The stranger walked into the town square in the late afternoon.
The traders were packing up their stalls, loading what was
left of their produce onto handcarts, and wheeling them away. The buildings
clustered around the edge of the square, and one of them looked promising.
A wooden sign hung from a post. Painted on the sign was a crown of some
sort, and the universal sign for a tavern, a brimming mug. He trudged
across the dusty square. The noise erupting from the tavern was tumultuous. There were clearly
a great many folk in there, all intent on having a good time. The stranger
was weary and footsore. A drink would be more than welcome, and convivial
company a bonus. He opened the door and walked in. The Kingdom Tavern was dimly lit, but welcoming. The huge fire in the
iron grate gave out most of the light. Tables and chairs were scattered
around the bar room, and cosy snugs were built along the walls. The place
was crowded; figures of all shapes and sizes drank together, with a feeling
of well-being and harmony. “Come in, come in stranger,” sang out a melodious
deep voice. “Come and join us for a drink, for we are celebrating.” The
speaker was a huge figure, with hide the colour of chestnuts, and small
black eyes that twinkled out of his bull-shaped head. The stranger hesitated only a moment; the call of the offered drink too
much to ignore. “My thanks to you, friend. Tell me if you can, where is
there that offers adventure around here?” The Minotauros (for that is what
he was) laughed loudly, and cried out, “Everywhere my friend, everywhere.”
He gave the stranger a tankard full of frothy cold ale, and began his
account of the Kingdoms of Telgard...
