Cask Crusade

Cask Crusade

Part One

In a small southern hamlet bordering that great old wood, with trees who uproot and reclaim any newly trodden paths, a tavern sat upon the highest hill watching over its neighbours. As unremarkable as the village was in most regards, this one establishment had earned the respect of oath-sworn warriors and profiteering traders alike for the quality of its in-house ale, which was inferior to the Dynasties’ fine vintages but surpassed all expectations of a landlord’s craft. Through a near nationwide desire for this refreshing brew and a need to escape the crashing rain on this particular day, the alehouse was full and remained that way until the closing bell rang. Two bands of contrary individuals chose to ignore the bell that night in favour of further drinking. The first was a sorrowful pairing who drank to forget, and the other was a revelrous bunch who drank to remember. The regretful duo sat in solemn silence, the oldest between them was a great champion sworn to a local self-entitled regent. Accompanying him was his young apprentice, who only shared a fraction of her commander’s regret. He drank his fill more than an hour before the bell sounded but insisted on finishing the pint he had to hand. The younger soldier, however, had barely imbibed that night and still kept a clear head about her.

On the table opposite the two, and unwittingly adding to the couple’s dismay, was a group of four individuals, the very least of which was still dressed in finery well in excess of the inn’s other patrons. This band of merchants drank whisky and wine and ate cured meats and celebrated some form of good fortune. Likewise, they sat conducted by their elder, a grey-headed man dressed in fine purple robes and golden baubles, with a reddish hue to his swollen face. His companions, a man and woman wearing a less extravagant blue with silver trinket adornments, and a younger man simply wearing the best he had.

The boy behind the bar rang the bell long ago and with the reluctance of his customers, he had headed down to find his landlord for support. Had it been his job to clear the finely dressed few from the bar he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the well-armed two struck him with wise unease. The boy hadn’t left his drunken company for long before they each heard his screams suddenly fill the tavern, so loud were they that they silenced the traders and mustered a call to arms from the silent soldiers. All six bustled behind the bar and down the cellar’s stairs, marching in time with the boy’s screams and some other more disconcerting high noise like that of a blade on a whetstone.

The old knight was naturally the first to view the cellar scene, with his sword half drawn and no sign of his drunkenness shining through. From over his shoulder, the group spotted the tavern-lad clasping a bloody hand, less a few fingers. Behind him, the landlord bludgeoned a metal box at his feet. The cause of this calamity was something none of the collected cohorts had ever seen before, only the two groups’ elders had seen the likes, in the Dynasties’ great kitchens and bath-houses or employed in sieges against the more rebellious of the mountain fortresses. The young soldier snapped into action and tended to the boy’s grievous wound. She stopped the blood flow with the strap of her scabbard and wrapped his hand tightly in the cloth of her sword cloak, drenched in a nearby bottle’s spirit. One of the blue dressed peddlers stood beside the readied knight as if he matched the soldier’s abilities or worth, but neither men were needed, for the landlord had bludgeoned the threat into submission. A mess of rubber rope and platinum plate lay before them, giving unpredictable twitches and trumpeting cries. Before any questions were raised, the gathering helped the young man to a place in the tavern where he could rest, then settled themselves at a large round table ready to hear the landlord’s tale.

“The monstrosity lying in still pieces beneath us was gifted to me, a mighty hunter since taken from us traded that thing for several nights' safe stay. In truth, I knew not what the structure was, but in time its capacity for keeping in heat and drawing in wind proved to be the making of me. Ales set within it came to be of a quality which no other cask, keg, or barrel could match. Now the magic of its motion has died, and with it, my tavern’s legacy.”

His audience had many questions, it had been a marvel that sobered them all and they had even fewer intentions of leaving than they had twenty minutes earlier. Their host gave them little in the way of good insight into his device. Its luminous inset gems and constant chanting hum was surely wrought by Rune-smiths, but such a thing would be far too valuable to trade for but a week’s respite. He answered all of the group’s questions, in turn, growing their interest with each clandestine response. As the night became a fresh morning, the landlord devised a scheme, for that hunter had explained in the vaguest of ways where he had come upon the metal contraption. Deep within the unsettled wood, he followed a series of overgrown plateaus lost to whichever people carved them, and eventually discovered the thing lying still at the edge of one such lost place.

“An offer of value might be made if you would indulge me,” he began curtly, knowing full well that both groups thought themselves superior to him in both martial and monetary means.

