Piles of Bones - Part 1

"So, what do we know about this guy?" Taurnil drained the last of his ale, then peered into the empty mug, making sure the strong liquid was all gone.

Shyael shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, I got the same message the rest of you got - to meet here at the pub. What about you, Aranel? Do you know anything about the new guy?"

Aranel shook his head stoically, not bothered enough to look up from his spellbook.

"Would you tell us if you did?" Taurnil asked. Aranel ignored him.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Taurnil mumbled under his breath.

"She's here," Shyael pointed toward the tavern door.

Astral stood just inside, hands on hips, surveying the interior of the pub. All of the patrons stopped talking and looked at her, her strong presence reaching even the farthest corners of the croweded room. Spotting her group, she headed toward them.

"She never fails to make an entrance, does she?" Taurnil asked no one in particular.

She joined her comrades with a rush of air, rich with the scent of sandalwood and pine. She frowned. "He's late."

Brigadette the barmaid appeared at the table. "What'll I get ya?"


"I'll take another ale," Taurnil said without hesitation.


"I'll just have some water," Shyael said.

"If ya want water you'll have to go out back and pump it yourself. We only serve ale, mead, and whatever slop the cook decides is the meal of the day."

"I don't want anything, then."

Brigadette shrugged and looked at Aranel. "Booksniffer! Ya want something?"

Aranel looked up, annoyed. "Some peace and quiet so I can study, if that's not too much to ask."

"Honey, you don't get peace and quiet at the The Orc's Fork. Ya get drinks! If you want to study you should've stayed home. Do ya want somethin' or not?"


Aranel glared at her before returning his attention to his book.

Brigadette sighed, and looked at Astral. "Do ya always have to drag your ass along when you come here?"

Astral shrugged in response. "He's part of the group, so unfortunately, yes. But don't worry about it, Brig, we all drink enough to make up for him. I'll take an ale, please. What's the slop of the day?"

"Roast pig and potatoes."

"How burnt is it?"

The barwench shifted on her feet. "Not too bad I 'spose. A little charred on the edges, almost too raw on the inside. Potatoes are good, though. Cooked all the way through."

"Alright, I'll take a plate. Do the rest of you want a plate?"

"I'll pass," Taurnil and Shyael said in unison. Aranel ignored the question.

"Coming right up," Brig said before sashaying away to the kitchen.

"So, we were talking about the new guy," Taurnil said. "Do you know anything about him? Where he comes from?"

"Not much. He has a pretty good reputation for his sword arm. He's done some odd jobs - escorting mercenaries and such."


"What's his name?" Shyael asked.

"His name is..."

"Claymore Stormblade," a man suddenly announced proudly with hands on hips and head held high.

He was fresh faced and young, with a just slightly mussed mop of red hair falling over his face. His dark blue eyes, with just a hint of green, held a playful innocence that looked like he was ready to conquer the world. He wore little, as if his aim was to impress those around him with his perfectly tanned muscular physique. He was quite the vision; very handsome.

The group looked up at him blankly. Even Aranel gave the newcomer a cursory glance before looking back to his book.

"Well," the man continued. "You have heard of me, haven't you? Hero for hire? Rescuer of fair maidens? Destroyer of...of...bad stuff?" he sagged in defeat when the group said nothing.

"Why don't you sit down, hero, so we can discuss your job prospects," Astral said with a sarcastic edge to her voice.


Claymore sat down guardedly and glanced around at the group. "I guess none of you has heard about my adventures on the coast?"


" 'Fraid not," Taurnil hiccuped.

"So," Claymore said haughtily. "What will you have me do?" He grinned at Astral, quite obviously hoping his charm would win him some favor. It didn't.

Brigadette then appeared with the ales and a plate of food. She plopped the plate down in front of Astral and passed out the mugs. A piece of the baked potato bounced off the plate and Astral popped it into her mouth.

"Can I get ya anything else? Like a quickie in the supply room?" she winked at Claymore.

He grinned at her stupidly. "I'd love a plate of...whatever that is."


"Roast pig," she said, staring pointedly at him.


"I'd love some roast pig. Did you make it yourself?"

"I don't get paid for cooking, sweetheart, I get paid for shaking my ass."

"What about the quickie?"

"I don't get paid for that either - that's just for fun. I'll be back with your pig."

"Wow. She's really...something, isn't she?"

Astral rolled her eyes and cleared her throat loudly. Claymore's attention snapped back to her.

"Oh yeah, the new job. Well, I'm pretty good with a sword, I don't mind saying. I spent the last several years escorting mercenaries from one place to another."

"So what brings you here?" Shyael asked curiously.

"I was getting bored. Not much excitement driving carts. Nothing to kill."

"Is that the only reason why you're applying for this job - to kill things?"

