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Doesn't have too much to do with a tavern, but It'll get there...
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There was an inn, a bar, a tavern or whatever you might call it. That stood in the lands of Lordaeron. The tavern was called "Bonnie Hill", It was the best place in the land that you could ever get a good times memory at.
The owner of this tavern was named "Morak Thundershield." He was a sorcerer in his time long before the tavern was built but then he traded those days in for a good living in an inn. Morak was only an owner, and was a bartender whenever he felt like it. This story is about a man. This story is about Morak...
"Blimey mate! are ye' sure you wan't another drink?" asked the bartender who had broad shoulders and a fat belly. The bartender's legs were stout, and his arms were brute-like. He wore a tattered shirt that was covered in ale and he wore blue pants with one covered in a quilted patch.
The man the bartender talked to looked quite tall and muscular as well. He wore plated armor that had a cross carved in the middle that also looked to be stained with ale, easily showing that this man was a paladin.
"Lemme' tell you something Loyd! I...I...wan't another drink!...Ale here sir! lot's of i--...." The paladin said as he passed out and fell onto the floor.
"Ah boy, look's like this chap's had too much!" the bartender laughed as he walked to his next customer.
As the bartender walked to the customer who was pounding on the table for more ale, a pandaren brewmaster came stummbling through the inn doors. Dizzily the brewmaster stumbled across the room and had a seat on the chair the paladin had fallen off of.
"Bragh! I wan't your best ale on the menu! Pal!" said the drunk brewmaster, pounding on the table every word he said.
"Aye, and that'll be twelve coins on you my dear good drunken fellow!" said the bartender.
"What! twelve smackers on your brewy? Bragh! I need no twelve coins on your drink!" The brewmaster said dumbly. But the bartender just walked away, to take another order from another drunken customer.
"Hit me with another one of these ol' brew kegs ye' got back ther'," A new customer said, not yet drunk like the others. "And perhaps some of your good Shimmerglaze roasts?"
"That be twenty coins on that order." replied the bartender as he washed a wooden cup with a cloth.
This customer found the price quite satisfying and happily paid the right amount, with also three extra coins along with it. The bartender immidiatly liked the man's generosity and quickly took the coins and yelled out an order into a window behind the counter. Then the bartender walked to his next customer, as the man waited patiently for his meal.
CHAPTER 2
***
"I wish I didn't have to do this damn thing!" a man said who had a black robe on with a dark shaded hood. The hood shaded over the mans face, leaving the light only to reveal his nose down.
"Well that wish shall not come true, unless you wish to truely die as a coward!" replied a man wearing a purple robe with a long white beard. He wore a purple hat as well and carried a sturdy staff made of oak wood, and had a blue gem on the top with wooden wings from the staff next to the gem, supporting it to stay still.
"But why must I do it now? why not a couple years from now, when I'm older?" asked the man in black.
"Because Faladin, there will not be any other chances to kill or even fight off an ogre single handedly!" the man in purple said, seeming irritated.
"Single handedly? But I thought you were going to help me Morak!" Faladin said in a fearful and angry tone. But Morak did not listen. He was busy shuffling through his spell book that he had tied to his waist. Then finally he stopped and studied on one page.
"Ah ha! I've found it!" Morak yelled in a joyful voice, raising his finger.
"Found it? Found what?" Faladin asked confused.
"Why, the spell that should be perfect for you to defeat this mindless beast of course!" Morak laughed. But the ogre they had planned to kill was far too close and heard what Morak had said. Then furiously the ogre roared and charged after the two mages.
"Damnit Morak what's the spell? The damn ogre is approaching!" Faladin said, frightened.
"Okay, it's an offensive spell...uh, just wave your hands in the air and chant out the words: Andu' Falah!" the wizard instructed. Then Faladin ran up top a hill and did as the skilled wizard had instructed him. At first nothing happened, but he then noticed his hands kept waving and then he lost control and they froze like a statue. His hands began to glow blue and volts of lightning swirrled around his hands. And for the ogre's lack of intelligence, it stopped to stare at the glowing of Faladin's hands. And with a great suprise to the ogre, the glowing then stopped and then the mage's hands began to go up in flame, as the glowing turned from blue to red. And before the ogre could dodge; a fireball came bursting forth toward the fat creature, disintigrating it to a hot pile of black steaming ashes.
