Zwei Schwerter by Gilgareth

𝕬𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖚𝖒 // 𝖀𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝕬𝖑𝖇𝖚𝖒
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Along the ancient Imperial Road, where forest doth meet path, standeth the famed inn known as the Two Swords. Framed by aged and stalwart trees, its fame doth stretch even unto the farthest corners of fair Aventuria. All manner of travelers, from highborn to humble, know its hallowed name, for within its walls lieth a haven against the many perils of the road. Ehrik and Fredhi Eichkrug, the friendly hosts of this house, do greet both footsore wanderers and weary champions alike in the golden glow of their hearthfire. Its warming light spills through the small-paned windows, flickering invitingly through the evening mist. The heavy doors, wrought of seasoned oak, do creak as guests enter the taproom and now the air is rich with the scents of fresh-baked bread, hearty stew and the fiery sting of Ehrik’s infamous house draught, Firun’s Breath. Outside the wind doth howl, yet within a lively warmth doth reign, tankards clink as merry voices rise. Above the grand fireplace hang two old swords crossed in eternal vigil, their tarnished edges flickering with the warmth of the fire’s glow.
This eve, the Two Swords doth thrive with an assembly of wanderers and wayfarers most colorful: Around the largest table, positioned proudly at the heart of the room, sits a sworn devotee of Rondra, her battle-worn helm and faithful blade ever within arm’s reach. Flanking her are three warriors clad in tabards bright with heraldry, their voices rich and vibrant with tales from lands afar. Not far off, a towering Thorwaler sprawls across a bench, her boots propped up on the table as she snores contentedly, heedless of the world around her. Near the hearth, a trader draped in fine silks warms himself, while a young mercenary surveys the room with sharp, watchful eyes. Right next to them, a dwarf grips his tankard with both hands as he watches the crackling flames. From a shadowed corner beyond the bar, faint tendrils of pipe-smoke do curl and dance, where a figure cloaked in deepest forest green doth exhale slow rings into the dim air.

Suddenly, the heavy door bursts open, and a blast of icy wind sweeps through the tavern like a breath of some frost-bitten spirit of the north. A lone traveler steps inside, his cloak much worn and bearing the dust of far and distant roads. For a heartbeat, all eyes are drawn to the newcomer. »Travia’s blessings, wayfarer!« calleth Ehrik, his voice hearty and warm. »Enter, friend! Warm thyself by the fire and share with us thy tales!« The stranger, with a nod of thanks, lowereth his hood to reveal a face well-worn by the trials of life. With measured steps, he maketh his way to the hearth, his fingers outstretched to greet its welcoming warmth. From across the room, an aged man, his broad-brimmed hat shadowing eyes sharp and knowing, doth regard the scene in silence, his gaze like unto one who readeth the depths of a man’s very soul.

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𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖌𝖊 𝖅𝖜𝖊𝖎 𝕾𝖈𝖍𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 (𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰 – 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔞𝔶𝔣𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔯’𝔰 ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔱)

𝖅𝖜𝖊𝖎 𝕾𝖈𝖍𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 (𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰)
Travelers from every corner of Aventuria have sought refuge here today: at the grand table in the center of the room, they sit – strangers, yet united by their lust for adventure. »Travia's blessings, travelers!« calls Ehrik to the newly arrived, pouring mugs of his »Firun’s Breath«. His wife, Fredhi, crosses the room with a platter of steaming meat pies. »Here, everyone finds refuge – whether to rest or to share a good story«, she says. »Step inside, make yourself comfortable and take a seat – this stormy night is far from over!«

𝕶𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖗 𝕽𝖊𝖙𝖔 (𝔈𝔪𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔯 ℜ𝔢𝔱𝔬)
Cheers and light-hearted chatter in the taproom swell as a warrior in a red heraldry cloak rises. »You’re right! There are stories that demand to be told«, he says, his voice as commanding as a warhorn. »Hear ye now the tale of Reto, an Emperor unlike any other.« Straightening to his full height, he continues: »I fought under his banner during the Maraskan Campaign, outnumbered threefold by barbarian forces. They nearly encircled us and it would have been our end – but in a divine moment of triumph Reto, with Rondra’s strength, raised his sword high and spurred his steed onward. We followed with our own banners streaming and soon the earth shook beneath the thunder of hooves, the heavens roaring with us. Before the enemy could seal their trap, Reto’s blade carved a path through their ranks and led us to glorious victory. May the Twelve bless his name!«

