This story arises from an event, that normally would have gone unnoticed by, but was brought to my attention, as it happened in the forest around my library.
My library is located in a large tower only a stone's throw from Britain Cemetery. I've been based here for almost one and a half decade and it has been the starting point for countless adventures during the years.
I had just finished re-stringing my lute, when I heard a loud sigh. It came from the forest outside. I’ve heard this unmistakable sound hundreds of times before, so I knew immediately what it was.
As a young bard, I spend many hours in a dungeon a short distance from my home. You have probably been there yourself. The dungeon was once one of the favorite hunting grounds for the apprentice warrior. Yes, I’m talking about Despise.
Back then, Despise was mainly inhabited by humanoids, but they shared their home with one of the noisiest members of the reptile family, the lizardman. They also had room for the much quieter earth elementals and a few other creatures.
In the upper parts of the dungeon, small bands of lizardmen were patrolling the hallways and in a corner, not far from the entrance, they had a small camp. You could often find a young woman of noble descent in there. She would be held hostage by only a handful of our noisy friends, which made it somewhat easy to rescue the damsel in distress. As a bonus, you would gain a little in the Virtue of Compassion.
This was also the perfect place for training my barding skills. I did it by provoking the lizardmen to attack each other. Eventually one would kill the other, which made me very familiar with the hissing sigh that comes from a dying lizardman.
I decided to head outside, to see what had happened out there.
Lizardmen rarely roam around my place nowadays. They have basically been absent since we defeated their invasion army. That was eleven years ago. They have actually been evicted from Despise since then.
A few of the veterans have occupied the dungeon Wrong. They now call themselves “squatters” and “defenders”. They live along with a few trolls and ogres. A pack of savage wolves guards the lower parts of the dungeon. A few insane humans also dwell in this horrible place, where torture and suffering seem to be parts of the everyday life. Wrong is a place that truly lives up to its name.
Nevertheless, a few lonely lizardmen had apparently been left behind and was now wandering aimlessly around in the forest north to Britain.
One had just died and was now lying somewhere on the forest floor nearby. I walked a few yards south and here I found its corpse in the shadow of an old walnut tree.
It was an old male. A warrior. A great war mace was lying next to him, witnessing about greatness in former times. I noticed a foul stench of alcohol when I knelt by his side. I rummaged through his belongings, only to find 61 gold pieces and a bottle of ale.
I’m not a detective, but I think it is safe to say, that the poor fellow had died from drinking.
I’m sure that he once had been a great warrior, so it saddened me to see him leave the world this way.
I left the bottle on his body, but I took the 61 gold pieces and placed them at the feet of the ‘Benefactor of Britain’, hoping that they will find their way to the pockets of a person in need.
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