The lighting in the tavern that night was dim, the keep failing to refuel the lanterns with the needed oil. Patrons complained as they bumped into one another, spilling ale and dropping bread and other eats to the dirty floor below. The crowds that flooded this particular tavern, located on the bottom-most tier of the multi-leveled castle town of Vandole, were of the working class. Farmers, fishermen, lumberjacks, the people who worked their materials, blacksmiths, you name it.
“Why don’t you get with the times and buy some Orbs for this place, eh?” A drunkard had yelled from the corner, “I can’t see my gruel, and if I bump into one more smelly fisherman—“
“Oy, you is one to talk, sitting over there smelling like a chicken coop! I nearly lost me dinner when I bumped into ye, and I don’t mean by dropping it either!”
Orbs, of course, a modern marvel of technology, were expensive, and very few on the lower reaches of Vandole’s working-class scale could afford such a luxury. Orbs were glass spheres with special layers that could be infused with the aura of any elemental, though some were more useful than others. For example, a large Orb infused with the aura of Frytt, the fire elemental, could be used in place of fire to cook food in an oven or stovetop. Pair the same or smaller orb with one infused with the wind element, and you will have a fireplace capable of circulating the heat around the room with no risk of burning your house down.
This genius concept of pairing elemental orbs has worked wonders for the summer seasons when cooling houses had been an issue. Combining the ice and wind elementals created a cooling effect for houses that has saved many lives since its invention.
“Eh, the ol’ oil lamps are doing the job just fine,” the tavern keep growled, “Just watch where you’re going and keep your eyes off the slop I be feeding you.”
The younger man sitting across from the counter laughed, head covered in a thick woolen hood. “You Vandolians never cease to surprise me,” he said, spooning a large bite of beef stew into his mouth, the thick brown gravy escaping his spoon and splashing his chin. “You can both sell and slander your own product in the same breath.”
The keep paid the man no mind. Judging by the younger man’s appearance, he’d been another adventurer just passing through, looking for a cheap, quick bite to eat and a place to rest before moving on.
If only the other patrons had the brains to do the same.
“Hoy! Wha didja mean by ‘You Vandolians’, eh? That ain’t no way to be talking about the people that be serving you that fine stew you have been cramming into that ill-speaking mouth of yours.”
The man swirled the contents of his bowl around, picking out bits of potato, parsnip, and carrots in its thick, savory broth. He’d gotten the feeling that calling it “Beef Stew” on the menu was a bit of an exaggeration as he’d failed to find any actual beef in his bowl. It wasn’t too surprising; These folk couldn’t afford to just up and slaughter their cattle when they were still capable of producing milk, something that could lead to additional products and even byproducts, thus resulting in long-term profits. Only the rich folk on the upper tiers could afford to add actual beef to their stews, among other meats.
“I mean no ill will, stranger. I’m actually admiring your brave keep here’s adherence to the old ways. A few Lucent Orbs would certainly go a long way in brightening the mood and atmosphere of the tavern, sure…” He said as he plucked an orb no bigger than an apple out of his rucksack. With a quick brush against his palm, the sphere exploded in a brilliant, gentle light that filled half the main room with enough light that one could now pick out each individual breadcrumb from the wooden floors.
“Impressive, eh?” He said, running his palm over the orb’s surface slightly, dimming it considerably. Tossing it to the keep, who was as quick to react as he was to express the confusion on his rugged face, the hooded man said, “Keep it, as a gift from a traveling adventurer. I only ask that you all listen to a little story of mine in exchange.”
The keep brightened the orb before dropping it in an empty lantern behind the counter, once again illuminating the faces of the keep’s patrons, barmaids, and other lifeforms that were resting from a day’s hard work in the fields, smithies, and barns.
“All right, stranger. But before you start, could you tell us who you be? I’d like to dedicate the light you’ve given us here tonight as a means of thanks.”
