It was a relatively mild and fair weathered night. It had been a long day for most, but much shorter for some. Tre was staring down a pint of ale, both figuratively and literally reflecting on himself and the job he had to do that day. You could see the marks and the icker of battle smeared all over his face, but he wasn’t in the mood to wash up. That’s why he came to his dive, thought it would be a bit better than that stuffy inn he technically could afford. ’Twas much better to be among the rabble, though; far more entertaining in his experience.
At about the time he downed his 3rd mug he found himself treated to a strange sight, climbing up on the platform that served as a stage was a creature of unusually large height, and as was obvious at the time, unusually bull-like features. Not one to discriminate, Tre turned around in his seat to enjoy whatever show this person could put on. As the minotaur, yes, that was the word, he knew these sort but perhaps this drink was getting to him, pulled out what looked like a battle axe, the crowd in his immediate vicinity reared back in horror, but just as they did so his massive hands came down and began to pluck the strings, producing a most beautiful sound. It was really quite a raucous tune, and some of the other patrons were now tapping their feet and getting used to the idea of a large bull-man serenading them.
It was unfortunate timing then that at this moment several men should come in through the door, themselves already visibly drunk and carrying on without respect for the performer. The one at the lead opened his obviously slack jaw and started shouting obscenities at the poor minotaur, who was obviously there just to help people have a good time. Tre, in all his noble sensibilities felt this to be unjust, so he rose gracefully from his seat and approached the rabble.
“Quiet, fool. I’ll not have you ruin my night and everyone else’s simply by virtue of your stupidity. If you wish to ply your unseemly voice against someones ear, I suggest it be that of the sow you call a mother,” with this his voice rose to a dramatic crescendo, his tone becoming more and more of the noble sort, perhaps a bit too haughty to be just.
“Oy, I cahn shay what I want… whffere I want to!” and with this rather lackluster comeback, he leaned forward to try and strike Tre! As he thrust his fist forward it suddenly made contact with something large and shiny. A deep and resonant voice came from somewhere above it, “You might not want to do that, little man.” The Minotaur spoke from the end of his axe haft. “Or I’ll have to sing you a lullaby.”
“Loike oi givvve a fuc-” at this a gauntlet-ed fist was thrust in his face, knocking him to the floor. Tre looked up to his new companion, “I apologize, dear sir, I just couldn’t listen to one more word from that god awful anus of a mouth. Perhaps you would like the next?” As he spoke the rest of the man’s gang rallied themselves and prepared to brawl. Tre gave the large bull-like man a look, “Shall we?” he asked. “Let’s dance,” came the reply as both of them jumped into the fray!
Some time later, atop a pile of unconscious bodies, Tre held his new mug of ale toward his new friend, offering a toast and thanks, “That was a fine performance, sir, but I’m afraid I never caught your name. However, I shouldn’t be so crass as to not introduce myself first. I am Trevor Archibald Marion Egwynt. You may refer to me simply as Tre. I am on my errant quest to find the lost secrets of Armigers and return to my people with pride and skill abounding.” The large creature reached his own mug to meet, “And I am Tormun of the Stonesingers, a bard at large and seeking power of my own.”
“Well met, Tormun. If you are seeking power as well, would you like to become my partner? I could use a little extra muscle sometimes as well as someone who can drag me out of the archives when I get distracted.”
“That’s not a bad idea, I’ll stick with you a while and see how it goes, at the very least, I can write a song about you and add it to my repertoire.”