Faladin was amazed and extremely excited for this was the first time he had ever done such a spell. He wanted to do it again, and again. He wanted to kill off all his hated foes. He wanted...to learn more effective powers of such mass destruction.
"Whoa! That was..." Faladin said, as he paused and starred at the black ashes of his defeated opponent.
"Blood-thirsting, yes I know. That is exactly how I felt, but remember, you must keep control of your powers and use of spells, or else you'll find yourself working in the hands of evil, like the wreched undead!" Morak said walking through the forest. But Faladin took what he said : "you'll find yourself working in the hands of evil!"
CHAPTER 3
***
"Bragh! I need me brewie!" the brewmaster demanded.
"Bloody hell mate! for two things, ye' don't have enough coins, and ye've been drinkin' a bit too much brew and ale!" the bartender argued back.
"Bragh! I'll be back for meh' drink you swine!" the brewmaster said as he dizzily stumbled out of the tavern. But the bartender just nodded his head and went back to the generous man and gave him his well deserved ale and roast.
The bartender walked up and down the counter but no more customers were asking for another keg of ale. Since they had all been knocked out with the so called "Brew's fever" on what the bartender, Dugal, likes to call it.
Dugal walked down the counter, looking for any non-drunken faces that would soon order for a beer or some ale. Yet there was no such thing as a man or whatever race you may please that would not get drunk within ten minutes. Unless if there had been a long, crouded, line of people waiting for their order. Though the bartender knew that the customer would have an eightyfive percent of a chance to order a beer, an ale, a bowl of brew. And because of so many people ordering ale and beer and whatnot, he leaves it all out on the side for him to just swipe right up, that way the lines go quicker and the money comes in faster.
"Poor ol' souls, they ain't wakin' up until two in the afternoon!" Dugal said outloud as he washed a wooden cup with a wet and soapy cloth, "Seem's like they all gonna be late for work."
"Yep...well it saves time fer us!" said a chef who was holding a shimmerglazed roast as if it were a sack of potatoes, "And we'll get to rest too!"
"Ye' got a point ther' , Alkan!" replied Dugal joyfully.
The Chef was fat. He had a broad body, more broad than the bartender, Dugal. The chef wore a white chef hat and a dirty white bib, that had blood on it (most likely to be from the shimmerglazed roast) and some beer and ale stains also.
The face of the chef was fat and blubbery, seemed to frown unwanting to, and had a scar on his cheek. He held a big iron and bloody butcher knife, and he was very big, compared to the doorway between the bar and the kitchen.
"O' course I got a point! I'm holdin' a big cleaver here!" Alkan said, as he waved his "cleaver" to him.
"My my, Alkan, have you been drinkin' up on the brew up there?" asked Dugal.
"Well I only had 'bout six bouls, not so much! not big problem!" Alkan said, easily growing angry.
"Yer' drunk Alkan...I think it's time ye've got to go home!" suggested Dugal. But Alkan just grew more mad and walked away.
"Ah well...Maybe ye' could drink some more ale, Just to get yer' self to sleep." Dugal said as he laughed. Alkan didn't hear what he had said, but Alkan was truely drunk and dizzy. Alkan walked out side, and looked up out into the sky, then started to spin around with his dizziness, despite his drunk status. Dugal found it amuzing and watched Alkan spin around in circles, until Alkan fell with Brew's fever. Alkan was way too heavy for Dugal to carry inside the tavern. So Dugal just watched him lay there for a few moments and then returned to his counter in the bar.
CHAPTER 4
***
"Come on, Faladin! what are you waiting for?" called out Morak.
