Sins of Greed: A Tale of Two Fools, #1

By C. Tarradell

Following the death of his famous scribe and author father, Abben Dindle is thrown into life at court, expected to serve his nation and perform his duties just as his father did; but when both his King and his King's Royal Seer are broken people, hurt and full of personal vengeance, Abben finds his job to be harder than he expected as he's thrown into the middle of the plotting and scheming of nations and the greed and sins of men.

No one betrays the Gods - and survives.

Unrest simmers within the once magical realm of Lurinlia. A broken king sits on the Ivory Throne, corrupted by his own paranoia. His vengeful royal seer condemns to death all who stand in her path. Under binding rituals they swore oaths to the Gods to rule and wield their powers with benevolence.

But now their vows are broken, and the once great nation of wizards and sorcery stands on the brink of war. One enemy crouches upon the doorstep, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

The other conjures treachery from within.

Abben Dindle seeks only to follow in his father's esteemed footsteps. His sworn and honored duty is to protect and cultivate the kingdom's knowledge as Royal Scrivener to the court. But when he is caught between the plots and schemes of arrogant men and the complex crusades of nations, Abben faces an impossible choice: serve his country and honor his duty, or betray his oath to his Sovereign to save the human race.

And face the wrath of the Gods.

Buy this epic fantasy tale of wizards, swords, and sorcery readers are comparing to GAME OF THRONES and HARRY POTTER!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Tarradell
• Release date: Apr 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393104209

C. Tarradell

Chris Tarradell was born in Miami, FL. He has been many things; a student, a salesman, an accountant. He aspires to be many more; a pianist, a bassist, and above all a storyteller. A lover of all things fantasy (an avid reader and writer of fantasy, self-confessed show and movie watcher of fantasy, and gamer of fantasy), Chris is currently working on three series. ​A Tale of Two Fools - An epic saga of fantasy and mythological creatures. The Sand Rogues - Heist fiction at it's finest - the adventurous journeys of a relatable band of thieves and rogues. We Are Not Welcome - A post-apocalyptic piece of Sci-Fi fiction, set in a dystopian world where technology has failed and ceases to exist. Chris lives in Miami with his wife and family. He loves to hear from fans, readers, and peers - reach out!

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Abben Dindle quickly scuffled through the damp, dark side alley and turned the corner onto the main plaza just steps away. The heavy bundle strapped under his left arm was beginning to weigh him down; mentally more than physically. He tried to not look suspicious as he made his way through the crowd of common folk that were browsing the wares of the merchants that regularly held stall on Jording Square, colloquially known as The Market Plaza. His destination was just on the other side of the courtyard; a quaint little book shop called Kirlin’s Scrolls and Scryers. It’s proprietor, Kirlin Pinof, was a rickety, bent over old man nearing his eightieth year, with the mental clarity of a twenty-something and the sharp tongue to match. Kirlin was an unofficial advisor to His Majesty the Sovereign of Lurinlia, Faelin Jording. Abben was sent by Sovereign Jording’s Royal Sibyl herself, Evelia Ingrin, to deliver a set of mysterious scrolls with a particularly strong magical essence attached to them.

As Abben made his way across the veranda, pulling his cloak’s hood tighter around his face and zigzagging through the crowd of peasants and merchants, he spotted a familiar commotion on his right in front of a stall of fresh fruits and vegetables; someone was being arrested by Sovereign Jording’s City Watch. A small crowd was beginning to circle the guards and the man that was being arrested. Abben looked closer at the guards and saw what he feared; the WSD (Wizardry Subservience Division) logo visible on their uniform.

Show it to me! yelled one of the three guardsmen, who looked to be in charge.

I don’t know what you’re talking about! screamed the man on the floor. He looked to be in his middle ages, balding, in middle-class clothing. The man was on his knees.

If you cooperate, you’ll find your accommodations in the dungeon to be fairer than most. Sovereign Jording is not an unreasonable man.

Kelek, maybe he doesn’t have anything, muttered one of the other guardsmen, under his breath.

Quiet, Iloin.

Please, I’m not lying to you! I don’t have any magical trinkets on me! I don’t know the first thing about sorcery! You must be confusing me with someone else, please!

Kelek looked unimpressed. He hissed, Take this lying rat to the dungeon. We’ll have Director Sarvis question him. Get him out of my sight.

