A Stranger Enters the Salty Kraken

I had just finished my second pint of ale when the stranger walked into the tavern.

Let me rephrase that.  The stranger literally kicked in the door to the tavern which was an immediately unpopular move, but no one wanted to say anything because this particular stranger was easily a head taller than anyone else in the room and oh Gods the muscles on him were bigger around than the stool I was sitting on.

Ahem.

As one might expect, a hush fell over the townspeople.  The Salty Kraken was a hoppin’ place pretty much all the time around here because, well, there wasn’t much else to do except farm or sleep or talk about farming.  But for there to be complete silence at the K?  We all knew something was amiss.

Without so much as a how-do-you-do or, better yet, an apology for breaking the door, the stranger stomped his way to the bar and loudly demanded to speak to the owner of the tavern.  He also demanded an ale which we all thought was a reasonable request until he also demanded that the ale be free.

That didn’t do much to endear him to any of us, let alone the K’s owner Beefy Kate.  We were under a waning moon which meant that Beefy Kate was spending the evening at her mother’s, and no one was interested in interrupting her family time, especially not for this guy even though his breeches fit very well and showed off his powerful legs with an equally impressive bulge in the fr-

Ahem.  Right.

A few of the townsfolk looked my way to see if I would make any moves, but I wanted to see what this stranger was all about before I revealed myself.  William stepped up to see what the man wanted, this being William the Wheat Farmer of course and not William the Orchard Man or William the Pickle Eater.  Important distinctions in a small town with uncreative naming conventions.

“What can we do for you, stranger?”  William had that pleasant tone that didn’t provoke any sort of anger but still conveyed the message that he’d very much like this man to leave town immediately, knees to the chest.

“I am Arminius!” the stranger announced.  He paused, possibly to let this knowledge sink in, but he didn’t need to bother since none of us were familiar with him, not even me.  If I hadn’t heard of him, he certainly wasn’t a very high profile adventurer.  Not yet, anyway.

Arminius frowned at the lack of interest but rallied his confidence and continued.  “I seek the evil wizard Blightsoul.”

I sighed.  Of course he was after me.

William, Gods bless him, didn’t so much as glance my direction before answering.  “We are a small farming town, adventurer.  We have no evil wizards here.”

“Lies!  I have been sent on a quest to defeat this foul wizard, and I have heard tales of his lair in a ruined tower outside your village.  Surely you have noticed an increase in evil activities.”

“Nope,” William the Pickle Eater piped up from the back.  “No evil activities around here.”

Ah, that Pickle Eater.  I must remember to thank him later.  Maybe some homemade bread using the recipe my auntie gave me.

“No evil?” Arminius seemed to struggle with this revelation.

Handsome, yes, but his ability to grasp concepts did not inspire awe.

He continued.  “What about dire rat infestations?  Goblin raids?  Really bad dreams?”

Nanny Fran stood up and shook her empty flagon.  “My dreams are none of your business, young man.  Now sit down, you’re spoiling my drinking mood.”

I’d send up a toast to that old lady if my own cup weren’t empty.  What a stone-cold peach.

Arminius regarded us silently for a long moment, looking into each of our faces.  I winked when he caught my eye, but he looked away too quickly for me to see if heat went to his cheeks like it did to mine.

“Very well,” he said with a slight nod.  “I will investigate the tower for myself.”  Arminius strode purposefully out of the tavern, sidestepping the splintered door.

The Pickle Eater peeked out the door and watched until Arminius was out of sight.  “He’s gone!”

All at once, the tavern erupted into conversation.

William the Wheat Farmer reached me first.  “That adventurer is looking for you!  What will you do?”

“He’s going to your house!  What if he breaks another door?” cried Nanny Fran.

The other villagers expressed similar concerns for my welfare and that of my tower, miscellaneous pets, and, shall we say, experiments.  My heart swelled with affection.

“Don’t worry, friends,” I said as I stood up from my stool.  “He’s just a low-level adventurer and doesn’t pose a serious threat.  But just to be safe, you’d better lie low tonight.”  I carefully picked my way over the door’s remains and wrapped my cloak around my shoulders to fend off the chill of evening.

Lil Pippa, the K’s resident bard, blew me a kiss.  “You be careful out there, gorgeous.”

I sent back a kiss, wished the folks in the K a good night, and set out towards my tower.  I’d moved in less than a year ago thinking the ruined structure was appropriately far from other people.  Didn’t much care for other people back then.

William the Orchard Man was the first to notice me, and he came walking up easy as you please to say hello.  He didn’t even flinch when he saw my giant pet spider Bess, even extended his hand to her just the same as he did to me.  She’s not much of a handshaker, of course, but she was pleased to be addressed so politely.

The Orchard Man took me to the K that evening and introduced me around despite my initial protestations.  The simple charm of the villagers won me over eventually, and I’ve been a part of their community ever since.

They were right about the lack of goblin raids and dire rat infestations.  I didn’t feel the need to terrorize the townsfolk to do my bidding, so I took most of my minions off the payroll.  Last I heard, the goblins were living it up in a natural hot spring somewhere north of here.

And bad dreams?  Arminius was really grasping at straws there.  Most evil wizards don’t bother with such intangible menaces.  We prefer to get straight to the point: a goblin attack here, a fireball there, that sort of thing.  And really, since moving here, I’ve all but retired.  Might have to pull some old tricks back out of the bag if Arminius doesn’t back down, though.

But I’d hate to hurt one luscious lock of hair on that incredible bod-

A-HEM.  Moving on.

Predictably, Arminius was skulking around my tower looking for a way in, great axe in hand.  Adventurers never seemed to use perfectly good front doors, though I should be glad that at least he didn’t kick mine in the way he’d done at the K.

“Hail, Arminius.”

He whipped his head around at my voice and brandished his axe.  “Blightsoul!”

“That’s me.  Listen, I-”

“Prepare to die, evil-doer!”

I sighed and put my hands up.  “Look, Armie, love, I’m not interested in fighting.  I’ve been out of the evil business for almost a year now.”

Arminius frowned and lowered his axe.  “But... but your name is Blightsoul.”

“Yeah, but my first name is Finch, like the cute little birdie, so I like to think it evens out.”

I unlocked my front door and turned to wink at him.  This time, I saw the blush clearly on his face.  “Would you like to come inside?”