The Life and Suffering of a Mercenary Captain

The Storyteller chanted in an unknown language, his voice taking on an eerie, ethereal echo, as the tavern itself began to change and shift. The walls expanded outward until the tavern was at least twice its usual size and even the décor and furniture changed. The chairs and tables began to smooth out with small fanciful carvings on them, the wood grains changing to a rich mahogany-like color. The bar counter elongated and several casks appeared stacked to the side of it. The carpets and drapers changed as well, making the tavern seem more fit for upper-class citizens and those well-to-do. The children stared in awe as ghostly apparitions of patrons and tavern workers appeared and walked through them harmlessly. Most of the children giggled and laughed when an apparition walked through them claiming it tickled. The little girl that was crying before when the two mercenaries, who stood in a corner trying not to let their jaws hit the floor, tugged on the old man's robe.

"Mister Storyteller," she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Are they ghosts? I'm scared."

The old man chuckled and rubbed her head, mussing her hair. "Hahaha nonsense little one. They are just people from the past made from my magic. They can't hurt you."

"Okay." The little girl, a little distrusting, gave him and all the apparitions a little side-eye. A small pout could be seen on her face. In the center of the room, a small table and chair rose out of the ground and another apparition appeared, though this apparition seemed more real than all the rest in the tavern. Despite all the comings and goings in the tavern, this particular figure sat at the table alone, head hanging and his face firmly buried in a tankard of some sort of alcohol, though it was anyone's guess what particular type.

"Who's this sad gob?" One of the villagers said as he drained the beer from his tankard. "Couldn't be sadder than me, just finished me first beer and seein' as how we isn't in our regular tavern, not a drop more to drink I reckon." As if to illustrate his point, he turned his tankard over and not a single drop fell out. He shook it a few times for good measure before turning it back over.

"Woah!" He exclaimed. The tankard was full to the brim with more alcohol. He eyed it with much suspicion before shrugging and knocking it back. He wasn't going to turn down free beer, magically suspicious or not.

The doors to the tavern swung open with a crash and two giant men in full plate armor with no insignia walked in and surveyed the tavern. They move to the side after deciding it was safe and another man of average height dressed in yellow finery with ornate rings adorning his hands casually strolled into the tavern. All of the patrons stopped to gawk at the richly dressed man. His hair was a bright yellow with streaks of silver running through it. It was slick backed, but by no means did it shout anything other than extremely dignified at the world around it. His nose was sharp, accenting a face that was just showing the signs of age with a wrinkle here and there. A small crease formed on his brow as his piercingly green eyes swept the tavern as if searching for someone or something.

The moment he laid eye on the lone man drinking at the center of the tavern by himself, his entire demeanor changed. The frown disappeared and his eyes lit up in excitement or perhaps anticipation. He briskly walked over to the man, his gait full of grace despite its speed.

"Well, well," the wealthy man smiled. His eyes looking at the man as if he were an entire chest of free gold. "What ever could have driven Leopold of House Arnst to find answers at the bottom of bottle in such a...tasteful place as this?"

"That house does not exist anymore," the man named Leopold replied, "go away merchant, there is nothing for you here."

"Now, now do not be so hasty my friend. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may." The wealthy man bowed a quarter of the way down, a sign of respect. "I am Laurent von Ravensholm and I have searched high and low for you. I have come to offer you the deal of a lifetime." Laurent smiled, but it was more akin to a devil's smile than anything friendly.

The scene vanished and the tavern returned to its original state in the blink of an eye. The Mercenary Rulph stepped forward toward the center of the now small tavern, approximately to where the two men were in the scene.

"And what of the deal, Storyteller?" He asked.

"A private affair away from prying eyes and ears, I am afraid. No one knows what he offered to Leopold, first of the Mercenaries, but everyone knows the battles that followed." The Storyteller replied. "But we are not here tonight for that. I have a much more different tale to be told, though it would not have its flavor had I not gone through the very abbreviated version of historical events first." The Storyteller muttered, "if only I had the time to tell the entire history of the four kingdoms..."

Rulph shuddered when he heard the Storyteller's mutterings. A real snooze fest that history lesson would have been. He was about to ask what the real story of tonight was when the Storyteller preempted him, as if he already knew what he was about to ask.

"Sit down mercenary captain." The Storyteller glanced at the room. "Tonight, I will be telling the tale of the strongest mercenary in history." He paused to let his words sink in. Then he coughed and took a sip of his drink. "From the very beginning."

Murmers and muttering sounded throughout the tavern, even the children were enthusiastic. Everyone leaned forward to catch it all. No one had ever heard of the tale from the beginning. His deeds of valor and defeat, conquest and failure, strength of arms and strength of heart were legendary tales well known by all. Even Rulph shut his mouth and paid more attention.

The Storyteller chanted another spell, casting a glow over the tavern before it all changed into the busy scene of a market square. Then he began his tale. "In a town both forgotten and long destroyed by the fires of war, there was a bakery stall and a boy..."