The crowd of cityfolk were muttering amongst themselves, some shaking their heads in disapproval and others showing their signs of agreement and applause to the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Let this be a reminder of Sovereign Jording’s stance on magic use – those caught tinkering with any form of sorcery or wizardry will be dealt with, Kelek announced to the crowd that had gathered. Now move along!

Off to the side, Abben stole a nervous glance at the bundle of scrolls teeming with magical energy under his left arm. After recollecting himself, he took a couple more strides and opened the door into Kirlin’s Scrolls and Scryers, firmly shutting it behind him.

PART ONE – THE ARROGANCE OF MEN

Chapter 1

THE JOKER AND THE THIEF

Entering this seemingly cozy book store was like crossing portals into another realm. Appearing much bigger than it’s size outside could ever depict, Abben found himself staring at leaning towers of books, stacked on top of each other almost to the ceiling a full fifty feet above him. There were dozens upon dozens of bookshelves lining the walls, ranging from different shades of purples and blues all the way to browns and greens. Every bookshelf was littered with beautifully woven baskets holding books and parchments of all sizes. There seemed no end to the amount of scrolls, inkwells and quills in sight. Planted in the middle of the entire space was a gigantic round table made of marble with an incredibly realistic, three-dimensional map of Olvion embedded into the stone.

Feeling much more confident now that he arrived safe and sound at his destination with his incredibly dangerous cargo, Abben looked around, stepped up to the table, and ran his fingers across the image of The Vorilian Sea. He slowly circled the table, touching the peaks and valleys, cities and towns, and everything in between, until he was on the other side of the table and was able to feel the ridges of The Gryphon’s Nest Mountains. He leaned forward to scrutinize the incredible craftsmanship and detail when WHACK!, something small, leathery, scaly, and flying in the air smacked right into the right side of Abben’s head.

For the love of Ubios! screamed Abben. Reeling over and nursing what would surely be a bruise on the right side of his head, Abben looked up to see what had hit him with such force.

He found himself looking at a small, skittish, annoying looking creature, with a gigantic nose too big for it’s face and large leathery wings too big for it’s tiny body. It was a dark shade of brown, almost black, with bald, scaly skin, and a very thin frame.

An imp.

Ah! cried Abben.

Ahhhh! cried the imp.

Apparently Abben’s reaction had frightened the little creature, and it flew off to hide behind a stack of books.

Morticus? came a quizzical voice from somewhere in the back of the shop. Morticus, was that you? You Gods’ forsaken creature, you know I can’t hear like I used to! How many times have I asked you to stop muttering from so far away?! Get over here and say what you want, you stubborn rat with wings!

Morticus shot a scornful glance at Abben and emerged from behind the books, flying over to the direction of the voice. I’m sorry, Master. You have a visitor.

Wha-what?! A visitor?!

It’s okay Master, it’s not the City Watch. It’s a customer. Albeit a rude one… Morticus muttered the last part under his breath.

An old man, very frail and eccentric looking, with a pair of goggles on his face that had numerous magnifying glasses attached to them, emerged from behind multiple stacks of books. He was dressed in workers’ clothing, a simple white shirt (very stained with ink), a pair of bottoms, and a pair of normal boots. His stark white hair was standing up on all ends on top of his scalp, and his bent over posture showed that his back did not agree with his age.

Oh, a customer. Very good, Morticus. I trust you to be aware of who comes in this place. And always remember the phrase! If the City Watch knew I had you here with me, they’d ring my fucking neck!

Abben coughed under his breath at the old man’s choice of language.

What’s that son? Do you have something in your throat? Morticus the young man has something in his throat, please get us some water. I’d go get it if I had wings. Too bad I don’t.

Morticus shot another glance at Abben and flew off to the back of the store.

Well now, while that creature gets us something to whet our whistle, I can help you out with whatever you need. Are you looking for a book today? We just got in Pavlov’s latest work, ‘The Ballad of June Uriel.’ Phenomenal read. Or maybe you’re looking for something more adventurous? I have many copies of numerous types of Bestiary’s in here, if that’s more your style.

Actually, sir, I’m here on business from Sibyl Ingrin.

Sibyl Ingrin? Evelia Ingrin? The old man ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Oh, dear. Please, have a seat. Morticus! Morticus, scratch the water, bring us two glasses and my strongest bottle of rye!

