Free Tales Of Grimea by Andrew Mowere Page B

you seem to have stuck in your brain to confuse
whoever tries to read you. I think you’ll be a natural at it, but
for now this method will have to do.” The man put on his trademark
spectacles upon his slightly bent nose. Not many in Lor wore such
things, and the old psion was striking enough with his ever-present
Indellektian blue robe as is. Hwosh didn’t see much sense in the
slightly tinted apparel because Percy had admitted to having normal
eyesight, but he’d gathered that the old man thought they improved
his looks.
    Murata’s tavern was less than five minutes
away from Hwosh and Percy’s apartments, but almost seemed like it
was part of a completely different city. Contrasting with clay
house neighbours all around, Murata had went through the trouble of
bringing wood with him from his home town to build Splinter. Many
innkeepers were simply doing a job, but for the thin tall Regalian
his tavern was akin to a home. Loud music could be heard from the
place, and a few regulars were already staggering away from the
warm orange glow spilling from doors and portals kept almost
permanently swinging, either in arms or within blows of one
another.
    Hwosh and Percy silently made their way
towards the tavern, although Percy was decidedly friendlier towards
those he saw around him. Some smiled back at him and returned his
waves, even sharing the occasional drunkard nonsensical laugh, but
others eyed the man in suspicion. Murata’s was a place which served
not only alcohol, food and games, but also good old Regalian
nostalgia. I hope nobody picks a fight with him today, thought Hwosh absentmindedly. It had happened a few times before,
but each time the psion from Indellekt had managed to diffuse the
situation, and Hwosh was unable to determine whether that was due
to his nature or abilities.
    When they went through that wide swinging
front door, the two were swept up almost immediately in Splinter’s
atmosphere. The undiluted strength of glowing lights, hopping
music, and medley of banter struck the two with the full brunt of a
wave. After a few seconds, even Hwosh found his tense body
unwinding, and he fingered the chain of beads and trinkets dangling
from his bandanna’s side with a mind slightly less plagued than
usual.
    The place was crowded, as it was every night.
Patrons sat around table to play games or drink. There was no space
reserved for dancing, but serving girls and boys pranced around as
they went. It was apparently a Regalian custom and Murata’s staff
were thoroughly trained in it. Hwosh made his way towards a
recently abandoned table, mind already on fried chicken and
mushrooms, but a gasp from behind made him turn around.
    Percy stood in the middle of the room with
his mouth open and face looking slightly vacant. Before Hwosh could
say anything, the man blinked. For a second, his expression
bordered on anger, but then he started rubbing his beard. Without a
word the old turned right and went to another part of the tavern,
whipping his long hair aside to avoid a candle here and there.
Hwosh debated going after the man, but immediately finding an empty
table in Murata’s was a rare occurrence. Burning with curiosity
about whose mind his friend had felt and what he had gone off to
do, the warrior sat down. In less than a minute, a friendly
waitress came over. “Hello, Xera,” said Hwosh, feeling a smile come
over his features and brushing a hand through his shock of black
hair. She was always nice and could remember orders better than
most, so the warrior always felt reassured when Xera was the one to
serve him. It happened rather often, actually. He found it strange,
however, that she was named after such a far off city. Nobody knew
much about the cities in that north-eastern continent across the
sea, what with the Mist and sea monsters. As far as anyone know,
the only way you could leave V by sea was south.
    “Hey there, biceps,” she answered with a
nicer smile than given to the group of women she