The Beginning Part 2…..


The beginning part two:

 

“You would think that a man my age would be smart enough to get in out of the rain, but no here I am trudging down this Gods forsaken goat track of a road, going only the Gods know where, why you ask, because it came to me in a vision and in this vision was a man in a dark cloak telling me to be at this thrice damned tavern by sunrise tomorrow and all would be told, damn him he could have picked a better day for travelling than this one and not a soul insight to catch a ride with, so looks as if I will be travelling the whole blasted way on foot, not as young as I used to be, bah not that it matters if my help is needed and I think that this man is who I think he is then I had better double hop my ass to that tavern by morning, damn I can’t even remember the name of the rotten place only the town, I think it was called Wallaceville. What a name for a town probably some rich Duke or Baron got it into his head he wanted a town named after him and did it.”

“I hope I brought everything, I always feel like I have missed something, and I bet this little town doesn’t even have a proper herb shop, or emporium even, blast this thrice damned rain, go away, go away, “ I said.

To be sure that if anyone were to happen by this fellow they would think him quite mad to be sure and probably wouldn’t even offer him a ride, for he is dressed all in grey robes with pouches jingling and jangling all over him instantly marking him as magi, a purveyor of magic, a sorcerer of mystical energies and herb lore. But he is known in this realm as one of the most powerful mages to be found, problem is he is grumpy and tends to forget his spells or every now and again and at times they misfire on him and usually cause more damage to him and who ever happens to be standing close to him.

Unfortunately Belrad the Mighty has forgotten that he could teleport himself straight to the inn and be there in an instant, but not for the first time his anger has gotten in the way yet again it seems an undignified way to summon a magi of his importance in such a manner as this, and to not even send a coach for him and his old weary bones. No one in this realm really knows how old Belrad is for he seems an indeterminate age, neither young nor truly old, yet acts like he is over  one hundred years in age, sputtering about like a fool when in reality he is a very focused and learned magi, seems to but an act to put people off and to leave him to his own devices, but have no fear the words I spoke before are true, like as not his spells do backfire and he does forget things, but not from being old but from having too much inside of his head going on at any given point in time. For years he has traveled from one end of this realm to the other seeing things none other has seen and writing it all down, all the lore, stories both strange and true and even gleaming what wisdom he could from the very trees of the realm. His true calling is as a historian and he was very happy to be in his cottage writing his histories when this upstart hooded man called out to him.

So caught up in his own misery Belrad didn’t even notice that he was being shadowed from the very woods he called home, if he had noticed he would have seen the eight brigands four to each side of the road paralleling him on his journey. Hump, bout time it was that he finally noticed and said in a rather loud voice, “Leave me be or suffer my wrath, I’ll only give ye one warning and then I shall have to do violence unto ye.” The only sound he hears in return is the sniggering of one of the fools that intend to try and rob the old man of anything of value he has on his person, which knowing Belrad it is going to  be quite a haul for them not only in gold ingots but in magical items as well.

Still walking at the same pace Belrad yells one more time, “Be damned I told you fair enough now you will face the wrath of Belrad the mighty!” The old man muttered under his breath words that only the magi know, I cannot even put them to paper for I know not the words myself, as he finishes his muttering a set of eight gleaming swords of light appear before him and as he points to each of the brigands a sword shoots of in their direction and all you hear is the sound of metal on metal and the sounds of men dying. “I warned the bloody bastards didn’t I,” talking to no one but himself, “Useless waste of energy and life, now I will have to commit that damned spell to memory again on the morrow.” “Wait one why the hell am I walking when I know I packed a ring of teleportation somewhere on my person.” He never even stopped walking and as he is still walking he is digging from one pouch to another even checking the secret pockets hidden in his robes where he keeps his most powerful items of magic, “Aha,” he replied to no one in particular,” there is the thrice damned thing.” Slipping the ring on his finger he then realizes that he still won’t be able to use it he doesn’t even know the name of the tavern, but he can use it to get to the town of Wallaceville, and that would put him close enough to find the damned inn. Slipping the ring on the third finger on his right hand he mutters under his breath the words of power to invoke the magic of the ring and still walking at the same pace as when he started, poof, he was gone and was next walking through the main gate of Wallaceville. Well hell that saved me at least a nights walk out in this thrice damned rain. Didn’t I tell you he was a bit grumpy?

Walking through the gate he nabs a local guardsman and asks if there is a tavern or an inn in this little shit hole of a town, the guardsman to be honest wasn’t used to being man handled by anyone let alone a grumpy old man with the appearance of a magi. But he tells the old man that the only tavern is on the other side of town and to be about his business before he runs him in for interrupting a local guardsman’s duties. The old man actually humphed at him, he really actually humphed at him, well a first for everything the guard thought as he watched the old man head down the main road through town. Not much of a town the old man muses and it smells to, smells like old garbage and damn the smell of chamber pots, shit and piss what a lovely combination for the nose and senses, speaking of chamber pots he is narrowly missed by one from a young woman throwing it out the second story window of a house he just happened to be passing by, shouting up at her, “Haven’t you ever heard of indoor plumbing damn it?”

Wait that is not yet been invented yet that doesn’t come around for, what another thousand years or so, great idea this indoor plumbing muses the old man and to himself he mutters, “I have no idea why I stay in this day and time when I could be very comfortable in a different time that actually has indoor plumbing.” Now where is that damned tavern or inn or whatever that fucking hole in the wall is. Striding a little faster than he was he finally comes across the only tavern in this little burg or wait it is a Ville.

Going through the door at a brisk pace he actually slams the door open, so much for a quiet entrance as every eye in the room turns towards him, damn he thinks this is not the way I wanted to start this, but here I am. He walks up to the bar which is nothing more that some planks held up by empty ale barrels and stops and glares at the barkeep till he comes down to see what the old man wants.

“What’ll it be old timer?” the barkeep asks.

“First I’ll have some respect and second a glass of wine and not the watered down shit you normally serve the rest of these swine’s,” grunts the mage. Turning to survey the room the magi doesn’t see the man from his vision in the main room so he pays for his wine and heads for a table between the front door and the large fireplace on the far wall and waits. As he sits he realizes that he had forgotten his staff, cursing himself for a thrice damned fool he summons the staff, muttering under his breath in that mystical language that only the magi knows, it pops into the room at his right hand, looking around the room he is pleased that no one has noticed the six foot tall staff made of hard red oak with a crystal the size of my fist on one end and steel capped on the other, once it reaches his hand the crystal glows briefly and then goes dark, how could I have forgotten this, not only does it hold dome mana it is also good for defense and offense if needed. So the old magus sits back and waits to see the man in the hooded cowl.

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