"Oh uh, I'll be right there!" Faladin called back, taking one last glance at the still smoking ashes of the defeated ogre, and then running towards Morak, who was waiting for him upon a steep grassy hill with his staff supporting himself.
When Faladin caught up to Morak, they both began to walk steadily up the hill. Then Faladin began to speak.
"Morak, will you teach me more spells and powers?" the young mage asked, with an excited expression upon his face.
But the wizard did not respond. Just a look at Faladin, and then back upon the hill on which they climbed. Faladin took it as a no.
"Please, Morak! please!" Faladin begged, hoping for a good answer.
"I am sorry young one, but we must wait to do this tomorrow, or perhaps even longer." Morak replied with an ending sigh.
"But why wait? why not one more spell?" asked Faladin desperatly.
Morak sighed and then stopped.
"Because we must let your mana strength regain! without mana, you will fail to do any spells!" replied the wizard for the last time.
"But I feel full of mana! I've got enough energy for a thousand more spell!" Faladin said with widened eyes.
Morak did not answer. He figured his last reply would prove to be his only needed answer.
"Why can't I do atleast a little spell now?...huh?" asked again, only irritating the wizard even more.
"God damnit, Faladin! You cannot use spells with no mana, you cannot feel your mana's energy until you have succeeded in becoming a true wizard or mage! I can sense your mana energy and I feel it that there is not enough even for the smallest of all spell! now...would you please shut up! and get to climbing the rest of this god forsaken hill!" Morak said with such anger and irritation, making him even more tired than he already was.
Faladin then understood what Morak had explained and had stopped asking questions.
After the two had reached the top of the hill, both had rested upon a wooden stump of an oak tree that had fallen many years ago. Morak easily fell asleep upon the stump and so did Faladin.
But did the ogre's soul sleep easily?
CHAPTER 5
***
Daylight soon came upon the land, and it was work time for most of Lordaeron's people. Alkan woke up, no longer dizzy and drunk, yet very confused. He looked around and then picked himself up and walked back into the Tavern's kitchen. He didn't remember anything past the part where he was drinking his fourth bowl of brew. He didn't remember going to sleep, and didn't remember spinning around.
When he got to the bartender's counter, he saw Dugal laughing at him. Alkan was confused and began to laugh with him, yet not knowing why he started to laugh. Then Dugal walked closer to him and asked, "How was yer' sleep last night?" Dugal said, as he laughed hysterically.
"Why, I don't remember!" Alkan said as he scratched his head in confusion.
"You were drunk! ye' old bafoon! you were twirlin' around outside like a bloody moron!" laughed the bartender.
Alkan felt shy and humiliated and covered his face with his dirty hands in embarrasment.
"Why didn't yeh' thow a bucket O' water on me then!" asked the chef angrily.
"Heh...why, I didn't want to spoil yer' fun!" laughed the bartender again, "You atleast looked like ye' were havin' fun!"
"Damnit boy! thats the fat that be making me smile!" Roared the chef, "Ye' think I be happy out in public spinnin' around like a damned bafoon!"
Dugal laughed at Alkan, knowing that Alkan was soon to tear him limb from limb if he kept laughing.
"Err!...get back teh' work, Dugal! we be expectin' drunk customers soon!" Ordered the chef.
"Ha! we already got one bloody drunk in here!" taunted the bartender.
Alkan roared in fury and charged toward Dugal, who was running away from him, dodging tables and punches from the mighty fat chef. Dugal's speed prove satisfactory and outran the slow and fat mighty man. Though Dugal is quite fat, he had taken agility classes and advanced his endurance and speed. Thank god for those classes, or Alkan would have had torn him apart!
"Ah! forget you!" gasped the chef, "We've got good payin' work to do!"
"Yep." replied the bartender, who was regaining his strength and getting some breath. "Let's call a truce huh?" suggested Dugal, offering his hand.
"Ha! not that easy will me cleaver stand away!" laughed the chef, trying to chop off Dugal's hand, yet failed to do so.
But both went to their posts to begin to take orders from the drunks who were just waking up and to order another keg of ale and then some.
