Featured Medieval Tale: Ben’s Adventure
Scene 1: Ambush at the Hunting Lodge
Location: The King's hunting lodge
The King’s hunting lodge reeks of roasted boar and nervous sweat. Heavy oak beams groan under the weight of flickering chandeliers as the feast grinds to a halt.
Hrolf stands atop the banquet table, his tunic stained with dark, arterial spray. He clutches a splintered hunting spear, his knuckles white with terror. Below him, two guards lie still upon the rushes.
Ben stands near the hearth, fingers brushing the leather harness of his throwing axes.
Ben (thinks): I came here for rumors of a golden shore, not to be a witness to a peasant's frantic murder spree. That spear is still dripping.
Hrolf screams, his eyes darting toward the heavy iron-bound doors.
Hrolf: “You fools, you blind dogs, the Black Guild already paid the cook to poison the King's own cup.”
The lodge doors slam shut, the heavy bolt sliding home with a final, echoing thud. Outside, the rhythmic march of iron-shod boots signals that the perimeter has been sealed.
Hrolf drops the spear and lunges toward the hearth, looking at Ben with a desperate, wild plea for sanctuary.
Ben (thinks): If I help him, the Guild hunts me. If I let them take him, I lose the only man who knows the island's map.
Hrolf trembles as he stares at the fallen guards, his frantic expression revealing that he is merely a terrified witness rather than the killer. The true culprit remains hidden among the shadows of the rafters.
Ben: “Talk fast, lad. What did you see before the rafters turned into a nest of vipers?”
Ben (thinks): The boy is shaking like a leaf in a gale, but he saw something. If the Black Guild is here, they left a trail.
Hrolf: “It was the hooded ones, Master Dwarf. They poured the liquid into the King’s flagon while the musicians played. Then they locked the main doors from the outside and climbed up like spiders. They left a map behind, they did, on the table near the hearth.”
A heavy thud echoes from the rafters above. A black-clad figure drops, landing silently behind Hrolf with a curved blade already drawn.
Ben: “Not on my watch, shadow-spawn!”
Ben lunges, his throwing axe screaming through the air to bite deep into the assassin’s shoulder. The black-clad figure staggers, blood blooming across his tunic, yet his momentum carries him forward. With a choked gasp of agony, the assassin lashes out with a desperate, hooked swipe of his blade, catching the dwarf squarely in the side. Ben’s vision flares white as the steel tears through leather and muscle. The weight of his own body betrays him, and the tavern keeper hits the stone floor with a heavy, final thud. Darkness claims the edges of his sight.
Ben (thinks): The map... it was so close...