Fable - Ask Fear and Loathing in the Land of Barrows

[Half-Blade Zhi]

THE LAND OF BARROWS
MISERABLE ROADSIDE

Half-Blade Zhi sat on the ground by the sad little fire, his blade propped against him, dug into the ground. Fires never did well. It guttered against the cold, struggling. It made no difference to him. He didn't feel the cold and hadn't in a long time. It was a habit. If you wanted to sit somewhere, you start a fire. But the lizard-man might have mistaken it for courtesy. ​

​

Yes, the lizard-man. The one that was sitting a few paces away, crossed-legged, eyes shut. Meditating. Like a tool. What a load of shit this was. Raiding that tomb had been a waste of time. Plumbing those depths, and for what? A meditating lizard man who didn't even talk.​

​

Some ancient power that turned out to be.​

​

Zhi stewed in his rising annoyance and eventually decided to share his feelings. "Fuck you."​

 

[Four Sealed Sage]

The sealed sage did not move from where he sat upon a bedroll, as still as the tall pines in windless summer on High Cloud Peak.

No stars looked down upon them, occluded by the grey clouds amid the night sky. Snowflakes drifted down from them in small flurries, no hint of winter's wrath in their gentle, silent fall.

"You see copper where you sought gold."

The sage did not open his eyes, though he let out a long breath through the nose. Not quite a sigh. Too methodical.

"The bitter dram of disappointment."

The man's scaled features twitched ever so slightly.

 

[Half-Blade Zhi]

"What?" Zhi scowled at the lizard man. "Did you just recite me a poem?"​

​

Zhi reclined back, resting on his elbows. "No wonder you got chucked in there. Go on. Let's hear another."​

 

[Four Sealed Sage]

"I-"

Xun tilted his head slightly to one side and became, if possible, even more still - as stone.

Then his eyes snicked open and slitted, yellow opals stared out into the night.

From the darkness came the rattle of metal against metal and the glare of torchlight. A solitary figure emerged into view, wandering from out of the snow. His boots crunched against the snow underfoot. He was girded for war, though not an uncommon sight in these lands, and he wore a sword at his hip.

"Strangers," he called at the edge of their camp. "Can I share your fire?"

The sage stared at the man and murmured so quietly, as if only to himself.

"A wolf does not hunt alone."

 

[Half-Blade Zhi]

Well, the sage was not alone and did not have the luxury of speaking only to himself. Zhi scoffed again and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Shut up, poet."​

​

Now Zhi looked at the stranger, who was tramping around in soldier's attire. Not a traveler. Wolves and soldiers always went in packs. but he didn't feel like giving the lizard man the satisfaction of agreeing.​

​

In fact, so black was the Half-Blade's mood that it could only result in vile, self-destructive contrarianism. Instead of directing the stranger to fuck off as he normally would, Zhi offered him a wide and toothy smile and slapped the ground nearest to him.​

​

"Oh, yes. Come right up, noble wayfarer."​

 

[Four Sealed Sage]

A sidelong glance flicked toward the irascible swordsman. Not very demure.

"What is your name, traveler?"

The soldier - for soldier he looked - approached, a congenial smile on his lips, broad and warm as the fire he no doubt yearned to sit beside.

"They call me Iron Gong," he rumbled before plopping down in a heap where Zhi had indicated. "You have any of that stew left?" He pointed eagerly at Zhi's bowl.

"A strong name," rasped Xun.

"Ha! It's on account of my stomach. I could eat three boars, drink two barrels, and still march 10 leagues at break of dawn."

 

[Half-Blade Zhi]

Zhi listened to Iron Gong speak and slowly the smile melted from his face. He was beginning to recall how much he hated talking to... Anyone! Poets, soldiers, prattling about empty nonsense. Didn't they know it was all a dream, and not a one of them was the dreamer?​

​

"Not a drop," said Zhi, suddenly sour. "And we have no boars or barrels either... Plenty of march left, though."​

​

He took up his bowl again and drained the rest of its shallow contents in one swig. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of a sleeve.​

​

"And why are you all alone on this road, Iron Gong?"​

 

[Four Sealed Sage]

"Eh," Iron shrugged, looking supremely disappointed by the lack of food.

"That's the thing, Swordsman.... I'm not exactly alone."

Iron Gong raised his torch into the air. Suddenly, dozens of lights blazed to life in the night, all around the campsite.

"You've got room for all my friends?" a tremendous, sinister grin lay plastered across the soldier's face.

The rattle of armor could be heard as soldiers shuffled forward in the snow with drawn blades and pointed spears.

Xun bowed his head slightly, regarding his shoes. "Hm."

 

[Half-Blade Zhi]

Half-Blade Zhi sucked in some cold air. It was a pained noise - the kind of hiss you made when you stepped on a sharp rock. He turned his head and performed a quick headcount.​

​

A few of them had bows, which was a problem, and more than a few had spears, which was also a problem. And those were just the ones he could see with his lonely eye. Comfortably, he could kill half of them. Uncomfortably, maybe three-quarters. For the rest he would need...​

​

Zhi looked back at Xun while Iron Gong was still flapping his gums. He squinted at the lizard for a long moment, then let his blade fall. It hit the dirt with a sad thud. A clear resignation if there ever was one.​

​

"Alright, fine," Zhi grunted, "They can sit too."​

-------------​

 

[Sky Rending Tiger]

---

Mount Hoa Qua Monastery
THE TIGER FESTIVAL

The first day is for bread. Food to satisfy Hu Ji's gluttonous appetite is brought by the Banners.​

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The second day is for beverage. Spirits to sate Hu Ji's bottomless thirst is brought by the ascetics.​

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The third day is for blood. The third day is the worst of them all. Champions presented by the clans and sect branches fight to entertain Hu Ji. Men fight like demons for the Tiger's favor.​

​

Unevenly laid steps trail up into the monastery, where the festivities take place in a spacious courtyard. The trek up to Hoa Qua is a grueling one. Xia Yan, the strongest of the Empty Palms, raised many powerful fighters within the monastery walls.​

​

Travelers come and go throughout the festival so few pay them any mind when the soldiers arrive.​