Abben cleared his throat.

Kirlin shot a quizzical glance at him. I suppose if you’re here on Evelia’s orders, I should probably know your name.

Abben Dindle, sir.

Shocked, he replied, Dindle?! As in Jora Dindle? The famous Scrivener for Sovereign Gaverlin who penned Lurinlia’s largest collection of information on beasts and sprites over thirty years ago?

Actually yes, sir. I’d bet some of those Bestiary’s you mentioned earlier were written by my father.

By Ubios’s hairy ballsack, I should have known you looked familiar. Why, you’re the spitting image!

Abben chuckled under his breath. Well thank you, sir.

Kirlin Pinof. He outstretched one hand for a handshake while leaning on a particularly low stack of books for support. But of course, you knew that already. It’s all over those damned signs outside.

Abben reached his free hand out to comply, The pleasure is mine.

With the outstretch of Abben’s right arm, Kirlin seemed to have noticed the bundle of scrolls under his left for the first time. Are those what Evelia sent you for?

Yes, actually. Here. I’d rather not hold onto them any longer than I have to. Abben laid the scrolls out on a nearby end table. As he laid them down, the scrolls opened up of their own accord, and the faintest blue mist could be seen wafting in the air above them.

By the Gods… whispered Kirlin, as he clicked in place another set of magnifying glasses on his goggles to take a closer look.

Yes, they have quite a magical energy attached to them. I was wrought with grief on my way here. Sibyl Ingrin requested meeting with me this very morning and privately asked me to deliver these to you for ‘extraction of information,’ as she put it.

Just then, the front door to Kirlin’s shop opened up and in entered the WSD guard from the spectacle outside; the one that was in charge who called himself Kelek.

Now that he was much closer and in a controlled environment, Abben was able to get a much closer look at the man. He was very tall, dressed in an all black trenchcoat, with military style clothing underneath. He wore a beret with very stringy, medium-length, jet black hair showing from underneath. A pair of all-purpose boots was on his feet. His eyes had dark circles around them, almost as if he didn’t sleep well last night and developed bags under his eyes. His skin was very pale. Abben couldn’t help but feel that something about this man looked… strange. Out of place, even.

Kirlin looked up and quickly stuffed the scrolls in a secret side drawer on the same end table they were resting on. Abben noticed the quick and clever movement from the corner of his eye and thought to himself never to underestimate this man.

Morticus! Please fetch me my spindle, one of the book baskets needs to be re-woven. And be quick about it! He turned to Kelek. Good day sir, how can I be of service?

Kelek barked back, Is Master Pinof in?

Kirlin responded. That would be me.

Master Pinof, my name is Kelek. I have the honor of serving as the Overseer for Sovereign Jording’s Wizardry Subservience Division of the Bidvale City Watch.

Kirlin grunted under his breath, all of a sudden seeming uninterested. Hmph, and what an honor it must be…

The man ignored Kirlin’s remark and kept talking. I’m here on express orders from Director Sarvis himself. The Director would like to solicit your assistance in maintaining the law and order of magic use throughout Lurinlia. It is his assumption that you, being the proprietor of one of the most visited book shops in Bidvale, the capital of Lurinlia, might run into certain persons of interest. He would like you to keep us informed on the identities of any of these suspects; for the good of all Lurinlia, of course. We trust that the aid you’ve given to the Sovereigns of Lurinlia over the years, including Sovereign Jording, can be extended to us as well.

What exactly are you asking of me, Master Kelek…? Kirlin hung the question in the air, clearly asking for the man’s surname to be able to address him properly.

Just Kelek.

Kirlin gave him a puzzled look. Well, Master Just Kelek, what exactly are you asking of me?

Just for your cooperation and adherence to the law, Master Pinof. He flashed a very eerie smile. Good day. He looked at Abben as he turned out the door. Sir.

Abben nodded curtly in response.

As the door closed behind Kelek, Kirlin remarked, Well that man was a right fucking oddity! And here I thought I was strange.

Abben agreed, Yes… there is something… off about him.

Morticus! Morticus come out, our unexpected guest has left the premises.

