look at each other in understanding until Grushnag whips out the scroll in a hurry. ‘What could this be?’ Sarkon thinks. Unrolling it, the old Elven language quickly fills his mind.
Minutes pass in silence between the 2. The taverns jovial atmosphere juxtaposed against the 2 brooding men. “I got it!!” Sarkon says at once.
“Got what?” Grüshnag replies.
“This! Do you know? Of course not! You wouldn’t have handed to me to read if you did. This, my old friend, is basically a powerful enchantment or magic that can be infused to mere mortal weapons. Simply put, this is one way to enchant average steel into Elven steel!”
The room falls silent at the exclamation. All eyes turn to the pair sitting. Grushnag looks at Sarkon puzzled. “What is so good about Elven Steel anyways? I use steel or bone or anything and it always kills them.”
He looks around the table to see if Sarkon had ordered anything for him and luckily there was still a pint of Grozzleberry mead left untouched by the looks of it. Grushnag takes it and slams it back to quiet his thoughts lingering on his ax and to quench his thirst, realizing that he may not get to have another drink at this tavern. He looks around as a couple of human men stand up from the corner of the bar and walk straight towards Sarkon, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Grushnag’s eyes meet with Sarkon and they both nod at one another knowing what events were about to transpire.
The pair of men approach the elf and orc, a hint of greed and avarice visible in their eyes. Before so much as a word was had, Grushnag moved and heaved the table at the men. They were too close to avoid it entirely. The table smashed into the legs and shoulders where the 2 stood closest together. Staggering, they moved to continue approaching. Sarkon stood up, flipped his chair around and threw it legs first at them. It had one foot each land squarely in the men’s freshly injured shoulders. Broken arms hanging limp, the 2 men ran out to the streets as quick as they could, colliding into seated patrons who sat in stunned disbelief.
Not missing a beat, Sarkon looked to Grüshnag and declared they will be gathering their things and setting out to bring a little law and order to the rabble of these parts, starting with those fools and ending with the bandits harassing the local merchants and caravan travelers. This was far too hospitable a place to have the trash ruin their good time.
The pair left to gather their belongings, or whatever wasn't ruined by Grushnag painting the room in sick. By the time they were back downstairs the locals were talking about them in hushed excitement. The town had dealt with these outlaws for years. Their numbers had been growing steadily as the allure of easy coin swayed hearts of many young men entering the quaint village. The two mates went to the barkeep for their bill. He looked them straight on and said, “Here’s the deal. Get rid of the bandits and no charge. But on your oath, if you fail, you will be back here to pay your debt or die trying.”
Grüshnag spoke up, “Good deal. I like the crushing of puny man-flesh.” They all nodded in agreement and the two unlikely fellows headed off to start a new adventure.
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