Rumors from
The 17th Day of Early Dusk, In the Year of Our Keeper, 5397
This bit o'rag is fresh this morn, me friend. This leader o'a band o'mercen'rys came rollin' in here just after I broke me fast, yippin' and yollerin' 'bout that bit o'forest to the west o'the Tsan Range. Ye know 'bout the woods ole Gilly's speakin' of? Never been further south than Allroads, eh? Let me grab a bit o'cloth to wipe the wet from behind yer ears! Ah-hah-hah! Er, um, take no 'fense, me friend. Put that dagger back in its cap an' let ole Gilly pour ye a tankard o'me finest ale. On the house - don't tell no one. An' as ye sip away at that Dervatearian Rose, I'll fill ye in on what that gruf of a mercen'ry spilled. Somethin' 'bout nymphs an' dryads an' brownies - I hate 'em brownies! - an' pixies livin' in this here vale, deep in the woods west o' the Tsan Range and south o'Kinashae. What ye might call a "no-ones-land" sort of place, if ye get me meanin'. So these faerie-like buggers don't like unexpected visitors, 'cept for yer run-o-the-mill druid. Nature patsies, if ye be askin' me - umm, yer brother were a druid? Another tankard of Dervatearian Rose, on the house! So like ole Gilly was sayin', we've got 'em faeries that this gruf of a mercen'ry is hired on by the local village to go kill. It's this gruf mercen'ry leader and 'bout thirty o'his mates, an' all that comes out after the battle is this mercen'ry leader and five o'his mates. Seems these brownies an' pixies were a right bit stronger than the village elders thought they were. They offered the mercen'ry leader double in crons, but he wasn't goin' have anythin' to do with that; his inner-understandin' was left in 'em woods with his twenty-five dead mates. So guess what that gruf mercen'ry did just prior to leavin' this village? Yep, ye guessed it, me friend. Amazin' what six ticked mercen'ries can do to an entire village. Eh, how 'bout some more Dervatearian Rose? No, it ain't on the bleedin' house!
Anythin' odd, ye say? Well, this'd be 'bout as odd as they come. Lean in a bit
closer now. I know it be just you an' me here, but it's best not to speak too
loudly like 'bout these sorts o'things! Now, the way I hears, it's like this: 'Bout four
or five hun'red years back, this Dervatear by the name of Dargo-somthin'-or-other
left his Warren to seek out his fame an' fortune in some far off place - no, I don't know
where! Maybe it were down south or off in the east, but that don't matter a whit.
Thing is, he left a long time ago and stayed away fer quite awhile.
Anyways, nobody hears o' him fer about 200 years or so, an' everybody thinks
him dead, killed off by the odd creatures they have in 'em places. But, late
one eve, someone passin' Dargo's 'bandoned family estate - yep, the above ground
type - sees this light burnin' in the windows. Well, the feller that saw 'em lights runs
off an' tells the 'thorities. Next mornin', they go on out to ask who be livin' there.
They start aknockin' on the door an' this weird lookin' human - real thin and big,
with bulgin' eyes an' all - answers the door. He tells 'em that his Master, Lord Dargo, has
come home, but left fer the day an' won't be back 'til later, an' that they should come back after
sundown. Well, they come back an' sure 'nuff, Dargo's back. Proves it by
showin' 'em his signet ring with the family mark on it. So they go off, thinkin'
everthin' is as it should be. But, after a while, people thereabouts start
disappearin'. Got so bad, some folks started movin' out. But most couldn't 'ford
to, an' others be movin' in. The whole time, Dargo goes on 'bout his business.
He goes drinkin' at the tavern in the town - it be unlike my place here, mind ye. Real
rough, it was, called the Bucket O' Blood or some such. But Dargo never gets
into it there much. He just sits an' watches everyone else beatin' on each other while he was drinkin'
his wine, which by itself is strange 'nuff. What're people to think, with a
Dervatear drinkin' wine when there be good ale at hand. Anyways, the strangest
thing be that he's never, and I do mean never, seen out an' about in the light o'day! An' when folks see and talk to him, they don't feel right in the head afterwards. Somethin' 'bout how
they don't 'member spots o'their day. I'd say he was just 'centric and bugger
the whole thing, 'cept fer those longish teeth he's s'posed to have. Now, yer free to
think what ye will, but if ole Gilly was ever walkin' down some road, an' I see a sign sayin'
Dargo Manor or somethin' like that, ole Gilly's gonna run till darkness falls thrice over, as if all the
fiends in the underworld were chasin' after me. An' who knows, they just might be!
Go back to the Rumors Page.
This page hosted by 
Get your own Free Home Page