“If you would ride out to see if another like it lies where this one once was, and return it hence, you will be free to drink and eat and rest here for the remainder of your days.” He held back a smile as he spoke, for he knew that no weathered warriors or merry merchants could resist the offer of free sanctuary or suppage. What the landlord didn’t foresee was that the elder of each group readily wanted to take him on his offer, but not for the shallow reasons he laid before them.

The oath-sworn champion had been defeated that night. He had failed his Lord and disgraced his sword. His mission was as it had been countless times hence, to return with the head of a foul beast, a mighty cavern wyrm, but he had done nothing but return with fewer warriors than he'd set out with. Instead, to return with an example of the work of Rune-smiths would rightly prove his worth to his Lord and elevate the regent high. The trader troupe were thinking through similar lines, though theirs focused on personal gain alone. They had that day reached a deal with representatives from the next town over, for exclusive rights to unique and rare sweet cheeses. To give their fine sponsor additional arcane wonders would surely pull them all into the upper echelons of their Guild. Both prestigious gentlemen shook the landlord’s hand, none of the three let on their true intentions, but all were pleased with the manipulations they wrought.

When the sun rose following a later night of merry feasting, the knight and his ward were first to rise, followed surprisingly swiftly by the merchants’ underling. He ingratiated himself with the warrior duo. With well-trained hands, he aided in their readyments alongside those of his superiors, much to the fighters’ delight. Once the aged merchants rose and performed their routines, the group gathered at the tavern’s walnut doors. With all due false pleasantries made, the group headed out into the nearby ill content woodland wall. The old forest was renowned for its gargantuan growths and unmappable terrain. Legend has it that those stubborn trees would wander through the wood and root themselves on new paths, they would burrow their roots into flat grasslands to make uneven passageways, and they would hug one another with twisted branches to create complex labyrinths of bark and leaf.

Only the youngest two of the six mercenary adventurers showed any hint of nerves entering this forest, the elders possessed a sense of self-importance that let them ignore the possible perils. The knight thought no terrain would best him and the merchant band considered themselves above such primal problems. The two travelled ahead of their respective groups and called out directions for everyone to follow; If a verdant barricade presented itself they would simply remain silent and reroute; When the passage was clear they marched onwards. The journey was rough and lasted far longer than any party had wished. Gradually day became a fresh night and tents needed to be constructed. Naturally, the traders’ youngest member was once again expected to prepare their encampment. The knights made fair arrangements in tandem with one another. Once all were settled, the group parted ways, the warriors set to maintaining their equipment as they had been rigorously trained to do and the merchants ate, drank, and fell into a deep sleep. The following day progressed much the same as the previous. The warriors had roused and readied long before either of the elder traders had stirred. Though this didn’t surprise the champion in any way, he still developed a disdain for their self-gratifying ways.

Once all had made their conversely different readyments, one utterly rigorous and the other frivolous, they marched on. The band of merchants and mercenaries crunched through undergrowth and twigs for hours, what they journeyed for was beginning to seem too costly to the untrained traders but the fury of the hunt was just enough to push them onwards. Many tea fires had been made along the way for vital refreshment and each had been abandoned as the troupe headed deeper into the forest brush. After passing across a stone plateau covered in sparse grasses, the likes of which they had been told would guide their way, the smell of the forge, with stagnant rust waters and polishing oils, drifted by. The scent caused the cohort to take a knee, some quicker than others. With several minutes of low creeping, they reached a wall of thicker growth, vines and high shrub, separating them from a newfound destiny.

Spied beyond the thicket, numerous long log cabins with black glass ceilings ran parallel to a wide grey road, perfectly formed and flatter than the face of any sword. Along this smooth road marched pairings of barrel-chested metal beings, reflecting sunlight in every possible direction from their polished tin flesh. Their stride deafened the clearing with the grinding of iron joints, a calamity loud enough to mask any small fault on the party’s part. The battle-ready fellowship lay back and remained hidden, each heart raced and each breath was taken sharp and gasped.

“What is this thing we have been sent to find, a nest of demons? Our deaths? This surely isn’t the opportunity discussed two nights ago over ale and meats,” hissed one of the foremost traders as he slumped his ample frame to the ground.

“Were we not sent to find marvels beyond any city lord or village surf? Tell me then, who in your high Dynasty could boast ownership of one such wonder?” The knight made his sharp reply with complete composure and confidence. The four other travellers took turns spying out at the constructs, who went doggedly about their business. The younger knight still held the same detached confidence as her superior, and three traders of varying prestige too matched their superior’s exhilarated fear. Once all six travellers had made their astounding observations, they knew that retreat wasn’t an option. Their futures lay marching but meters away.