Chapter 15: Tavern Talk

The pit in Larks stomach opened wider as bile came up into her oesophagus, choking her as the growing lump in her throat threatened to cut off her breathing all together. The panic set in and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes, she had to deflect, she had to get away.

“Tell me about the frog people,” Lark choked out, grabbing for the glass that had been set down in front of her.

Fallston eyed her, knowing he had been harsh but not particularly caring. This world was dangerous, and although he did not think she was a naturally reckless person, her ignorance could get her killed, and he had walked too damn far for that to happen.

“Ampidophenians, are frog people. We call them Grung. Grung are a barely evolved species with little more civility than Goblins. They have become more popular, or should I say allowed, because Grung are generally considered the best brewers amongst any species. You see, they add the toxin that is excreted from their skin to the alcohol which increases the concentration as well as providing a mild dissociation and hallucinogenic effect. It is also addictive to some degree, so the Frog Bog, which you have in front of you now, is served in most establishments, making Grung both barbaric and extremely wealthy, a very dangerous combination. To the east of the road that we will be travelling, lies a large marsh. This marsh is one of their larger establishments on the continent. It is suicide to enter the marsh.

“Why?” Lark, whispered, absorbed by the idea of deadly 6 foot tree frogs in waistcoats.

“Everything and everyone is food. Grung are a barbaric species, the mother, if you could call it that, spawn thousands of tadpoles but only a handful make it to adulthood.”

“Do the Goblins kill them?”

“Some. Goblins take the young, sick and weak from all of us, but no, the tadpoles eat each other. The mother purposefully starves them from birth until the strongest and largest of the tadpoles have eaten all the competition until only a handful survive. Anyway, drink up. Oh good, the stew is here.”

Lark eyed the seemingly innocent looking beer that was in front of her, it was a golden yellow with a frothy head. She picked up the glass again, this time inhaling the scent as she thought of hundreds of cannibalistic baby frogs, fighting with little toothpick sized swords in a war zone amongst the lily pads and reeds. It smelled wonderful! Like, lemon and basil, orange peel and, was that Kiwi? She licked, dipping her tongue into the beer, still too afraid to commit to a full sip. The taste was intoxicating, the flavour rushed over her palette with the fierce intensity of a summer storm. All the flavours were there, fruity and botanical with an incredible sensation that coated the inside of her cheeks with a thick and smooth feeling, not unlike…slime!

“Good?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I absolutely see what all the hype is about.”

“Why is that unfortunate?” Fallston raised a quizzical brow, draining his pint easily with several large gulps.

“Well, because of the ferocity. Each new life is vulnerable, to be exposed to a killed or be killed mentality from the second you are born is sure to do lasting damage. Of course this species is seen as barbaric, how could they be anything else. Perhaps a Grung has never known kindness until they leave the marsh, and perhaps not even then.”

“Within the marsh lies a lesser dungeon, it is almost entirely submerged and the only access is fiercely guarded by the Grung who also use their considerable finances to pay off the Guilds, preventing Adventurers from accessing the site.”

“What’s a dungeon doing in a marsh? Is there a castle too?” Larked asked quizzically, taking a bite of the brown stew that contained several unidentifiable vegetables.

“Shhhh, Captain Fallston hissed. Even here, asking that question marks you as more than just an outsider.” Leaning forward the Captain began, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thousands of years ago, the world went through the Great Dyeing. All civilizations were lost, the beings of exceptional power slaughtered and monsters and undead released. Today, the Dungeons remain, as architectural symbols, relics that hold untold secrets, wealth and unimaginable horrors. Monsters and the undead are drawn to the dungeons, they are beacons of incredible power from ages long past. Some say the dungeons test us, they evaluate our strength, our courage and sometimes offer gifts of fame and fortune, but mostly…” Fallston trailed off, looking down into his empty cup, a grim line set in his jaw. He continued, “The dungeons are killing fields, labyrinths to lure us in and torture our minds and feast on our bodies. They are evil and only evil abides within. Listen to me carefully Lark, do not under any circumstances enter a dungeon. You will train as a mage and perhaps one day you will find great powers and you will be tempted. The dungeons will tempt you, lie to you, whisper to you and tell you that your dreams will come true if only you should enter. Do not, for only monsters lay in its wake, and you will surely die.”