"Pfaw! Of course not. I always thought there was something bigger than that. That I was meant for more. You know? To be the strong arm of a group. To lead my fellow men to victory...glory...fame!"

The rest of the group looked at him curiously. Astral's jaw worked while she chewed the tough meat. She scrutinized him, sized him up, but said nothing.

"Well...isn't that what adventuring is all about? Making a name for yourelf? Why do the rest of you go on these adventures?"

"For fun," Shyael answered. "But not for fame."

"Some of us need the money," Astral answered.

Aranel ignored them.

"What about you?" he asked the Taurnil.

"For...(hic!) the church of course. He took a long gulp of the ale, than centered his watery eyes on Claymore.


"Hey, buddy. Don't you think you ought to slow down a bit? I mean you're a man of the cloth. You should be setting an example of purity, right?"


"What? Don't tell me you never touch the stuff."


"I do. I drink sometimes, but...I don't drink so much that I'm a blabbering idiot."

"Blabbering! I'll have you know (hic!) that I don't blabber. And there's nothing in my religion that says I can't enjoy a little evening imbibing."

"But it's just barely afternoon."

"Right. It's an hour past noon. Therefore it's evening."

"Um...,"

"Don't worry about him," Astral said. "He can handle it. You talk big about yourself. How do I know you are as good as you say?"

Claymore shot her a disarming grin. "My fair maiden. I am good. Probably the best you've ever seen."

"I seriously doubt that. But we shall see how good your sword arm is in due time."


"Does that mean I have a job?"

"Trial period. We'll see how well you can handle yourself on our next job and make our decision afterward."

"I'm bettin' he can handle himself quite well," Brigadette said, gently placing Claymore's plate before him. She gave him a lingering stare, which he returned, before heading away from the table, hips swinging hypnotically.

"So, what happened your last fighter? The one I'm replacing?" Claymore shoved a large bit of the pig into his mouth.

"He got eaten by a dragon," Astral answered with no emotion in her voice.

Taurnil giggled to himself while he swayed in his seat, tipping the last drops of ale into his mouth.

Shyael's ears twitched and she smiled, resting her chin in her hand.

Aranel ignored them all.

Claymore looked from one face to another, stopping in mid-chew. He blanched. "Ser...seriously?" he said around a mouthful of food.

Astral went on, ignoring his question. "Let me tell you something, Claymore. I'm the leader of this group. This isn't a glory mission. We don't do this so we're noticed. We do it because people ask. Some people have nothing to give, but we help them anyway, because they need it. What we need from you is a dependable blade. Can you give us that?"

Claymore winked at her. "I can give you a lot more than that."

"And another thing," Astral continued. "You might consider wearing...clothes while adventuring. We're not running a nudist colony."

Claymore looked hurt. "Is there something wrong with the way I dress?"

"No, not if you enjoy running around half naked all the time!" Shyael said too loudly, blinking at him with large innocent eyes.

Taurnil snickered and swayed in his chair.


Aranel ignored them.

"I'm assuming you have armor?"

"Uh..."

Astral sighed. "We'll head over to the armorer and see if he has anything in stock that will fit you. Otherwise, you'll just have to go as is."

"Have you decided what job we're going to do, Astral?"

"Well, we could help Sebastius with his rat problem. He's been asking for awhile."

"Norats! Rember what happened las' time wif rats, dontcha?" Taurnil hiccuped.

"Oh yeah," said Shyael. "I remember. It took me forever to get that smell out of my hair."

"What smell?" Claymore asked.

"I'm not in the mood for rats, either. We could check into Father Jon's skeleton problem."

"Skeleton problem?"

"Father Jon of the Last Hope Abbey has skeletons in his basement, and he needs someone to get rid of them for him."

"We haven't done skeletons in awhile," Shyael said excitedly.

"Skeltons...hic!"

"Alright, it's settled. We'll head out first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure you get lots of rest - the abbey is over a day's travel away. You," she said, looking at Claymore. "Come with me. We'll go check out the armorer's shop."

Astral and Claymore rose from the table and headed toward the door. Shyael got up and headed to the tavern stairs, toward the rooms for rent. Taurnil swayed in his chair. Aranel ignored them all.

The brightness of the afternoon was nearly blinding after sitting in the dark tavern for so long, and the two blinked their eyes to adjust.

"So," Claymore asked, "what's with the mage?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he seems rather...preoccupied. And he didn't even look at that gorgeous barmaid once. He's not...I mean, he doesn't prefer the company of men, does he?"

Astral stopped and faced him, hands on hips. "Why? Do you feel threatened? Afraid he might make a pass at you or something?"

"No...I mean, I guess it's possible, I mean...he...won't, will he?"

Astral studied him a moment. "I suppose anything is possible. But I don't think you need to worry your pretty self - the only thing Aranel is more than likely to make a pass at is his spellbook. He's practically married to the thing."


