Ling stood valently atop one of the many tables in the tavern, a drink in one hand, and one of the kids small wooden swords in his other. Months ago, before his departure to the northern ice-wastes of Glesmyr he had been, sternly told, not to swing his sword around the tavern if nothing was there tou see, and Ling is a man who does try to change his ways. But gathered around the table were some of the town-children, listening to him rant about stories of gods and kings. This one seemed to be of when he was younger, whenever that was. "There we were lasses and lads, Thorwald, Araren - a dark elf friend of mine - Snare and I, there were some others but they arnt as important to this part of the story, surrounded on all sides by hundreds of hundreds of Lizardfolk." He began holding a hand up to make gnashing jaws, "Their queen had laid claim to a cave system under the town I was staying at, the townsfolk werent pleased with this as the Lizardfolk didnt want to be kind. They were raiding the farms and taking the livestalk. We tried to talk some sense into the queen, but it was to no avail." Jumping across to another table he spun around swinging the sword into the air.
"SO we pushed into their caves, and fought them for six hours we did. It was a good fight. I hacked them to the left and I hacked them to the right, and when they came at me headon we poked them with the stabby bit." He nodded and winked motioning that he was fighting, using his drink arm as a pretend shield. He ducked and weeved, swung and made wooshing and clanging noises. "Then we faced the queen and fought her. She was a brave lass, fought us to an end. Told us secrets as to what happened, and before we could finish her, she opened a portal, took Snare's precious hat, and escaped." He jumped across to the first table again.
"Now you see children, Snares hat, it was very, very precious to him. It had belonged to his love who had been killed so he wore it in her memory. Thus, he had to follow. But where I am from, portals are not to be messed with. You dont know where they will lead you see, but brave Snare chased the Lizardfolk Queen into the portal. When we found him a few days later in the woods he had sprouted wings!" Laughing he held his arms out, "Like a bee! Thus is the story of how he became known as Snare the yellowjacket!" He exclaimed laughing.
Ling dropped down onto his rearend, barely avoiding spilling all his drink in his pewter mug. His voice dropped low, to barely a fraction of what it had been, and it was as if the tavern hushed to listen and you could hear the the crackle of the embers in the fire place. He leaned forward, rear on the table, feet on the chair and his elbows on his knees. "When one takes the blood of the great wolf Frekir, as I have, as the wolves have, there comes an event where the dreams begin. You begin in a large snow covered field, in the distance is the tower of stone, frozen together at the morter. It seems so far away, and between you and the field is everyone you have ever met in your life." he began, a hushed tone, clearly not as fantastical as his other stories. "But there is something wrong with them, their eyes glow purple and black, and they turn on you and begin to attack. You start with nothing, but along the way you may pick up a spear, or a sword or whatever. You have to fight them, kill them all to survive. Few make it to the tower... I have, once or twice. I stood atop the tower and looked out over the plain at all those I have fought and killed, and I wept." He took a long drink of his booze.
"Its whispered amongst the older Wolves, the ones back in Guutland, that the tower is where the vast portal to the Great Beyond in my world was opened, that it's still there. That the dream is a memory from long ago, when the Wolves were created by my worlds Immortals to fight the corruption of a tratiorous Immortal." he leaned back and smiled, "Which is why I am here, to protect all you lads and lasses from darkness, and kill the bad guys." he nodded and held out his mug, "ANOTHER DRINK LADDIE!" he bellowed and drew the wooden sword and stood heroicly on the chair and table, if really precarously, as the tavern returned to its normal hustle and bustle.