Meric the Storyman: Rega and the Dragonstones

It was early autumn and the trees were beginning to fill with their colorful yellow and orange leaves. The gleaming sun, still filled with the summer’s radiance, was shining down on the small town of Bridgeway. Initially, the area was just a manned station that maintained a bridge crossing the Lunamon River. In the past century, more moved into the area to support river ferries. There was a general supply store, a stable yard, a blacksmith, the decks, and granaries. There was also the Welton Inn.

The Welton Inn is a two-story timber and brick building. The main floor has a large dining area, the kitchen, and staff rooms. The upper floors have rooms with beds using woolen mattresses. A large fireplace sits in the dining area. On the outside, a porch area holds several chairs for those who want to relax in the evenings. A large oak tree stands nearby, offering shade.

Bridgeway was known for the Welton Inn. The cleanliness and comfort of the rooms and the delicious meals were talked about by travelers all over the land. It was especially known for the steamed crayfish special. The crayfish were brought in daily by local fishermen.

The entrance of the Welton Inn currently had a group of small boys peeking through the front doors. Several were also standing on the porch chairs, looking in through the windows. As they peeked through with their excited, searching eyes, they saw him, a man with great intensity and seriousness for the love of a tale. The storyteller was seated at a wooden table in the corner having lunch with a guest.

Meric, a multi-talented and skilled storyteller, had begun life as a bard. He soon discovered that he had an unsurpassed ability to tell stories, and thus he acquired the name “The Storyman.” His success followed him everywhere throughout the land, as did the stories he told. Even the King in Makloran would often summon him for his private audience.

Meric the Storyman was a slightly-balding, brown-haired man. He was a considerably large man, both in height and girth. He generally wore his traveling outfit; woolen trousers, leather vest, and a light blue shirt. He greeted everyone with a warm smile and a firm handshake. When he told his stories, his sparkling sky-blue eyes gleamed with excitement and adventure. He had a well-rounded paunch and was working on adding some more to his waistline when he noticed the group of boys by the doorway looking in his direction.

Although he was seated across the room from the doorway, his voice was clearly heard as Meric called out to the boys, “Come closer, lads. Come tell me your request.”

Meric’s guest looked over at the boys and smiled before asking him, “Does this happen everywhere you go?”

Meric laughed and replied, “This. This is nothing. You should see it when I am summoned for a royal event. I get surrounded by the many barons’ wives all wanting my attention.” He took another bite before continuing, “This is what makes my job so enjoyable.”

Meric watched as what looked to be the youngest boy in the group was pushed into the opening by the others. As he slowly shuffled through the room, nervous the innkeeper would catch him inside again, he nudged his way closer and closer. The boy took one last look over his shoulder back at his friends. They must have seen the look on his face, for the other boys waved their arms forward motioning him to continue. As his eyes moved back to the task at hand, the young boy’s hands were nervously wet. He wiped them on his pant legs. His heart pounded and throbbed as if it would jump right out of his small-framed body. He moved slowly and cautiously closer to his point of destination, taking another look in the direction of the innkeeper and then back to Meric.

The young boy stopped when he neared the table Meric and his guest were seated at. “Mr. Storyman, could you tell us one of your stories?” he asked.

Meric looked over at the boy, smiled a friendly smile, and replied in his deep baritone voice, “And what story might that be? Did you want to hear about the Kingdom City of Makloran, or how about an exciting tale of Sir Prode?”

With the built up anxiety followed by his daring entrance into the establishment, the boy excitedly answered, “Rega and the Dragonstones!”

The Storyman’s smile widened even more and a bellow of laughter filled the room. “Sure lad. Round up your friends and I’ll be thereshortly.” He threw a coin up into the air to the young boy.

The boy snatched the coin from the air and then turned to his friends waiting in the doorway. “He’ll do it! He’ll do it!” he hollered with glee, full of pride from his accomplishment. A cheer came up from outside the doorway. The group of boys separated, scurrying about to find more of their friends and family to hear the story.

No longer feeling the need to sneak around, the youngest boy came skipping out the door already thinking about what to spend the coin on as he gazed upon his prize. Had any of his friends been lingering outside the Inn watching, they would have seen the look of surprise on his face. The coin was a real silver piece! He had rarely seen these and never held anything but copper coins. He had no idea how much candy a silver piece could buy, but he was determined to find out.

Meric watched all of this shuffling around with amusement. After the young boy was gone, he finally looked over to his guest and stated, “They have heard this story numerous times, and they still behave in this excited state.

“Why did you give the boy the silver piece?” asked the guest.

“That is good business” Meric replied. Seeing the confused look on his guest’s face, he continued, “The boy will show the coin to his friends. He will then go spend it on whatever young boys spend it on these days. The other boys will spread the news about this to their friends and families. Like an infectious disease, it will spread throughout the town. You watch and see. There will be a crowd out there, both children and adults, so enormous you would think I’m handing out gold pieces.”

The guest nodded in understanding and said, “Ahhh, so when you have your empty lute case opened near your feet to collect donations...”

