B11 – KING’S FESTIVAL
1 FELMONT AC 1005
The Tale of TIBERIUS
I could totally feel the joyful atmosphere of the “Day of The Beast”’s eve since my arrival in the little town of Stallanford, on the Duke Road, one day from Penhaligon. Since I was a boy, I had always seen that holiday, in honour of “King” Halav, as a bizarre carnival of sort. My thoughts on the matter were only strengthened by the parade: men adorned with huge papier-mache heads with horrendous beasts’ appearance. The same beasts that supposedly, centuries ago, reduced the old Traldar lands to ashes.
When I came to the “Hungry Hin” tavern, I regrettably discovered that it was full to the very top. Everybody knows I hate places full of noise and people as well; they make me feel uneasy.
Fending the heterogeneous mob, mostly pilgrims and merchants, between a push and a shove I came to bump in what I tended to consider a huge chunk of rock put in the middle of the room. But, as it turned to face me and started to harass me with a flurry of barely discernible words, I immediately recognized an hill dwarf. He seemed upset mostly for his inability to see anything except some buttocks or bellies, instead of being enraged by my bumping, the thing was not so important for him. For just a second we exchanged stares then we took opposite directions. I had found my destination and using my mass I reached the counter where I found the puffy and ruby face of the hin owner of the joint. I asked him to show me a table booked by the name of Rheddrian and he pointed me toward a hidden table on the far side of the room. I was nauseated at the simple thought of fending again the room, but this disappeared when I got sight of other people sitting at the table I thought was just for my friend and me.