The bitter cold wind of the night was only met by the warmth of the towns tavern. The familiar sounds of cheer and laughter fill my ears for this was a place where adventures were brought to life by the words and songs. I walk to the bar, dancing in between tables and chairs which were constantly in motion. The bar keeper was a big fella with a scar on one of his biceps. The way he stood there cleaning a mug you could he wouldn't put up with people who don’t have the coin.

“You’re new around here; what brings you to the town of Hogsend?” The bartender asked while squaring me up with squinting eyes.

“I’m simply a Traveling Bard looking for a nice cup of mead and someone to share my stories with. But where are my manners? My name is Joey James.” I replied make it sure I could be heard from across the room.

I’ve done this exact same song and dance for so long it's become second nature. You sneak into the tavern trying to get no one to pay any attention to you and then squazy up to the bar, strike up a conversation with the bartender and make a loud introduction to draw the attention of people that have a heavy pouch and willing to hear a tale. And sure enough after about 10 seconds of sitting there, someone pulled up a wobbly stool and put a nice warm mug of mead in front of me. He was a short, buff man who wore a mixture of leather and chainmail and on his back was an axe the size of a bull’s head. I realized quickly that he was a barbarian. Barbarians were considered savages and most people avoided them because they were tough brutes that only sought for the thrill of battle and the blood of their foes; however my personal experience taught me that while that was all true, they often loved to hear stories of skilled individuals that could beat them with one blow.

“I am Fortress Skeggøx from the land of Norter.” He claimed spitting in my face as though he was challenging me to a duel. “What story do you bring with you on this cold Night?”

I started my story where I started all of my story. “There once was a boy who lived on a small farm. The boy lived alone with his ferocious father who made him work before the sun had woken up until long after it had gone to bed. When the boy turned 16, a stranger came through riding a silky, white horse the kind of which could only be found in fairy tale. The man stopped right next to the house and walked on in. Moments later the boy heard his father yelling as he always was, but what came after was different: he abruptly stopped yelling and silence fell over the yard, only to be followed by the voice of what could only be the stranger yelling back. The boy was amazed; he never ever heard anyone yell back at his father. In that moment that man who he had never met became his hero. The man exited the house, hopped on his majestic beast, and rode away. In the following years, the boy planned his escape from his father. Once  he turned 18, he fled to the woods where he ran straight south to through the woods to the next town over. He ran and ran, never looking back, scared his abusive father was chasing him. He took one glance back, and “THUMP”. The boy tripped and fell on his face. When he got up, he was lost in the pitch black forest. He stumbled around blindly and hit a bush. With his heart pounding, he darted under the bush to escape the world around him. In the morning he awoke and went on searching for the town, but he always ended back up at the bush. For several days he scavenged for food for the day (usually berries), and then went on hunting for the a town. A month went by. The boy knew winter was coming fast, and he needed shelter. He abandoned all hope of finding civilization and started to build a base. The boy built a lean-to out of logs and vines and a firepit in the ground to cook his food. The boy had a system in place: he would wake up and check his makeshift traps for game, where he would stab them with his makeshift dagger. he would then gather berries from bushes to save them in hand woven baskets for the winter. He then spent time practicing his dagger skills so he could be prepared for anything that came his way. Right before bed he took out his hand made harmonica and practiced. He did this for years until one day when he sat at the edge of his camp playing his harmonica, he heard a rustle in the bushes. Acting on instinct, he pulled out one of his hand made daggers and threw it into the bush with expert precision. He knew he was in his first fight when a raging beast jumped out and swing a hammer the size of a tree at him. The boy swiftly dodged blow after blow, feeling the adrenaline pump through his veins. For the first time, he was excited. He unsheathed another dagger and few right into swinging distance of the humanoid beast with the head of a deer. After the two exchanged blows for what felt like hours, the beast put down it's hammer and started to laugh. He Then took off his hat to reveal a muscular man who looked like a barbarian. The man stuck his hand out toward the boy.”

At this point the whole tavern was looking at me as it usually does. Once you hit the climax the crowd looks on in bewilderment. At that moment, the door broke the silence and a large man with a deer on his head entered and called out to me

“Oy Joey, are you talking about yourself again?”