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There was an inn, a bar, a tavern or whatever you might call it. That stood in the lands of Lordaeron. The tavern was called "Bonnie Hill", It was the best place in the land that you could ever get a good times memory at.
The owner of this tavern was named "Morak Thundershield." He was a sorcerer in his time long before the tavern was built but then he traded those days in for a good living in an inn. Morak was only an owner, and was a bartender whenever he felt like it. This story is about a man. This story is about Morak...
"Blimey mate! are ye' sure you wan't another drink?" asked the bartender who had broad shoulders and a fat belly. The bartender's legs were stout, and his arms were brute-like. He wore a tattered shirt that was covered in ale and he wore blue pants with one covered in a quilted patch.
The man the bartender talked to looked quite tall and muscular as well. He wore plated armor that had a cross carved in the middle that also looked to be stained with ale, easily showing that this man was a paladin.
"Lemme' tell you something Loyd! I...I...wan't another drink!...Ale here sir! lot's of i--...." The paladin said as he passed out and fell onto the floor.
"Ah boy, look's like this chap's had too much!" the bartender laughed as he walked to his next customer.
As the bartender walked to the customer who was pounding on the table for more ale, a pandaren brewmaster came stummbling through the inn doors. Dizzily the brewmaster stumbled across the room and had a seat on the chair the paladin had fallen off of.
"Bragh! I wan't your best ale on the menu! Pal!" said the drunk brewmaster, pounding on the table every word he said.
"Aye, and that'll be twelve coins on you my dear good drunken fellow!" said the bartender.
"What! twelve smackers on your brewy? Bragh! I need no twelve coins on your drink!" The brewmaster said dumbly. But the bartender just walked away, to take another order from another drunken customer.
"Hit me with another one of these ol' brew kegs ye' got back ther'," A new customer said, not yet drunk like the others. "And perhaps some of your good Shimmerglaze roasts?"
"That be twenty coins on that order." replied the bartender as he washed a wooden cup with a cloth.
This customer found the price quite satisfying and happily paid the right amount, with also three extra coins along with it. The bartender immidiatly liked the man's generosity and quickly took the coins and yelled out an order into a window behind the counter. Then the bartender walked to his next customer, as the man waited patiently for his meal.
CHAPTER 2
***
"I wish I didn't have to do this damn thing!" a man said who had a black robe on with a dark shaded hood. The hood shaded over the mans face, leaving the light only to reveal his nose down.
"Well that wish shall not come true, unless you wish to truely die as a coward!" replied a man wearing a purple robe with a long white beard. He wore a purple hat as well and carried a sturdy staff made of oak wood, and had a blue gem on the top with wooden wings from the staff next to the gem, supporting it to stay still.
"But why must I do it now? why not a couple years from now, when I'm older?" asked the man in black.
"Because Faladin, there will not be any other chances to kill or even fight off an ogre single handedly!" the man in purple said, seeming irritated.
"Single handedly? But I thought you were going to help me Morak!" Faladin said in a fearful and angry tone. But Morak did not listen. He was busy shuffling through his spell book that he had tied to his waist. Then finally he stopped and studied on one page.
"Ah ha! I've found it!" Morak yelled in a joyful voice, raising his finger.
"Found it? Found what?" Faladin asked confused.
"Why, the spell that should be perfect for you to defeat this mindless beast of course!" Morak laughed. But the ogre they had planned to kill was far too close and heard what Morak had said. Then furiously the ogre roared and charged after the two mages.
"Damnit Morak what's the spell? The damn ogre is approaching!" Faladin said, frightened.
"Okay, it's an offensive spell...uh, just wave your hands in the air and chant out the words: Andu' Falah!" the wizard instructed. Then Faladin ran up top a hill and did as the skilled wizard had instructed him. At first nothing happened, but he then noticed his hands kept waving and then he lost control and they froze like a statue. His hands began to glow blue and volts of lightning swirrled around his hands. And for the ogre's lack of intelligence, it stopped to stare at the glowing of Faladin's hands. And with a great suprise to the ogre, the glowing then stopped and then the mage's hands began to go up in flame, as the glowing turned from blue to red. And before the ogre could dodge; a fireball came bursting forth toward the fat creature, disintigrating it to a hot pile of black steaming ashes.