In the blink of an eye Morticus reappeared, laying in one of the empty book baskets in the shop. He apparently had had enough time to cast an invisibility spell on himself. He wiggled out of the basket and flew up into the air to stretch his wings a bit, floating back down to sit on top of a stack of books.

If you would give me sooner notice next time… he said.

He came in very abruptly. Odd now that I think of it… I couldn’t even hear or see him from outside. But then again, I’m old as dirt.

Abben butted in, Was that bit about the spindle your ‘phrase’?

Kirlin remarked, Yes. It’s the only way Morticus has been able to stay with me so long. If any City Watchmen enter my shop, Morticus knows that phrase as warning to hide. Usually he casts an invisibility spell on himself… Imps have a certain degree of innate magic, you see. They’re very fascinating creatures, for being so small.

Morticus grunted.

I actually have a book around here somewhere outlining imps and all they can do. It actually may have been written by your father! Ha, imagine that. Where is that dusty old thing…

Abben cleared his throat.

Your father was actually quite the writer. His observation of beasts was unmatched. His attention to detail…

Master Pinof.

I never thought I’d meet his son. Our friendship must have fallen off a long time before you were born. By Ubios I’m getting old…

Kirlin.

Morticus, where did we put that Imp Bestiary written by Dindle? I could have sworn I saw it the other day…

Kirlin!

Kirlin spun around, seeming surprised. Huh?

Abben gestured towards the scrolls.

Ah, yes! You better leave those with me, Master Dindle. I’ll go over them tonight and have them ready for Evelia tomorrow. Please stop by then.

Great. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, right after I break fast.

Yes, yes. And don’t be a stranger, Abben. Your father and I were quite the acquaintances many years ago, when we were much younger. He was a good man. I can’t imagine the apple fell far from the tree.

Abben smiled. He was growing fond of this old man already… He understood what his father saw in him. Good day, Kirlin. Good day, Morticus.

Morticus waved.

And Abben turned and stepped back out onto Jording Square.

Evelia kept her chambers dark, like her soul. Like her soul lately, at least.

Even with the black atmosphere she seemed to enjoy living in, her chambers were fully illuminated with multi-colored magical orbs and weavings that gave her nest an enchanted glow. She stayed in one of the tower suites on the Palace’s West End; this meant that any visitors to her room had to travel up a very tall flight of stairs. She did this on purpose as she normally didn’t like many visitors. Her chambers were effectively just a giant circular room, portioned off into many different sections. There was a tub and a chamber pot in one section, a study that included a mini-library, an alchemy table and a writing desk in another, and the rest was a culmination of wardrobes and sitting areas. She had her bed in the center.

As Royal Sibyl, Evelia had leave to explore magic a tad bit more freely than the rest of Lurinlia’s populace; with the aim of using it for the general good and progression of Lurinlia and the Sovereign in which she served, Faelin Jording, of course. Despite this so-called freedom however, Evelia’s magic use was on a tight leash. She was under constant watch by Sovereign Jording’s Palace Guard, and she was required to thoroughly document all of her research and magical delving, reporting in weekly with High Augur Petris. She was also convinced that her handmaiden, Deliana, was secretly spying on her and reporting her activities to Sovereign Jording.

Though that could have simply been paranoia.

High Augur Petris was head of the Church of the Tribune, the predominant religious organization in Lurinlia. It’s teachings followed the worship of the three main deities in Lurinlian culture; Ubios, the God of Life; Jerin, the God of Mayhem; and Vastrix, the Goddess of Death. When Sovereign Jording decreed the all-out restriction of magic use five years into his reign, over fifteen years ago, and anointed Evelia as his Royal Sibyl, he brought her to High Augur Petris and had her swear an oath upon the Tribune’s altar to practice her magic benevolently, and to stay away, at all costs, from The Forbidden Magic.

The Forbidden Magic was a study of wizardry that included the magic that the teachings of the Tribune viewed as un-natural; resurrection of the dead, extension of one’s life, summoning of higher demons, and general tampering with fate. Evelia’s oath, sworn upon the Tribune’s altar and in the presence of the High Augur of the Tribune, was a divine contract that tied her words to the very essence of the Gods, a process known as binding. Tribune teaching taught that breaking the oath sworn under a binding was the highest offense to the Gods and would be punished with unfathomable severity. Of course, the majority of the population of Lurinlia didn’t believe such nonsense.

Evelia surely didn’t.