Meric finished, “...there will be way more than the silver I gave away. I will leave with more money than when I arrived, plus my reputation will continue to grow.”

Both men laughed and toasted to the occasion.

Meric and his guest completed their lunch. Although it was a simple stew and bread, it was very satisfying. As a regular traveler, Meric knew about the Inn’s reputation and frequently visited it, often to meet with the various travelers and merchants. His current guest was the latter.

The guest stood up to stretch and wipe bread crumbs off his finely-tailored shirt. He smiled and said, “Well, Mr. Storyman, I’ll buy the first round. I’d like to hear this story that has created so much excitement amongst the local children.”

Meric bellowed with laughter again. He left the payment on the table for their meals and walked to the porch outside the Inn’s door, his favorite spot for storytelling in this town.

The guest strolled up to the bartender. “Two mugs of your finest ale”, he said.

The bartender replied “I’ll have to go to the cellar for it.” and then whispered ” I keep the cheaper ale up here. Can you wait a bit?”

The man nodded.

The story about to be told had become a favorite in all towns. Hearing about Meric’s skill in the telling of tales, the man anxiously stroked his clean-trimmed goatee while the bartender was gone. He turned back to look outside and already saw people starting to arrive.

“Uh...excuse me, sir. Your ales.” said the returning bartender.

The guest turned back, took out a gold piece, and placed it on the counter. “Keep it.” he told the bartender.

“Thank you, Sir!” exclaimed the bartender.

The guest made no reply; he was already going towards the exit. The story was going to begin soon and he wanted a good seat.

Sitting in a comfortable chair placed on the Inn’s porch, Meric took a long drink from his mug of ale. “It’s got to be halfling brew. Elves tend to have the best wine, but halflings are the best when it comes to ales.” he said to his guest.

The guest, who had grabbed another one of the porch chairs, took a drink from his own mug and just nodded in agreement.

Meric looked around at the growing number of people, spotting the little boy and his friends sitting up front. Each had a large glass of flavored ice shavings. The boy also had a sack of candy placed in his lap. He had spent the silver piece as well as a child could.

By now, Meric had brought out his lute. He had this instrument made for him many years ago at considerable cost. It was made from the finest mahogany and yew. He would mostly use it to accent parts of his story, building excitement and suspense just at the right areas. He strummed the lute strings, making minor tuning adjustments. When the larger-than-expected crowd finally settled, he began the story.

“Not too long ago, in the far away city of Ractah, a young man was about to become a legend. His name was Rega...”

Rega was only eight when his story actually began. He was an only child, the son of a trapper. He was a typical young boy; full of energy. Taking after his father, he enjoyed being outdoors. His family lived about 10 miles south of the city of Ractah, a city known as the best place in the two kingdoms to get produce.

Rega’s family lived in a small log cabin. It had two bedrooms, a main room, and a kitchen. There was also a nearby barn where the horse, cart, and furs were kept. They were not farmers, but a small garden provided them extra produce. Wild berries could also be found in the area. A nearby stream was used by the family for fishing.

Rega’s father was large and muscular. As a hunter, his strength was needed for transporting his kills. He had recently returned from a successful hunt. In addition to the cured meats for the winter, there were many furs. These furs were from foxes, rabbits, beavers, and a few bearskins.

Rega asked excitedly, “Are we going to the city to see Milrop the Trader?” Without waiting for an answer, he then added, “I like Milrop. He always has something special for me.”

“We all like Milrop” answered his father. “We just have to finish preparing the furs. I’m counting on you to help again this year.”

“I’ll help” replied Rega. “I just wish they didn’t stink so bad.”

The furs Rega’s father sold would always bring in top price. He used a special mixture of ground oak bark and animal brains for curing. This was done while out hunting as the smell was very unpleasant. For several days, Rega helped his parents with the finishing preparations. Ropes would be hung on the nearby trees and the furs would be cleaned and stretched.

During this particular fur preparation period, Rega was up with the sun every morning. He would be out in the dew-laden fields hunting for rabbits, just like his father taught him, hoping he would finally catch his first.

On one of those mornings, he had just finished checking his third trap when he heard his mother calling him for breakfast. He ran into the house, attacked his usual morning fare of eggs and flapjacks with unusual vigor and then rushed out the door to continue checking more of his traps.

Rega’s mother was wearing her apron, making the day’s bread. Calling out as he went out the door, she said, “Don’t be too far away, son. We are going to the city today.”

Rega stopped. “The city! I have to catch a rabbit!” he exclaimed. “Milrop said he had a special knife that only cost one rabbit skin. I want that knife!”

He ran back to the fields and checked two more traps, a total of five traps in all, before going to his favorite hiding place to wait before checking again. This place happened to be a tree fort that his father had built for him two years before. It sat in a very large, old oak tree. He could look out easily enough, but if someone were to try to look in, they would have great difficulties. This was a proven fact, as he remembered the time when he hid there from his mother, after accidentally breaking an old vase.