Faladin was amazed and extremely excited for this was the first time he had ever done such a spell. He wanted to do it again, and again. He wanted to kill off all his hated foes. He wanted...to learn more effective powers of such mass destruction.
"Whoa! That was..." Faladin said, as he paused and starred at the black ashes of his defeated opponent.
"Blood-thirsting, yes I know. That is exactly how I felt, but remember, you must keep control of your powers and use of spells, or else you'll find yourself working in the hands of evil, like the wreched undead!" Morak said walking through the forest. But Faladin took what he said : "you'll find yourself working in the hands of evil!"
CHAPTER 3
***
"Bragh! I need me brewie!" the brewmaster demanded.
"Bloody hell mate! for two things, ye' don't have enough coins, and ye've been drinkin' a bit too much brew and ale!" the bartender argued back.
"Bragh! I'll be back for meh' drink you swine!" the brewmaster said as he dizzily stumbled out of the tavern. But the bartender just nodded his head and went back to the generous man and gave him his well deserved ale and roast.
The bartender walked up and down the counter but no more customers were asking for another keg of ale. Since they had all been knocked out with the so called "Brew's fever" on what the bartender, Dugal, likes to call it.
Dugal walked down the counter, looking for any non-drunken faces that would soon order for a beer or some ale. Yet there was no such thing as a man or whatever race you may please that would not get drunk within ten minutes. Unless if there had been a long, crouded, line of people waiting for their order. Though the bartender knew that the customer would have an eightyfive percent of a chance to order a beer, an ale, a bowl of brew. And because of so many people ordering ale and beer and whatnot, he leaves it all out on the side for him to just swipe right up, that way the lines go quicker and the money comes in faster.
"Poor ol' souls, they ain't wakin' up until two in the afternoon!" Dugal said outloud as he washed a wooden cup with a wet and soapy cloth, "Seem's like they all gonna be late for work."
"Yep...well it saves time fer us!" said a chef who was holding a shimmerglazed roast as if it were a sack of potatoes, "And we'll get to rest too!"
"Ye' got a point ther' , Alkan!" replied Dugal joyfully.
The Chef was fat. He had a broad body, more broad than the bartender, Dugal. The chef wore a white chef hat and a dirty white bib, that had blood on it (most likely to be from the shimmerglazed roast) and some beer and ale stains also.
The face of the chef was fat and blubbery, seemed to frown unwanting to, and had a scar on his cheek. He held a big iron and bloody butcher knife, and he was very big, compared to the doorway between the bar and the kitchen.
"O' course I got a point! I'm holdin' a big cleaver here!" Alkan said, as he waved his "cleaver" to him.
"My my, Alkan, have you been drinkin' up on the brew up there?" asked Dugal.
"Well I only had 'bout six bouls, not so much! not big problem!" Alkan said, easily growing angry.
"Yer' drunk Alkan...I think it's time ye've got to go home!" suggested Dugal. But Alkan just grew more mad and walked away.
"Ah well...Maybe ye' could drink some more ale, Just to get yer' self to sleep." Dugal said as he laughed. Alkan didn't hear what he had said, but Alkan was truely drunk and dizzy. Alkan walked out side, and looked up out into the sky, then started to spin around with his dizziness, despite his drunk status. Dugal found it amuzing and watched Alkan spin around in circles, until Alkan fell with Brew's fever. Alkan was way too heavy for Dugal to carry inside the tavern. So Dugal just watched him lay there for a few moments and then returned to his counter in the bar.
CHAPTER 4
***
"Come on, Faladin! what are you waiting for?" called out Morak.
