Fred the pony cantered to a stop, and Eble Longears smiled excitedly. The day was done, and now it was time to do what he did best.
Ludwig’s Royal Inn and Publick House loomed ahead. It was a tall building, with three stories and a pointed turret poking out the top. The front doors were swung wide open, and a sign hung over the awning. Inside Eble could see and hear the merry throng and their accompanying song inside, the sounds of a merry gathering. This was where he belonged.
Eble dismounted and collected his instruments. A lute hung off one shoulder, and a fiddle was belted to his back. A small flute rested in a pouch at his side. He grabbed his storiebook from a pouch on the pony’s side. He tethered Fred to the mount post. The pony was tiny in comparison to the larger riding horses that surrounded him, and they sniffed at him menacingly. Reaching into his pocket, Eble tossed Fred an apple and gave him a pat on the head. Then he stepped inside.
The pub was packed. Denizens chatted, gambled, and drunkenly sang. All held a mug filled to brimming with ale.
Without a pause in his step Eble strode to the barkeep’s counter.
“Master Eble! You’ve finally arrived!” Said the bartender.
“I have, Bregan! But by the state of this lot, I think we’ll be needing a song.” He winked mischievously at the bartender, who returned it with a smile. Eble reached up, placed two silver coins on the counter, and disappeared into the crowd. Bregan shook his head silently at the silly halfling. Eble never failed to light up the tavern. He had made Ludwig’s the most popular inn in the whole city! Bregan wondered what tonight’s song would be as he poured Eble an ale.
Eble went largely unnoticed by the drunken partiers as he wove his way through the crowd. Given that he was only three feet tall, this was hardly surprising. He stepped around and through legs until he was at an empty table at the center of the cavernous room. He hauled himself onto the bench, and then the table. He stood, and the crowd cheered with surprise at seeing the halfling. He set his things down on the bench behind him, and then began cheering with the crowd. “Song! Song!” They cried, and Eble delivered.
His jig is as follows:
Where there’s a mug there’s several,
And several more for me!
When we’re in need of beer or ale
There’s plenty here for thee!
At this the crowd recognized the song and joined in. Eble pulled out his fiddle and continued:
The barkeep must pour mighty fast,
If he’s to keep us filled!
I’ll drink until my words are slurred,
And the night has been fulfilled.
So when the morning does arrive,
(And to be sure it will!)
If your head don’t pound and spin all ‘round
Tonight you must refill!
The audience cheered. Eble jumped up and down, riding the energy of the crowd. Enthusiasm exploded throughout the room. The night had begun.
Eble’s ale was passed through the crowd until it reached his table. He grasped it and took a huge gulp. The tavern cheered. Eble wracked his brain for another song.
A dark, hooded figure went quite unnoticed as he crept around the perimeter of the room and exited the tavern. His red eyes glowed from under his hood, and his hands were hairy and strong, ending in sharp, pointed claws. One hand carried a small, leather bound book. A long, pointed tongue flitted in and out of his fanged maw, and his hairy nostrils flared as he walked slowly to the door and slipped out into the night. He was away in a flash.
In the tavern Eble was on his third mug of ale, and his sixth song. The audience drunkenly clapped as he stomped his feet to the beat, and even Bregan the bartender had joined in. The night would not be over any time soon! The seventh song began.
. . .
Eble woke up.
He was lying under the bench upon which he had set his things the previous night. A dull ache persisted in his head, and his body felt fatigued.
He looked to his right. Three denizens lay beside him, dead asleep. He looked to his left. A Gnome was curled in a ball under the table. Eble sighed.
Groaning, he sat up and crawled out from under the bench. Looking around, the halfling saw that the inn was littered with sleeping merrymakers. Only Bregan stood, wiping out glasses. He spoke when he saw Eble.
“Ah! You’re awake, Eble.”
“Good morning, Bregan.” He said tiredly.
“That’s quite a mess there. I’ll be cleaning all day.” Bregan sighed. “But I suppose that’s what one gets for owning the most popular tavern in town.” There was silence for a moment.
“Well, I must be off.” Eble said. “I’ve got other business to attend.”
“Of course. Thank you, Eble, for another merry evening.”
“My pleasure, Bregan.” Eble replied with a salute. He walked back to his things.
All of his instruments were there. He packed them and prepared to leave, before a dreadful thought struck him. Where was his storiebook? It had been with his instruments, and he had not seen it today. He ran back to the bench. It was nowhere to be found.
“Bregan?” Eble called with mounting worry.
“Yes, Eble?”
“Have you seen my storiebook? The Tales of Twil?”
“Can’t say I have. It can’t have gone anywhere, though. I’m sure it’s lying on the floor somewhere among the bodies.”
