The Obsidian Ax Tavern

A half-drunk human stumbles over to our table, his breath heavy with the scent of ale. His eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and contempt as he stands over me and Ordazar, looking down at us with a slurred smile.

“What is a human child doing with you, half-orc?” He sneers, the words dripping with disdain. “Are you pretending to be a father to this little child? Or is there something more going on here? Are you using him for something?”

His gaze shifts between me and Ordazar, his posture aggressive and belligerent, clearly not in the mood for a friendly conversation. The tavern’s chatter continues around them, but this moment feels like it’s frozen in time—his words heavy, a challenge hanging in the air.

I stand up and say, “I’m his protector. Does he now need protecting from some danger? Let me buy you an ale and we can listen to the troubadour, sing birth of Xy.”

“Where did a half-orc like you get money, you steal it,” he said?

I replied, “It was given to me by a god. What do you care, if it buys you an ale?”

“I don’t drink with scum like you,” he said, “Lay down with dogs, get up with fleas.”

I said, “So that’s your problem, you sleep with dogs.”

The human’s face flushes red, whether from drink or anger, it’s hard to tell. His hand twitches toward the knife at his belt, but he hesitates, the weight of the tavern’s attention slowly shifting toward our exchange. A few patrons chuckle at my remark, and I see his pride waver between rage and embarrassment.

“You think you’re clever, do you?” he spits, taking a step closer. “I don’t take insults from filth like you.”

I keep my stance relaxed, my hand resting near my belt but not reaching for a weapon—yet. Ordazar watches quietly, his wide eyes gleaming with something beyond understanding, as if he sees more in this moment than I do.

“If you don’t take insults, then why’d you walk over here asking for one?” I say calmly, watching him.

The crowd murmurs—some amused, some wary. The barkeep shifts uneasily, perhaps debating whether to intervene.

The drunk clenches his fists, shaking slightly with rage, but before he can act, someone else steps in—perhaps a friend, a wary onlooker, or another troublemaker looking to turn this moment into something worse. I don’t know what to expect.

“Come on Hobar sit back down and finish your ale. This scum is not worth our time,”his friend said.

As they left, I sat down and Ordazar giggled.

“What is so funny little one,” I said?

Ordazar giggles again, his bright eyes twinkling with mischief. He waves a tiny hand toward the departing drunk, and suddenly, the man sputters and coughs, smacking his lips in disgust.

“Blasted ale tastes like—like rotten cabbage!” he shouts, slamming his mug onto the table. His face contorts in confusion, and he snatches a nearby tankard from his friend, taking a swig—only to immediately spit it out. “Ugh! What in the Nine Hells? This one too?”

His friend recoils. “What are you going on about? Mine tastes fine.”

But Hobar isn’t convinced. He grabs another patron’s drink and takes a hesitant sip—same reaction. His eyes widen in panic. “Oh gods… have I been cursed?”

Ordazar claps his hands, delighted, and leans toward me. “Bad man doesn’t like drinks anymore,” he whispers with a grin.

I shake my head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “You did something, didn’t you?”

Ordazar just hums innocently, watching as Hobar stumbles toward the door, frantically licking his sleeve, trying to rid himself of the imaginary taste.

As things calm down the troubadour took the stage and began his song

The Ballad of Xy

Come gather ‘round and raise a cheer,

For the tale of Xy you’ll hear.

A fortress carved from mountain stone,

A kingdom lost, a fate unknown.

An evil came on wings of dread,

The dwarves were scattered, left for dead.

The beast now hungered for a prize—

A maiden fair with sapphire eyes.

Lady Kim, so pure, so bright,

Was stolen on a moonlit night.

Bound in crystal, trapped in pain,

Her rage would fuel the beast’s dark reign.

Sir Mark, her love, with blade in hand,

Stormed the fortress, took his stand.

Through orc and shadow, steel did sing—

He swore to slay the cursed thing.

In the vault where crystals burned,

Kim’s lost heart to hatred turned.

But love shone bright, a bond unbroken,

And through the dark, new power woken.

With love’s pure light, a dragon rose,

To face the beast and end its woes.

A fire white as heaven’s grace,

Burned the monster—left no trace.

The fortress shone, its heart made whole,

No longer bound by evil’s toll.

The King and Queen of Xy still reign,

And in the sky, their wings remain.

When he finished I noticed that an ant made of beautiful cut gems had crawled onto the table. Its tiny eyes fixed on my gauntlet. Then a man His fine green robes that rippled like a zephyr through spring leaves. It was embroidered with silver-threaded runes that shimmered with each measured step.

“I am the court magician.” He said, “You may call me Zapper.”

I pointed to a chair, “Please sit. I am Chance, how may I help you?”

Zapper gave a wry smile, adjusting the silver-threaded cuffs of his robe before taking the offered seat. His eyes flickered between me, the gauntlet, and the gem-crafted ant still perched on the table.

“ I have heard rumors, Chance,” he began, his voice measured, almost amused. “They say you saved Baroness Blackthorn, only to be cast into the deep places of the world—yet you emerged with treasures most would not dare claim.” His gaze lingered on the gauntlet. “I see at least some of those rumors are true.”

Ordazar, now preoccupied with trying to poke the gemstone ant, looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you here for a story, too?”

Zapper chuckled. “In a way, young one. But I am more interested in truth than tales.” He reached into his sleeve and produced a small vial of swirling emerald liquid, setting it carefully on the table. “I represent certain interests at court—those who find such relics… intriguing. And I believe you may possess something they would be eager to understand.”

I crossed my arms. “And what exactly are they offering for this understanding?”

Zapper tapped the vial lightly, and the liquid shimmered. “Knowledge. Power. Or perhaps something more… personal. Tell me, Chance—what do you desire?”

I smirked. “Me? I’m a simple man. I look into things for people. If you’ve got a problem, I’m the solution. So tell me—what is this thing I have?”

Zapper studied the gemstones on his gauntlet his expression one of fascination. “I believe it’s an ant trail a relic from an age long past. It marks supply points for ancient magical technology, using complex micro-glyphs.”

I raised a brow. “So it’s a map?”

“In a way,” Zapper said, tracing a finger near the carving in the sleeve of the armored glove without touching it. “These ants were made in a line, each formed through a sequence of enchanted stations—one step at a time. Each station adds a function, a piece of magic, until the final product is complete.” He leaned back slightly. “It’s magic… but built like a machine.”