"Oh uh, I'll be right there!" Faladin called back, taking one last glance at the still smoking ashes of the defeated ogre, and then running towards Morak, who was waiting for him upon a steep grassy hill with his staff supporting himself.
When Faladin caught up to Morak, they both began to walk steadily up the hill. Then Faladin began to speak.
"Morak, will you teach me more spells and powers?" the young mage asked, with an excited expression upon his face.
But the wizard did not respond. Just a look at Faladin, and then back upon the hill on which they climbed. Faladin took it as a no.
"Please, Morak! please!" Faladin begged, hoping for a good answer.
"I am sorry young one, but we must wait to do this tomorrow, or perhaps even longer." Morak replied with an ending sigh.
"But why wait? why not one more spell?" asked Faladin desperatly.
Morak sighed and then stopped.
"Because we must let your mana strength regain! without mana, you will fail to do any spells!" replied the wizard for the last time.
"But I feel full of mana! I've got enough energy for a thousand more spell!" Faladin said with widened eyes.
Morak did not answer. He figured his last reply would prove to be his only needed answer.
"Why can't I do atleast a little spell now?...huh?" asked again, only irritating the wizard even more.
"God damnit, Faladin! You cannot use spells with no mana, you cannot feel your mana's energy until you have succeeded in becoming a true wizard or mage! I can sense your mana energy and I feel it that there is not enough even for the smallest of all spell! now...would you please shut up! and get to climbing the rest of this god forsaken hill!" Morak said with such anger and irritation, making him even more tired than he already was.
Faladin then understood what Morak had explained and had stopped asking questions.
After the two had reached the top of the hill, both had rested upon a wooden stump of an oak tree that had fallen many years ago. Morak easily fell asleep upon the stump and so did Faladin.
But did the ogre's soul sleep easily?
CHAPTER 5
***
Daylight soon came upon the land, and it was work time for most of Lordaeron's people. Alkan woke up, no longer dizzy and drunk, yet very confused. He looked around and then picked himself up and walked back into the Tavern's kitchen. He didn't remember anything past the part where he was drinking his fourth bowl of brew. He didn't remember going to sleep, and didn't remember spinning around.
When he got to the bartender's counter, he saw Dugal laughing at him. Alkan was confused and began to laugh with him, yet not knowing why he started to laugh. Then Dugal walked closer to him and asked, "How was yer' sleep last night?" Dugal said, as he laughed hysterically.
"Why, I don't remember!" Alkan said as he scratched his head in confusion.
"You were drunk! ye' old bafoon! you were twirlin' around outside like a bloody moron!" laughed the bartender.
Alkan felt shy and humiliated and covered his face with his dirty hands in embarrasment.
"Why didn't yeh' thow a bucket O' water on me then!" asked the chef angrily.
"Heh...why, I didn't want to spoil yer' fun!" laughed the bartender again, "You atleast looked like ye' were havin' fun!"
"Damnit boy! thats the fat that be making me smile!" Roared the chef, "Ye' think I be happy out in public spinnin' around like a damned bafoon!"
Dugal laughed at Alkan, knowing that Alkan was soon to tear him limb from limb if he kept laughing.
"Err!...get back teh' work, Dugal! we be expectin' drunk customers soon!" Ordered the chef.
"Ha! we already got one bloody drunk in here!" taunted the bartender.
Alkan roared in fury and charged toward Dugal, who was running away from him, dodging tables and punches from the mighty fat chef. Dugal's speed prove satisfactory and outran the slow and fat mighty man. Though Dugal is quite fat, he had taken agility classes and advanced his endurance and speed. Thank god for those classes, or Alkan would have had torn him apart!
"Ah! forget you!" gasped the chef, "We've got good payin' work to do!"
"Yep." replied the bartender, who was regaining his strength and getting some breath. "Let's call a truce huh?" suggested Dugal, offering his hand.
"Ha! not that easy will me cleaver stand away!" laughed the chef, trying to chop off Dugal's hand, yet failed to do so.
But both went to their posts to begin to take orders from the drunks who were just waking up and to order another keg of ale and then some.
