The front gate to Magical Procurements LTD stood several hundred yards from the castle which served as headquarters. Between the gate and the castle grew an incredibly manicured garden, replete with, fabulous oak trees, flowers, hedges, and decorated with magnificently carved fountains and statues. And tending to that garden was Polemistis, which means “warrior,” a funny name considering the gardener spent his time rooting around the dirt pulling weeds. His parents obviously had loftier ambitions for their son. And they probably should have, considering he was, after all a Minotaur.
Polemistis whacked at a stump with a great axe, having earlier felled a tree stricken with a rotting disease. He’d been working at it for some time, and his ample arm and shoulder muscles ached from the strain. Stopping to wipe his brow with a rag, he caught sight of the armored dwarf atop a pony. He felt sympathy for the animal as it was clearly weary from carrying the bulk of the dwarf, his chain mail armor, and several packs and bags filled with gear.
No one was expected this afternoon, Master Armand seldom took visitors on weekends, and surely none with business on their minds. And this dwarf did not appear to be paying a social visit.
“Ho, there!” Polemistis called out, “state your name and business.”
“Steiner Strifebjorn, Son of Baron Strifebjorn, Lord of Strifebjorn Manor in the…”
“What do you want, Steiner?” the minotaur interrupted. He hated noble name introductions. Keep it simple.
“I seek audience with your Master,” the dwarf relieved his struggling animal and approach the finely wrought gate. The minotaur addressed him from behind the fence, and sneered at Steiner. Though the dwarf couldn’t tell. Bull facial expressions are notoriously difficult for the more man-like races to understand, but ogres and trolls can generally make sense of them. Steiner had less difficulty understanding the minotaurs words, however.
“Piss off, it’s the weekend.”
“I will forgive your impudence, beast-man. Your master’s rules and regulations are well known to me. Under normal circumstances, I would not dare call on him during his periods of revels. But I beseech you to listen to my tale, and you will know why it is urgent I speak with Armand,” the dwarf pleaded.
Not known as a patient creature, Polemistis indulged the noble dwarf, for the lone reason of giving his limbs much needed rest from his difficult stump whacking. He made his way to the gate and went through, meeting the dwarf on the other side to listen to his story.
The astounding nature of the dwarf’s tale surely compensated for the irritating manner with which the aristocratic Steiner spoke. These nobles need to get a grip. Insufferable.
“...and that is how I acquired my prize. The prize which, upon you viewing, will most surely compel you to retrieve your Master from whatever recreation he is partaking in for the weekend,” the dwarf pontificated.
Get on with it.
The dwarf retrieved an item from his backpack. He pulled off his leather glove, and carefully pulled the twine which held the cloth around the fist sized object. The minotaur might have admitted he was intrigued by the dwarf’s tale of monster slaying, and was indeed smitten by the sight of the unwrapped item.
“Behold, minotaur,” the dramatic dwarf bellowed, “Behold the heart of a Manticore!”
He held the prickly object high in his outstretched hand, which came up nearly to Polemistis’ pectorals.
“Impressive...let me get Master Armand,” the minotaur said.
Polemistis whacked at a stump with a great axe, having earlier felled a tree stricken with a rotting disease. He’d been working at it for some time, and his ample arm and shoulder muscles ached from the strain. Stopping to wipe his brow with a rag, he caught sight of the armored dwarf atop a pony. He felt sympathy for the animal as it was clearly weary from carrying the bulk of the dwarf, his chain mail armor, and several packs and bags filled with gear.
No one was expected this afternoon, Master Armand seldom took visitors on weekends, and surely none with business on their minds. And this dwarf did not appear to be paying a social visit.
“Ho, there!” Polemistis called out, “state your name and business.”
“Steiner Strifebjorn, Son of Baron Strifebjorn, Lord of Strifebjorn Manor in the…”
“What do you want, Steiner?” the minotaur interrupted. He hated noble name introductions. Keep it simple.
“I seek audience with your Master,” the dwarf relieved his struggling animal and approach the finely wrought gate. The minotaur addressed him from behind the fence, and sneered at Steiner. Though the dwarf couldn’t tell. Bull facial expressions are notoriously difficult for the more man-like races to understand, but ogres and trolls can generally make sense of them. Steiner had less difficulty understanding the minotaurs words, however.
“Piss off, it’s the weekend.”
“I will forgive your impudence, beast-man. Your master’s rules and regulations are well known to me. Under normal circumstances, I would not dare call on him during his periods of revels. But I beseech you to listen to my tale, and you will know why it is urgent I speak with Armand,” the dwarf pleaded.
Not known as a patient creature, Polemistis indulged the noble dwarf, for the lone reason of giving his limbs much needed rest from his difficult stump whacking. He made his way to the gate and went through, meeting the dwarf on the other side to listen to his story.
The astounding nature of the dwarf’s tale surely compensated for the irritating manner with which the aristocratic Steiner spoke. These nobles need to get a grip. Insufferable.
“...and that is how I acquired my prize. The prize which, upon you viewing, will most surely compel you to retrieve your Master from whatever recreation he is partaking in for the weekend,” the dwarf pontificated.
Get on with it.
The dwarf retrieved an item from his backpack. He pulled off his leather glove, and carefully pulled the twine which held the cloth around the fist sized object. The minotaur might have admitted he was intrigued by the dwarf’s tale of monster slaying, and was indeed smitten by the sight of the unwrapped item.
“Behold, minotaur,” the dramatic dwarf bellowed, “Behold the heart of a Manticore!”
He held the prickly object high in his outstretched hand, which came up nearly to Polemistis’ pectorals.
“Impressive...let me get Master Armand,” the minotaur said.