"What about the cute little elf girl? Shyael?"


"What about her?"

"What's her job? What does she do?"

"Shyael is my thief. She's an expert at stealth, spotting traps, and lockpicking."

They walked in silence for awhile. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the armorer's shop.

"Well if it isn't my favorite ranger!"

"Hi, Sal. This is Claymore - our new fighter."

"Well, now, he's a strapping fellow."

Claymore puffed out his chest proudly.

"You'll have to be beating the ladies off with a stick," Sal mused while measuring Claymore's large chest.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Astral grumbled. "A bunch of groupies."

"Well you're in luck, youngster. I have just the thing for you. Here you are, try this on."

Claymore took the leather armor into the fitting tent.

Sal leaned in close to Astral. "I hope he fares better than that last guy you had traveling with you. So tragic..."

Claymore emerged from the tent, clothed in the leather armor, looking pale. "You're talking about the dragon, aren't you?"

"Eh? What dragon? I was talking about the last fighter that traveled with this group. It was such a shame what happened to him..."

"She said he was eaten by a dragon," Claymore said nervously, casting a quick glance at Astral.

"Dragon...no, no my boy. It was much worse than a dragon. Why it was a...a..."

"How much do we owe you, Sal?" Astral interrupted.

"Oh, 45 gold pieces. Quite a bargain."

"Well, what was it?" Claymore asked.

"Hmm? What was what?"

"What happened to the last fighter? What's worse than a dragon?"

"Oh, there ain't much worse than a dragon, son. They're fierce creatures."

"What happened to the last fighter?"

"What last fighter?"

"The one that traveled with this group!"

"How should I know? I'm just an armorer. You'll have to ask Astral that question."

Astral stood, hands on hips, staring at Claymore. "Go on and pay the man so we can leave."

"Uh..."

"You don't have the money, do you? Of course not. There wasn't anywhere to put it in your tight pants." She shook her head while she rummaged through her beltpouch. "You'll pay me back out of your first wages for the armor. Come on, let's head back to the pub."

"So, you're a ranger?"

"Yep. Something wrong with that?"

"Do all rangers dress the way you do?"

"What, in clothes? Usually."

"What...," Claymore cleared his throat uneasily. "What really happened to your last fighter?"

"I already told you."

"But, Sal said..."

"I assume you have enough to pay for your room?"

"Um, I think so."

Astral pushed open the pub door. "I suggest you get a good night's sleep, we'll leave an hour after dawn. Be ready. Oh - and could you carry Taurnil up to his room? He's in room 3."

*******

Shyael, bright eyed and eager to hit the trail, sat down with her group. "Where's Claymore?"

"He's not here yet," a completely sober Taurnil answered.

Aranel ignored them.

"He's late again," Astral answered, irritated. She rose from her seat and headed up the stairs to Claymore's room. Shyael followed closely behind.

She knocked loudly on the door. She could hear a woman giggling on the other side. She turned the door handle, only to find it locked. She motioned to Shyael, who then knelt in front of the door. The thief peered into the keyhole, then pulled a small pouch out of her tunic. Inside were several small lockpicks, a tiny saw, and a couple of skeleton keys. She pulled out one of the picks and pushed it through the keyhole. Two seconds later an audible click was heard. Shyael put the pick back in its proper place, and stood aside for Astral.

Astral turned the door handle and quickly pushed the door open. There, in the middle of the darkened room, half dressed, was Claymore and Brigadette.

Astral cleared her throat loudly at the two, who stopped and looked at her. "I said an hour after dawn. You're late. Again."

"Oh. Sorry," Claymore released the barmaid and hurriedly grasped his clothes off the floor.

Brigadette sighed loudly and sauntered across the room to retrieve an article of clothing, then to the back of the room to retrieve another article of clothing. She reached up to the tapestry on the wall and retrieved yet another article.

"Do you...mind?" Claymore asked, embarrassed.

"Not really," Astral said, standing with hands still on hips expectantly.

"I mean, I need to get dressed."

"Go ahead."

Claymore sighed and dressed while Astral stood in the doorway and Shyael peered in curiously from behind her.

Brigadette took her time slipping into her dress. Claymore was just adjusting the last of his buckles when she glided up to him. "To be continued," she whispered huskily.

A stupid grin started to spread across Claymore's face, but disappeared when he caught Astral's scowl. He adjusted his tunic.

"Ready," he said with a proud smile.

"You might need that," Astral pointed to his sword, still resting against the wall.

"Oh, right. How could I forget my sword?"

"I suggest you conduct yourself in a more professional manner if you want to keep this job."

"Right. Sorry."

Astral turned and walked away without further comment, leaving Claymore to collect his weapon and scurry after her.