Nadinta nodded. “Got it in one.” The Feed Bag was a well-known experimental restaurant in Velenia, one in which, for a fixed price (two silver pieces and five copper), a patron could eat as much as he wanted, refilling his plate over and over until he was satisfied. Everyone thought this was a risky venture until it proved profitable mere weeks after opening, but the arrival of rock giant Borgunder Gunderbor seemed sure to change that situation. Rock giants, of which Borg was a particularly impressive example, stand about nine feet tall, weigh upwards of a full five hundred pounds, and essentially look like a miniature mountain come to life. They have considerable appetites, particularly when it comes to sweets. The Feed Bag’s pastry chef would be working overtime.
“As for Whiska…hmmm. Cockfight?”
Nadinta shook her head. “Not this time.”
“Bear fight?”
“Not legal in Velenia.”
“Yes, laws and regulations are always such effective deterrents when it comes to preventing sick people from making animals fight to the death,” said Rummy with his most sarcastic edge, which, truth be told, was not particularly edgy, given his habitual cheerfulness.
“Fair point, but no—she’s not at a bear fight.”
“Cage fight? Wrestling match? Boxing bout?”
“She doesn’t only go to violent events, you know.”
“So, then, she’s drinking.”
“Yes.” Nadi sighed. “And possibly trying to start a praying mantis fight.”
“Those aren’t illegal here?”
Nadi shook her head again. “Frowned upon, but no, not technically illegal.”
“Well, what’s our next move?”
“You get Whiska and Borg and meet me at the inn—I’ve got one more clue to chase down.”
“Why do I have to get them?”
“Because you’re much more persuasive than I am.”
“You just don’t want to do it.”
“That’s true.”
“Fine.” Rummy sighed. “But you owe me one.”
“How many times retrieving Borg from a restaurant and Whiska from a bar is saving your life worth? Because I think it’s probably more than one,” responded Nadinta as she walked away.
Rummy pursed his lips and nodded. “Fair point. I suppose I owe you one, or a few, then.” He shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction, whistling a jaunty tune.
There’s a tricky balance storytellers need to strike between offering sufficient details to build the scene, establish the characters, and give you the information you need to enjoy the twists and turns a good story takes while not boring you by describing every single thing characters do. Borg’s bathroom habits, for example, probably shouldn’t factor into our tale, and we won’t spend time detailing exactly what Rummy has for breakfast every day—unless, of course, either of those things is relevant to the story. (Which, unfortunately, they are in the former case.)
The songs we sing in taverns are the best bits of a story, but they’re not the whole story. In writing down this tale, I can tell more than you’d get in a song, and I think those extra parts are worth the price of admission (hopefully a fairly high price), but I also promise not to abuse the power of my unabridged platform by telling you anything that doesn’t relate to the story. Okay, well, that’s a lie—I’m going to tell you all sorts of things not related to the story. But, none of them will be boring or mundane.
Sometimes, I’ll exercise my right to skip over those boring parts, provide a brief summary, and move onto the next good part.
I don’t just break hearts, people—I break fourth walls.
Chapter 6
WHAT HAPPENS IN VELENIA STAYS IN VELENIA (HOPEFULLY)
After some difficulty, Rummy managed to round up his charges and deliver them to the inn where the group was staying. Nadinta was there waiting for them, pacing back and forth in the common room. “What took you so long?” she asked, ushering them to a table and signaling the innkeeper for food.
“Do you know how long it takes to get a rock giant away from a buffet?” asked Rummy as he settled into his seat. “Only slightly less time than it takes to get a Ratarian away from a glass of champagne.”
“It was prosecco, you mouth-breathing midget!” replied Whiska Tailiesen sharply. “You’d think that being the unwanted offspring of two alcoholic races, you would know that, but I guess that’s what you get when an ugly dwarf lets a halfwit halfling into her very loose knickers.”
Rummy smiled at Whiska before turning his head toward Nadinta and raising an eyebrow. “Can you remind me why we keep her around?”
At that moment, a cockroach skittered across the floor. Whiska pointed at it, uttered an arcane syllable, and a bolt of blue energy shot from her finger, incinerating the bug and leaving nothing but a tiny pile of smoking ash. She cackled with glee. “That’s why. Because that spell works just the same on orcs.”
I should note that Whiska was a Ratarian, a rather interesting race of beings primarily found in southern Verdusk. As a people, Ratarians tend toward belligerence, rudeness, and coarseness. Whiska made most of her people look like choir boys (as opposed to chorus boys, which are a very different thing, and more in line—at least in some respects—with Ratarians). She was, however, a wizard of not inconsiderable power, though her raw ability outstripped her training. When you’re an adventuring group just starting out, though, you take what you can get, and it never hurts to have someone along for the ride who both enjoys killing things and is good at it.
“I can’t imagine you’re still hungry, Borg,” said Nadinta as the innkeeper set bowls of stew before them, “so if you don’t want yours…”
“I still want…stew. I like…eating. Mmmm,” replied the rock giant. Borgunder Gunderbor was a particularly immense representative of his people. His skin was rock hard (obviously) and nearly impenetrable to most mundane weapons (and even some spells). Rock giants aren’t stupid, but they are slow, both in terms of thought process and speech pattern, which makes them frustrating conversational partners. Despite their size and strength, they aren’t usually skilled fighters; they’re much better at taking punches than throwing them, and Borg was less adept than most at dealing out pain. Still, they can absorb such absurd amounts of punishment that they’re indispensable adventuring companions, and most of them (Borg included) are very sweet. As a result, he was, generally speaking, singularly exempt from being the target of Whiska’s ire.
“Well, then, eat up,” said Nadi. “You too, Whiska—we need your head clear before we head out.”
“This tastes like deer feces,” replied Whiska, loudly slurping her stew.
“Sorry it’s not to your liking—it’s all they’ve got tonight,” said Nadi.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” replied Whiska, sopping up some stew with a piece of crusty bread. “I just said it tastes like deer feces.”
The companions finished their meal in silence, notwithstanding the unappetizing sounds Whiska made as she worked her way greedily through her bowl. After a few moments of quiet digestion punctuated by the unique gurglings of a Ratarian stomach, which sound a little bit like an elephant choking on a ham, Nadi cleared her throat and unrolled a parchment on the table, revealing a crisscrossing maze of tunnels. “I think I found a way in—a discreet way.”