3. Gildor: Rambling Rover

Gildor: Rambling Rover


  • Chicken!

    The red dragon was one of the oldest buildings in town. The two-store inn was said to be at least five hundred years old. Small colour-stained windows, shone with bright warm light from inside, and the air was filled with the mixed aroma of pipe weed, roasting fowl and heart smoke which many patrons found irresistible.

    This evening Jarek and Gildor was found seated at the bar, the old Paladin smoothing out his moustache, with the rogues arm wrapped around his broad shoulders. Crouched forward, Jarek sipped the content of his tankard. "I would appriceate it if you didn't touch me"

    "you look tense mate, whats a lill' company among friend eh?" asked Gildor "do not mock me Elf, I came here for solitude, not to buy services from a common harlot"

    "aye, ya know all about beddin' harlots, don' ya Jarek" spat Gildor, getting up. "Oh fuck off, Gildor!"

    The Paladin rose from his seat, and stood glaring at the girl with a threatening grasp on his long sword. She was accustomed with his temper after months of seeing him drowning his sorrows. She knew how to crawl beneath his skin, but also that the once so 'devine' man was incapable of going through with his threat.

    "Ya know Jarek, it's attitudes like that tha made Helm dump ya in the first place, lighten up a lill' eh? We all.. " Jarek took a step forward poked a firm finger at his troublesome companion. "I am warning you Gildor, do not challenge me tonight"

    "speakin' of challenges, you ain tha goo–" A delicate hand grasped about the elfs neck and squeezed firmly, but it was the smooth voice of its owner that caused her to tense and fall silent. "That's quite enough, Gildor, you have bothered the knight enough for one evening - greetings Sir Jarek"

    "Robert Shine" polite nod.


  • Gildor settled down at an empty table and stared intently at a crack on the surface. Molly, a plump barmaid with a far too small corset, strolled over with her bust wobbling in a manner that defied gravity. She sent a quick glance to the kitchen to make certain Orwell was occupied elsewhere, while she shuffled a chair out and sat.

    “say Gildor, tha’ fellow you spoke to earlier, Jarek, is he really a fallen Paladin?” Molly looked intrigued. Gildor shifted, leaned foreword and dropped her chirpy voice in to a whisper.

    “A fallen Helmite to be exact. Quite tha famous lad back in tha day, now sort of pathetic and pitiful, heh.” “what happened” she asked, excited, her breasts nearly spilling out as she leaned foreword. “I would tell ya wha I know Molly, but it will ‘ave tha be another night, me throat is dry” Gildor fixed her with an amused look and watched as the woman scrambled to a stand and retrieved a large tankard of mead.

    “Ya know me too well” Gildor chuckled heartily, settling back in the chair, sipping her drink. “Very well, but I can’t promise tha it is all true, most is based on rumours and drunken tales.”

    “All rumours has to derive from something” Molly reasoned.

    “Once Jarek was renown for ‘is ‘eroism, some even claimed ‘im tha be tha chosen of Helm ‘imself, though such reputations are long lost. ‘e was ‘appily married to this noble bird, daughter of one of tha senators or somethin’, ‘as two beautiful kids, a lill’ lad and a lass. It is quite tha unremarkable tale really, ‘e was out doin’ what Paladins do best, savin’ orphanages from demonic forces and shite like tha, don’t really know for sure, but it was some sort of crusade. One night ‘er returns after not seein’ ‘is noble wife for months, rushes upstairs tha find ‘er in an un-noble position with ‘is best mates dagger, buried in his wives scabbard.” Gildors laughed, and watched the barmaids eyes widen as she made sense of her imagery.

    “Well tha make a story short, tha tired, frustrated Paladin went a lill’ funny and struck ‘is mate down, killin’ ‘im on tha spot. Helm dumped ‘im, Wife dumped ‘im, and ‘e was dumped in to a cell for seven years.” She took a long sip of her tankard “He was released due to past service to tha country, and since then ‘as spent most ‘is time doin’ charitable work in tha slums, spendin’ wha little coins ‘e can scrape together on liquor to smite tha demons in ‘is ‘ead remindin’ ‘im of ‘is stupidity.”

    The barmaid seemed to swell under the discovery of her newest gossip. Like Gildor when faced with gold, Molly weakness lay in rumours and tales from drunks, who had drowned any sense of tact and wisdom.

    She leaped up, suppressing a squirm, while Gildor suppressed a laughter. With the elegance of a Hobgoblin, she ran in to the back room shouting for one of the other servant girls.

    Gildor left in the stillness and smoke of the inn, made her way out the door, and in to the street. It had been a long and tiring day, and it was not yet over.


  • Robert and Jarek turned back to the bar and sat, while Gildor remaining standing. She whirled around and pressed her way to the fire where she stood with one hand on the mantelpiece and the other dangling at her side.

    "you must forgive the elf, Sir Jarek, people such as her has no concept of manners" he explained to the Paladin "it is simply out of compassion for those less fortunate that I offer her my protection. You look in need of another drink." With a flamboyant gesture of his hand, he attracted the attention of the bar maid who hurriedly refilled a tankard of Ale for the knight.

    Jarek sat silently listening to Robert, staring in to his Ale mug. "This said, Sir Jarek, do know that the stories of your misfortune has not gone untold and though your world right now is one of great darkness, know also that there are those around you, who understand, sympathies and wish to offer both aid and support. If you are of course prepared to accept it."

    Jarek looked ahead for a couple of seconds, considering his words carefully with a cold expression, before downing his ale and rising. "I would rather sell my soul to Bane" he replied calmly picking up his cloak and hooking it under his chin. "You ask of me to accept help from such lowlife scum as yourself? My answer remain, I fell from faith Shine, I didn't fall and bang my head."

    He departed with Robert still seated, the clenching and unclenching of the mans fist was the only sign of his reaction to the Paladins final statement. Gildor knew his behaviour pattern well enough to remain by the hearth, not daring to approach. A muscular giant of a man with a round red face, and hairy fists moved to his side and shared some whispering words before Robert left with a rapid pace, and an expression of loathing.

    The giant approached her next and towered over her five feet figure with a leering grin. "Gil, will ya be busy tha-night? I think I got a lill' job for ya, if you be willin'" She found herself instinctively pulling back, leaning nonchalant against the far wall. "Job? what sort and when?"

    The man ran his sweaty palm over his bold head. "Got some folks tha visit, ya know the drill, meet us under Mayberry bridge at midnight if ya think ya can make it"

    "Ah, sure Tod, should be no problem" she replied casually, holding her breath as the man leaned closer and added "And Master Shine wants a lill' word with ya, once works don' heh, I suggest ya go and clean yaself up."

    He left her looking a few shades whiter.

    "Mayberry bridge lass, don' forget."