She walked up to her dressing stand and sat down in front of her mirror; she was still getting used to the lines in her face that creased her brow and her eyes now that she’d turned her forty-fifth year. She didn’t mind it too much though; she wasn’t as vain as that.

Just vain enough to use her magic to stay the graying of her hairs and the fattening of her body; she kept her hair a luscious, deep black, and her figure trim and attractive.

She grabbed a nearby brush and ran it down her hair. She liked to brush her hair with a certain degree of force; softness bothered her. Then she thought about that for a moment, and the fact that that bothered her bothered her again even more. The inner turmoil that she constantly felt played through her head again, for the thousandth time. Evelia hated and loved herself, simultaneously.

Mistress, would you like me to brush your hair for you? came a soft and squeaky voice from the far corner of her chambers.

Evelia let out a heavy sigh. Deliana. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m not a cripple. I can manage brushing my own hair.

Right. I’m sorry, Mistress.

You always are. She sighed again. Deliana, it’s not that I find you specifically annoying, it’s the whole handmaiden nonsense that gets under my skin. Any woman that submits to someone else doing something as petty as brushing their own hair doesn’t have a spine, in my eyes. I am fully capable of taking care of myself. If I need you to do something for me, I’ll ask it of you. If Faelin insists that you be here with me, then it’ll be on my terms.

Deliana stayed quiet.

In fact, I’d like you to go fetch something for me. If you can get down to the Library’s Supply Room on the first floor of the Palace, I could use some new parchment, ink, and quills. Find Cornelius, the Librarian, once you get there; he knows precisely which ones I like.

Right away, Mistress.

Take your time, Deliana. I won’t need you for anything else today, and I’ll be out in the town for most of the day anyways. After you get my supplies, bring them back here to my chambers, and spend the rest of your day as you wish.

Deliana nodded, Thank you, Mistress, and turned to exit.

Evelia turned her eyes back to her mirror and to the reflection that looked back at her. Her beautiful gray eyes, full pink lips, and fair white skin were the true epitome of beauty to many men in Lurinlia. She stood up, went to her wardrobe, and began to get dressed. She pulled out a beautiful black and white blouse with lace sleeves, black skin tight trousers, and black leather boots. It seemed that everything in her wardrobe was black and white. She liked it that way.

After dressing, she pulled on a black cloak and turned to the door just as Deliana did minutes before. As she was turning the latch, she heard something that she had almost forgotten about.

Coo… coo…

She took her hand off the door latch and walked back to her bed; more specifically, to the cage right next to it. Her familiar, an owl she called Vessa, was hooting for her attention.

I’m sorry, Vessa. Just a lot on my mind lately. There, there. She opened the cage door and stuck her arm into the cage, allowing Vessa to perch on her hand. She brought her to the window, opened the curtains and then the window itself, and let Vessa fly off into the sky. She always thought it was strange that Vessa, unlike most owls, enjoyed hunting during the day.

After closing the window back up again, Evelia went back to her chamber doors and exited her room.

Chapter 2

ABBEN

Get down, little one. Follow Papa’s lead. We don’t want them to see us. Little Abben did as he was told. These were the moments he looked forward to; following his Papa around in the fields and swamps and unknown territory of Lurinlia, researching the hundreds of creatures and beasts that called Lurinlia home.

Okay, little one. When I say so, I want you to poke your head just a bit over these rocks. Just enough to be able to see them. Be careful not to make any noise; for being such big creatures, gryphons are also very skittish towards humans. If they hear us and feel threatened, they’ll fly off before we can even think twice, whispered Jora.

Little Abben peeked over the rocks. Just a short way off, he saw a trio of gryphons resting in a field of wheat. The majestic creatures were just as magnificent in plain sight as his Papa drew them in his books. As beautiful as the legendary beasts were, however, they confused Little Abben just as they always did.

Papa, why do gryphons look like an eagle and a lion together? Little Abben was referring to the body, back legs and tail of a gryphon, which resembled a lion. They had an eagle’s talons as their front legs, with an eagle’s head and wings to match.

Jora chuckled. That’s a story I would be happy to tell you later, little one, but not right now. Remember, we’re here for work. And you promised you would help me.

Little Abben nodded enthusiastically.