The hooded man never raised his head, “The name is Pompo; I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Wrote several books about my adventures around this great big world of ours, including one about the six great kingdoms and the royalty that governs them.” He stood from his chair, the sound of his joints popping as he rose. He groaned as he smoothed the aches away before moving to the padded chair beside the fireplace.
“I’m actually writing an eighth book, all about my latest big adventure, which had come to its conclusion the moment I stepped into your fine establishment this evening.” The hooded man flopped onto the chair and kicked up his feet, relishing in the warmth given off by the flames but also acknowledging the uncomfortably unsafe feeling he got by being so close to such raw elemental fury.
To think that every house once had open flames like this before the invention of the Orb.
One of the barmaids, a beautiful redhead with green eyes and a face marked by what could have been no less than seven hundred freckles, approached the man as he removed a large tome from his rucksack. “What is your new book about, Mr. Pompo?” She couldn’t have been no older than sixteen, likely the daughter of the keep, he thought, looking at the older man’s features behind the bar.
“I’m glad you asked that lass, for you see, I have just returned from the western lands, and—“
“Aye, the west. Beautiful land, Diawa is. Their architecture is so different from ours, and their diets consist mainly of rice and fish.” A beastkind on the far corner had said, her features lending towards that of a large feline. She wore the vest of a blacksmith and the black stains of having handled coal all day to prove it.
“Ah, Diawa. Yes, a beautiful kingdom indeed, but that is too far west, ma’am. The western land I’m referring to is a bit closer to home. Right over those mountains there, truth be told.”
The eyes of every patron in the keep had moved to the west-facing window and the mountain range that lay far beyond. “You’re talking about the Lost Frontier? You actually went there, Pompo?” The barmaid asked, green eyes turning back to him with a look of amazement.
“Bah, dangerous lands that. How that little village managed to survive all these years with such a dense monster population and no army to patrol the roads is beyond me.” One patron barked.
Another chimed in: “I visited it once, long ago in my youth. ‘Tis a beautiful land, but everywhere you looked, there was some monster prowling about. Didn’t even make it as far as the giant river or the huge bridge that crosses it before my party turned tail and headed back up the mountain path.”
Pompo gazed around the tavern as his mention of the western land sparked a loud, spirited discussion about the Lost Frontier, many of which had explored it themselves or attempted to at least. They spoke of the sights one could see just from standing atop the ridge that stretched around the entire unclaimed region.
“Yeah, the river is absolutely massive. It runs all the way from that huge lake in the north to the ocean in the south!”
“And then there’s that huge mountain that looms over the lake! There are always snow clouds hovering over the very top of it, and that massive waterfall that I guess must feed the lake? Water that’s colder than a witches’—“
Pompo held up a hand, stopping the man in his tracks, “Now, now. This is a kid-friendly story, so let’s watch the language, okay?”
A little green impkind had sidled up next to the barmaid and took up a seat upon the footrest, a mug of a deep, dark ale in his hand and a bread roll smeared with brown butter in his other. They weren’t known for their expressive nature, but the adventurer could clearly tell the imp was waiting to hear the tale.
“Well, okay then, y’all sound like you have some first-hand experience with the land, so that will make this all the more fun and productive for me; for you see, I still need to fill out the third-party experience section of the book, and that is where you all will come in, so as I’m telling the tale, please do not hesitate to chime in with your own bits of knowledge, okay?”
The redhead stood up, both hands raised high, “I will warn you all that if you do so during any exciting bits, I’ll have my father charge you double, got that?” she said, rotating her whole body so that everyone in the room could see her.
“I’ll do it too; see if I don’t.” The keep said with a smirk.
“All right then. This is a tale about not only my own personal adventures through the land of the Lost Frontier, or simply ‘The Frontier’ if you talk to any of the natives over there, but also a collection of stories collected firsthand from the people that live in that little village known as Memoria,” Pompo looked around, finally brushing the hood back and exposing his long red hair and heavy growth of facial hair, looking more like a vagabond than some world-famous author.
“This is the Secret of Memora…”
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