“I thought he was kidding to but nope, very true!”
The Ramen put his hands up “About this big” and saw and elf on the corner bar stool, ‘’By Bast’s tail there is no way!’’
“If he wasn’t serving in CrIsis I would tell him to stop fibbing.” The minotaur facepalms his head into his one empty hand. “He’s a horrible liar and would have better luck seducing a cactus than a woman.”
“Being a bad liar is a noble error, my friend,” Barudalan tried to comfort his fellow parent but knew it wasn’t his son’s moral ethics the old minotaur was worried about.
Two more pints downed for each of them.
“Socially he’s an idiot, but gods know I love his heart.”
“I know, perhaps he’ll win when he faces your tribe’s blackhorns.”
“Baru, I can’t do this again, I can’t bury another one!”
“I have no idea if I’ll ever get my youngest daughter’s body back from Troker,” the Ramen sighed.
“I am happy Tifadolon made it home, is she healing well?”
Barudalan looked at Rostam, “Yes, my mate is grateful but I don’t know how long before the lass forgives herself. Her grief at seeing her sister use the ’Sorceror’s Fury’ to buy everyone a chance to flee through a rift to another world.”
One of Barudalan’s survivng daughters had returned two days later after Luur’na sent her letter to Rostam regarding Zeelik. They had been drinking for hours when the tavern owner had mentioned last call, then seemed to disappear. A few more hours passed when they realized they had new friends.
“Bold move of you Horatio of the Iron Claw Tribe,” said a calm Barudalan as his left hand came to rest upon Rostam’s right shoulder blade. Rostam gave an approving nod as he felt the tingle of magic run down his back coating his form.
As his associates fanned out to cut off the exit points, Rostam noticed the Wolfen Priest of Darkness preening to a monologue, ‘’Anhur rewards the bold and if the Horns of Isis is any indication then your side has lost the war. Now hand over the rune weapons spirited away from Troker!’’
“Brother Horatio is it,” asked Rostam.
“Yes, Spawn of Chaos.”
“If you want to live long enough to become Father Horatio then I suggest going back to the Temples of Bes and take one of his worshipers against their will. It’s depraved and likely approved by their god.”
Barudalan raised an eyebrow as Rostam continued with his train of advice, “… now if you persist in this farce I will beat you within an inch of your life and then after I have done the same to three of the others with you I will impale this bar stool in each of your rectums at the same time, am I clear?”
The Minotaur turned the bar stool over for effect.
“Bold words Spawn of Chaos. Kill them and bring me the swords.”
10 minutes later. . .
A Minotaur and a Ramen walk out of the “Anhk’s Shadow” Tavern in Sekti-Abtu.
“You ripped your tunic Barudalan.” Rostam mentioned as he applied the poultice from the tavern keeper to his ear half torn off.
“Phhht!!! You owe the Ankh’s Shadow one new bar stool! No one is going to want to sit on that ever again after tonight! Those city watch were stunned when they saw your errrr handiwork! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”
“I did warn him.”
“That you did.”