Prologue

It is a rainy night. A young man sits at his table on the side of a window.

It is unusual for a tavern to have fewer to no people during this time of the night. But it was, as it helps the man to feel at ease.

So he removes his cloak, unbuckles his sheathed dagger, and goes for his bag.

He pulls out a scroll, containing a mystical scripture.

At first, he was hesitant, but humans are inquisitive beings by nature. And of his curiosity, he lays down the scroll wide open at his table.

At last, he sees runes—ancient, unreadable words, as if it wasn't from this world of his. At the centre, it glimmers and shines a blue light.

Intriguing. Alluring. His eyes drew closer and closer, inviting him to take a rest. His mind untense—

comforting.

. . .

"What is that?"

Asks a girl curiously, standing beside him as she holds a wooden cup and a kettle.

"uh? oh!” he rolls the scroll in panic, as he realises her presence, “nothing.”

She then serves the beverage he had ordered before.

"Well whatever it is, don't cast it around here, okay? here's your hot tea."

She gently pours his tea with a bothered look, as if she had dealt multiple 'instances' throughout her time attending the tavern.

"Thanks.. um, how much is it?" he asks politely.

"Three pennie—Wait, you want to leave now?"

He stumbles his sip, "What? no—"

"Come on, it's still raining outside, at least finish your tea before heading out?" as she folds a table cloth.

"Right?" He feels awkward.

"Well okay then. I'll be at the bar if you nee—" Barely finished her word, the front door swings wide, bringing the cold wind into the tavern.

There, stands a tall man silhouetted by the thundering light,

"You.." he walks towards them menacingly.

Wooden floor creaks with his footsteps, as he wears boots plated with worn steel. Waist strap with a thick leather belt, where two of his axes hang side by side.

Rugged look of his battle-hardened armour, stitched with wolves pelt on its shoulder, she feels threatened by what will unfold before her.

She tries to go back to her bar. But before she could even take one step, the tall man stood close, staring at the seated young man holding the scroll tightly on his chest.

Thus, he shouts,

"Barnaby!"

He yells happily and pulls the young man, as he is then lifted and hugged by the tall menacing man,

"haha Ron, stop it, man." Barnaby chuckles in embarrassment.

Ron releases him, as Barb almost falls and stumbles on his own feet.

"Brother, as soon as I heard the folks talking about you, I knew you're in town! hey new lady, bring two ales from your finest barrels." Ron orders as he pats the tavern girl's shoulder.

"Alrighty then.. phew, geez." she excuses herself, wiping her cold sweat thinking she would've dealt yet another mess from another tavern brawl.

Ron reveals a wide smile inside his black beard. “how you've been?"

"Yeah I'm fine ..bufph!-" Barnaby gets pulled again by him.

"Agh come sit! we got a lot of catching up to do!" as Ron puts him back to his seat.

Both of them sit down to have their reunion. Surely it has been months since they saw one another, as they cannot wait to be the first to tell each other their latest stories. But Ron takes notice, as Barb lays the scroll in front of his friend in excitement.

Ron reveals a worried face,

"Brother.. what is this?"

"This.. This is what I've been looking for. For all my life." grins him.

"Sure Barb, but the Empire's seal at the corner have me somewhat, concern."

Ron points out the red seal, distinctly stamped and approved by the Empire that rules over the small town they reside.

"Well, I just don't have to show this around, right?" Barnaby shrugs.

Ron begins to express his emerging headache,

"Sigh.. Barb, what did you do?"

"Nothing? what you mean?"

"You stole this."

"No? it belongs to me."

"It belongs to the Empire."

"I didn't 'stole' this if it had always been mine—" amid their argument, the tavern girl arrives with their ales,

"You stole it?" And asks as she serves them to the table.

"What? no this is mine so- ..Wait, why are you asking??"

"It's my tavern?" She states, "you stole that from the Empire??" and asks again in disbelief.

"Sadly, yes.." Ron says.

"It's always belonged to my family, to me, Barnaby of Buckingsdale." firmly stating his claim.

"Barb," Ron caresses his friend's hand, "you know I'm a bounty hunter, right?"

"Yes, I also know that you would do the right thing and help your brother in need." Barb held his caress back.

"To help you get away with crime?" the girl deliberately states.

Barb is annoyed, "Who are you again?"

"She's Tom's eldest sister's daughter." Ron answers.

Barb shrugs in confusion.

"His niece?" Ron shrugs back.

"You know uncle Tom?" the girl curiously surprised.

"Everybody knows Tom." Ron says.

"So you're gonna let her cut in our 'discreet' matter??" Barb says, pointing his thumb to her.

"Tom's a great guy, I'm sure his niece is the same as him." Ron says as he sees the girl chuckles herself.

"I just.." Barb holds his breath for a second, "..this is the only thing I have left."

Hearing him, Ron feels compelled to be understanding of his dear friend.

"We know.." says Ron sympathetically.

"Yea—” Barb is confused, “..um, we?"

"The niece?" Ron points to the girl.

"Me??" the girl points to herself, dumbfounded.

Barb leans in "She shouldn't know??" as he silently yells.

"So am I?" says Ron.

Barb pauses again for a moment, then begins to plead, "..would you guys help—"

"No." Ron and the girl quickly rejects.

Barb begs, "But–"

"Only if you pay me for another ale." Ron grins his fee.

Barb stresses out in silence.

"And a dinner meal, and another ale afterwards. Make it three, or four. Yes, I think I want six ales after my feast. And by then another two ales in the morning, right niece?" Ron winks at the tavern girl.

"This court is adjourned." She agrees his term.

"You don't even know the meaning of adjou—Sigh.. Okay, I'll pay alright?" Barb gives in.

"Oh and one other thing, you go help our niece." Ron bullies Barb merrily.

Barb submits to his fate, "Sure.." as he sips down the rest of his tea.

And so it begins, the Ballad—or Tales,

of Barnaby Buckingsdale.