Upon entering the fort, he went over to his secret hiding place. He had stashed all of his most valuable possessions in an old leather sack behind a branch that went through the fort.

He looked inside. There were two copper coins, a beat up lucky old horseshoe, a bag of painted round stones that he used as marbles, a half-eaten piece of stick candy, and his play knife. The knife was a wooden toy made for him by his father on his fifth birthday. After double-checking everything to make sure they were as he had left them, Rega finally settled down very quietly to watch his traps.

“I can see all of my traps from up here” he said to himself. “If a rabbit gets snared, I’ll know right away.”

He had not been in his hiding place long when he saw smoke coming from the south. He saw flames growing rapidly. Shortly after that, he spotted movement coming from the direction of the smoke and flames. He knew what these creatures were. His father had described them to him many times.

“Orcs!” he gasped.

There were about twenty-five orcs, and in front they were led by an ogre. His house stood right in their path!

“No no no no no...” Rega said worriedly.

He saw his father come running out of their house with a loaded crossbow and a quarrel of arrows. His father aimed, shot and hit one orc in the throat. While reloading, he yelled, “Rega! Hide son! HIDE!” He shot again, and again hit another orc in the throat.

While he was loading the crossbow again to get off a third shot, an orc hurled a spear at Rega’s father. It struck him in the leg, leaving a large wound and causing him to fall to his knees. This did not stop his father for long though. He finished reloading the crossbow and fired. This arrow hit another orc.

Rega stayed in his fort, shaking in fright.

By this time, the orcs were closing in on Rega’s father and it became too close to fire using the crossbow. Rega saw his mother come running out of the house. She ran up to his father to help him to his feet. The two then tried to run from the raiding party.

Rega watched as the ogre quickly caught up to his limping father and mother. The ogre kicked his father, sending both of his parents to the ground. Rega then watched as the ogre pulled a scimitar from its scabbard. He did not watch anything else. Instead, he hid behind the branches and leaves.

Rega stayed hidden, long after the ogre and the remaining orcs were out of sight.

Much time had passed; Rega was not sure how long, as he heard a horse galloping closer and closer. On the horse was a Guard from Ractah. His armor, which was usually a shiny green and yellow, was dented and covered with blood from battle.

The guard dismounted and walked over to the remains of Rega’s family’s house. He saw the bodies of a man and woman. He removed a shovel from his pack and began to dig two grave sites. By the time he had finished burying them, he noticed a young boy, Rega, standing by his horse, looking at him with with tears in his eyes and tear marks running down his cheeks.

Seeing him, the guard said, “Come here, lad.”

Rega ran to him and they embraced, with tears in both of their eyes now.

When Rega had finally calmed down enough, the guard took out some rations and offered some to the boy. Rega nibbled on his portion, not feeling very hungry. The guard had decided to look around for anything of value. He began sifting through the ashes of the house and even searched the dead orcs’ bodies. Other than the ring that the guard had found on the woman’s hand when he buried her, he only found two gold pieces. The fire and the ogre had destroyed everything Rega knew. The guard also gathered the furs that were undamaged.

“Not a lot, lad, but enough to get you settled down.” said the guard.

Rega took the ring and coins with a sullen stare, but said nothing. The furs were rolled up and tied to the guard’s saddle.

The guard decided to try something else. “Should we be going?” he asked.

Rega shook his head and pointed to the oak tree. He started walking toward the tree and the guard followed. Rega went up to his fort and collected his sack of valuables. Now he was ready.

They returned to the guard’s horse. The guard gave Rega a larger sack to put his things in. He lifted Rega up into the saddle and mounted behind him. After seeing the tree fort, the guard realized that Rega had probably seen everything.

“By the way, my name is Zastin.” said the guard.

Rega remained silent. They rode off together, neither looking back at what once was.

It was approaching dusk as they neared the city, Rega noticed with uncertainty a large smoldering mound. Zastin saw the boy looking at the mound and explained, “That is what’s left of the enemy, including those that passed by your home. Many brave people died today.”

The boy turned his head around to look at Zastin. He half-smiled and said, “My name is Rega.”

Zastin took him to the guardhouse right next to the southern gate. A lackey took his horse to the stables.

Zastin and Rega went inside where supper was being served. They found a secluded table off in the corner and ate in silence.

Afterwards, Zastin asked, “Do you know anyone that lives here in the city?”

“I know Milrop.” answered Rega.

Zastin’s left eyebrow rose up slightly then he nodded.

The next morning Rega was taken to Milrop the Trader. Milrop, a thin, middle-aged man, said he would be pleased to watch over him. Rega would make a great assistant as Milrop was very fond of the boy and his family.

Milrop started teaching Rega immediately, although not just in trading. He also would teach him to be a thief. Trading was only a front. Acquiring items for people was a more profitable profession.

Working together, Milrop and Rega became one of the best pair of burglars in the country. The Guild in Makloran and the elves in Estu had heard of them, which is how Rega became involved with the Dragonstones.