“Thanks.”
Eble began poking around among the scattered people lying on the floor. The book was nowhere in sight. He walked to the exit to check and see if Fred had the book.
“Oh, Eble!” Bregan called suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“I do remember now… There was a strange fellow in here last night, wearing a hood… didn’t want to be seen, sketchy fellow… And anyhow, I thought I saw him carrying a book as he left.”
“Thanks, Bregan.” Eble said numbly. “I’ll look into it.”
Eble was horrorstruck. The Tales of Twil was his most prized possession, and it had been stolen. What was he to do?
He tottered out the door and went to Fred. The pony lay on his side, kicking his hooves as he dreamed.
“Time to go, Fred!” Eble said softly. “Come on, wake up!”
Fred groggily lifted his head and looked about until he spotted Eble. He stood.
“That’s a boy!” Eble praised as he mounted Fred. “Now, we must be off- and fast!” He flicked the reins, and the pony cantered away from the tavern.
. . .
Eble spent the rest of the day looking for The Tales of Twil. He went to several other taverns and inns to meet with his fellow bards, hoping that they might have seen the book. Most had not, and Eble was giving up hope. He had come to his last stop, The Frogwhich Tavern. He tied Fred up, and then stepped inside.
Eble was met with the smell of smoky meat and fresh bread. A few customers sat at tables in the corner, enjoying meals and drafts. A wiry, short man sat on a stool by the counter, tapping his foot and resting his head in his palm. His face was blank with boredom.
In the corner of the tavern, feet propped up on a table, was Eble’s friend Arthur. His eyes were closed, and he strummed a soft melody on his lute. He seemed lost in his music, and Eble was quite hesitant to disturb him.
Arthur opened one eye.
“Eble.” He said calmly. “I didn’t expect you here today!”
“Good afternoon, Arthur.” Eble replied as he walked closer to his table. “How is life at the Frogwhich?
“Same as always,” Arthur replied with a shrug. “Never too busy, which is why I stay. But what of yourself? Where can one find the famed Eble Longears these days?”
“Oh, here and there.” Said Eble dismissively. “Although, I can often be found at Ludwig’s Royal Inn and Publick House.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Ludwig’s? That is the most renowned tavern in town!” He paused. “The most renowned tavern in town… It rhymes.” Eble watched as Arthur experimented with the tune for a moment.
“Ah yes. Back to the matter at hand.” Said Arthur. “What can I do for you?”
Eble told him of the previous night’s events, and how his book had gone missing. He told him of the strange hooded man Bregan had seen carrying a book out.
“Well,” said Arthur. “I can’t say I’ve seen your book, but I have seen a character like the one you describe. Tall, lanky fellow. I got a glimpse of his face under that hood, and I saw that his eyes glowed blood red. His nose was long and pointy, and his cavernous mouth held many fangs. He was quite a sight.”
“And where did he go? What did he do?” Eble said excitedly.
“Well, as I took an interest to him, it just so happens that I followed him a ways after he left the tavern. He walked hurriedly through town until he reached the Northern Gate.” Eble gasped.
Arthur nodded casually. “He rode away into the night, and I must confess that I did not wish to follow him any further. That is the business of adventurers, and I doubt myself among those worthy of such an occupation.”
But Eble was not listening. An intruder had left town with his storiebook! It had to be recaptured! Such things were no triviality. The Tales of Twil had been a gift to Eble, a gift from his loremaster! That stealing scoundrel would pay… Oh, he would pay…
“...Eble?” Arthur said, shaking the halfling out of his vengeful daydreams. “Eble, are you alright?” Eble realized that his face had been scrunched with anger, and that he was grinding his teeth. With some effort he relaxed.
“Sorry, Arthur.” He said. “Continue.”
“I was about to mention another strange detail I noticed about our thief.” Arthur explained. “Although his cloak was mostly black and plain, I noticed a strange emblem on the back of it. I drew it to the best of my memory.” He rummaged for a moment before he found the slip of paper. He showed it to Arthur.
The emblem showed an elegantly drawn US, written in a complicated series of loops and vines.
“What do you make of it?” Arthur asked.
“I haven’t seen this symbol before.” Eble told him. “Have you done any research on it?”
“I planned to this week.” Arthur said. “I suggest you do the same, if you hope to retrieve your book.”
“I will!” Eble said adamantly. “Thank you, Arthur!”
“It’s my pleasure!” The half elf said. “Feel free to copy the symbol.”
Eble did, and then took his leave. He went back to Ludwig’s. He was tired, and, though he concealed it well, thoroughly hung over. He collapsed on his bed and dreamed of strange, dark places, and an elusive figure streaking into the night.
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