Good, Abben. Remember why we’re out here. Never forget what I’ve told you. A good man does his work for himself and his family; a better man does his work for the rest of the world.

Little Abben whispered, Yes, Papa.

Jora handed Little Abben a parchment and quill. That’s my boy. I’m going to take out my pocket scope to get a better look. I’d like you to write down whatever I tell you, okay?

Yes, Papa.

Jora took out his scope and focused in on the trio of gryphons.

Fascinating. One of those gryphons is much smaller than the other two, he whispered to himself.

Jora focused his lens a bit more. There were two adult gryphons and one cub. One of the adults was a tad bit smaller than the other. She had bright white feathers on her head and wings, a light brown coat on her lower body, and a dark brown tuft at the end of her tail; typical female gryphon characteristics. The larger adult gryphon looked exactly the same, except it had a gold streak of hair on the tail tuft and a gold streak of feathers down the wings. Male.

Jora let his scope drop a bit. He looked at his son with a huge, beaming smile on his face. Son, this is a gryphon family. A mama, a papa, and their cub. Here, have a look; the larger of the two adults, with the gold streak, is the papa. Jora handed his son the pocket scope.

Little Abben took it from him and had a closer look. He saw exactly what his Papa was talking about.

As he was observing the gryphon family and how they interacted with each other, he heard a charging of hooves that sounded like rolling thunder coming from the northeast, from behind a group of cliffs and hills.

Jora perked up. Abben hand me that scope. Quick.

Little Abben handed the scope to his father. Jora looked through and could barely contain his excitement. He whispered to his son, Abben, there’s a group of hippogriffs charging towards the direction of the gryphons. We may see something never before witnessed!

Hippogriffs? Are those the ones that look like gryphons, but a horse instead of a lion?

Exactly, Abben! Smart boy. Here, have a look. And pass me that parchment and quill; I’ll take care of the notes while you watch.

They swapped items. Little Abben looked through the scope at the scene that was unfolding before him as Jora readied his quill.

A team of hippogriffs were charging towards the gryphons; not angrily, Little Abben noticed, but with friendly curiosity. As they got closer, they began slowing down and gradually came to a complete stop just a few feet away from the gryphon family. The baby gryphon was hiding behind his mother, with the father in front of his family, forming a protective barrier between them and the hippogriffs. There were no foals in the hippogriff team; just a collection of male and female adults.

One of the hippogriffs, a male according to the extra layer of feathers on top of his head, slowly walked up to the male gryphon and sniffed inquisitively. Hippogriffs were much more outgoing creatures compared to the timid and conservative gryphons.

Papa, are you sure you shouldn’t be the one with the scope? How will you see?

Little Abben took a quick glance at his father and saw that he had put his spectacles on.

It’s okay, Abben. I can see well enough. I want you to get a good look at what’s taking place. He smiled. This is true magic.

Jora looked back down at his notepad and continued scribbling; Little Abben took a peak and saw that his father had already written two pages worth of notes and a detailed illustration of the scene exactly as he was seeing it through the scope. He shook his head in amazement.

He looked back at the creatures and nearly gasped at what he saw; there were two hippogriffs flying carefree circles in the air, apparently chasing each other and playing some sort of game. The male gryphon let out a low snarl, thinking their circles were some sort of threat. He backed up slowly. The male hippogriff from before watched him curiously for several moments. He then did something that was truly spectacular; he opened his wings to their full extent and showed off his frame to the gryphon family, issuing some sort of challenge. The baby gryphon cowered and the female gryphon let out a series of low rumbles. In response, the male gryphon stepped up to the team, puffed his chest out, and let out a deafening screech. It was akin to the sound of an eagle’s scream, but with the ferocity and intensity of a lion’s roar.

The male hippogriff closed his wings and backed up; the duo of hippogriffs in the sky came immediately to the ground. The entire team silently watched the gryphon family for a couple moments, until they turned around and charged off in a different direction, a pip in their step, as if what had just happened was an entirely normal thing in their lives.

Fascinating…

Little Abben looked down at his father, who now had a substantial section of notes and drawings regarding the scene they had just witnessed.

Jora seemed to be muttering to himself.

I just don’t understand what the hippogriffs were intending. A challenge of some sort? Or was it meant as play?…

Little Abben spoke up, Papa, why did the papa gryphon scream like that?

Jora looked at his son and answered him. Well, little one, the interesting thing about gryphons is this. From birth, they pick a mate and stay with that mate until they pass. If their mate dies before them, a gryphon will never pick another one. It is this loyalty that causes gryphons to have a fierce territorial protectiveness of their families. Even if the hippogriffs just meant to play, which I suspect is the case due to their blithe and easygoing nature, a gryphon will not take any form of challenge displayed in front of their mate and cub lightly.

Oh, said Little Abben.

Jora spent the next couple of moments scribbling some more notes. He then closed his book, took off his spectacles, and looked up at Little Abben.

Time to go, little one. He had a glow to him. It made Little Abben smile.

Ok, Papa.

Quietly, they crouched and silently stepped their way out of the gryphons’ line of sight. After they were a safe distance away, they stood up and brushed off.

Holding hands, they walked to their carriage just a few miles off.

Abben stepped into The Drunken Elk just a couple minutes past dusk. It had been several hours since he left Kirlin’s Scrolls and Scryers; he had spent much of his afternoon stocking up on his materials for his work as Royal Scrivener for Sovereign Jording; journals, quills, parchments and ink, as well as the more rugged materials for the job; horseshoes and hay for his carriage horses, plenty of fresh water by the barrel, and dried and salted meat for the road. A peaceful drink was much needed after this eventful day, he thought to himself.

As he walked into the commotion that was standard to any Bidvale tavern, he noticed multiple things right away. He had a keen eye, just like his father. First, there were no WSD guards. Abben, along with the rest of Lurinlia, Bidvale especially, learned to keep an eye out for the dreaded WSD uniform wherever he went. The WSD of the Bidvale City Watch were fast becoming one of the most hated enforcement groups in Lurinlian history since their inception a year ago. Second, there was a handful of off-duty Palace Guards and non WSD-City Watchmen sitting at the various stools and tables enjoying a cold drink and a hot meal.

Third, and definitely the most problematic thing Abben noticed, was a particularly rowdy man in the far right corner of the tavern. His dark brown hair and long scraggly beard were extremely disheveled and he appeared to be wearing low class clothing; tattered and ripped pants and a shirt that looked the same. He had a dagger at his hip, was clearly drunk, and also seemed to be in a very foul mood. He was joined at his table by a very small group of both men and women alike.

Abben took a couple long strides to get to the bar and have a seat. He ordered a mug of mead from the barmaid, left her a gold coin tip, and got comfortable so he could listen closely to the rowdy man who was now just a couple feet away, behind and to the right, of Abben.

Oi, I’m tellin’ all o’ ye’s, this ‘ere no-magic shite is exactly that; shite! Now I’m not one fer slingin’ ‘em fancy spells er what not, but our Sovereign or whate’er that prick is callin’ ‘imself these days ‘as taken this durned grudge o’ ‘is too far!

His Claeg Bor accent was thick, heavy. The man wasn’t speaking loud enough to be heard over the steady din in the tavern. Yet.

The barmaid came back with Abben’s mead. After thanking and tipping her with a gold coin, he took a couple sips and kept listening, nonchalantly.

Them Syndicate boys ‘ave the right o’ it, I tell ‘ye. Aimin’ ta take down Jording and e’erthing ‘e stands fer. Git things back ta ‘ow they were when Ol’ Gaverlin ‘ad the Ivory Throne! And not a ‘ot second too soon. He paused and drank a giant gulp from his cup, letting a foamy and thick, dark as night liquid run down his mouth and stain the top of his shirt. I’m not ‘riginally from ‘ere, ye know. Me and me da came over from the Bor when I was but a wee lit’le runt. Me ma died and me da says there was naught left fer ‘im there. So we came ‘ere. Another pause, another gulp of liquor. That son of a bitch Jording is gunna be the death o’ this ‘ere entire land! All o’ it! Lurinlia! Me ‘ome! Oh, ‘ow me da must be turnin’ over in ‘is grave… The rowdy man began heaving with heavy sobs.

The men and women sitting at the table with him were nodding their heads in unison, some drinking with him, some not.

All with the exception of one, a man on the other corner of the table. Abruptly, he stood up and walked over to the rowdy man’s seat, took the drink from his hand, and tried to calm him down. "Syler, you’re a good man. And so was your father. And Ubios knows I agree with you. This