𝖂𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖓 (𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶)
A woman in a green cloak, who has thus far listened in silence, now pulls back her hood and sets her pipe on the table. »War isn’t the only path to greatness«, she says, her tone soft and measured, like footsteps on moss. »The Ancient Forest taught me that. Some moons ago, I followed a quiet path to a clearing where stags grazed peacefully and owls flew silently overhead. There, I felt a power – ancient and wise. The animals saw me but did not flee, as if they knew I belonged.« The ranger's voice lingers in the air like the memory of a gentle breeze, echoing through the room as silence settles over the inn. »The forest offers peace to those who enter with a pure heart.«

𝕺𝖗𝖐𝖘 𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝕲𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖘! (𝔒𝔯𝔠𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔊𝔬𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔰!)
»Peace is fine«, a merchant near the hearth replies, raising his mug to the elf, »but the woods aren’t always so kind!« He leans forward and recounts: »We were following the Hollow Way to Ferdok when they attacked – Orcs and Goblins! Too many to count! They wanted my cart, but I wouldn’t let them have it! With this very dagger« – he draws a small blade, pride gleaming in his eyes – » I sent a goblin to its grave!« The young mercenary at his side laughs and chimes in: »Together, we drove them off!« The two companions toast each other and the guests cheer, though one murmurs, almost to himself, »Yet not every danger can be faced with steel…«

𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖓𝖐𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊 (𝔇𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫)
The guests turn to look at an old man with a large hat and deep lines etched into his face, who has been staring silently into his mug. A ripple of whispers spreads through the room – is this Isenbart von Greifenfurt? The mighty mage who dwells deep in the Silberbuchenwald, north of the Salamandersteine? What urgency could have drawn him from his tower to this humble inn? »Borbarad’s Demon Crown still casts its shadow.« His voice is low and foreboding. »I saw it in a dream, its gemstones sang of power untold – yet darkness clung to every word. The shadow of Borbarad is not gone.« A chill grips the room as the mage’s warning hangs in the air. The guests instinctively draw closer to one another. A dwarf who tightly grips his beer mug with both hands murmurs a resolute prayer: »Wherever darkness lingers, there too shall light endure!«

𝕯𝖎𝖊 𝕶𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊 (𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔭)
A weathered adventurer places an old, carefully folded map on the table. »You speak true words, dwarf! Not all the secrets of the world are dark«, he says to lift the mood. »Look here! When I once seemed lost in the wilderness, this map led me to a place full of wonders. A hidden waterfall, whose water shimmered like liquid silver«, he recounts with joy, his eyes shining brightly. »For a skilled reader, a map is like a poem.« The guests examine the map, its intricate lines sparking awe and curiosity. »For, let’s be honest, as much as fortune hunters search for treasures – there’s no treasure worth more than a true wonder!«

𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓
A sworn Devotee of Rondra rises, hand on her sword’s hilt and speaks with a calm, powerful voice: »I fought at the Trollpforte against Borbarad’s demon spawn. Our shield wall wavered, but the Lioness gave me the strength to rally my brothers and sisters. We drove the demons back and proved that courage and faith are stronger than any darkness.« A reverent silence falls over the room.

𝕭𝖊𝖗𝖌𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑 (𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩)
Garbrak the dwarf leans back in his chair and chuckles. »Ah, you speak of trolls! Courage is all well and good, Your Grace«, he says with a mischievous grin, »but sometimes, it’s just luck – or foolishness – that saves us.« The guests listen attentively as Garbrak begins recounting his underground adventures: »I stumbled upon an old troll cave, thought nothing of it and tried to sneak past. The troll’s thunderous snores shook the very stones and the entrance got blocked by falling rubble! Despite the hellish noise, I was lucky and the troll kept sleeping. With no other choice, I groped through the dimness until my hand met the cracked timbers of an old wooden door, its presence a faint promise of escape – but of course, the lazy troll hadn’t oiled the door and its rusted hinges creaked louder than an old kettle left on the flame! Fortunately, the troll was too lazy to wake up, too!« Garbrak smiles. »Luck certainly has a part to play!« The guests laugh heartily and the Elf shakes her head in amusement. »A troll cave is not for the faint of heart!«

𝕭𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖟𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖈𝖐 (𝔏𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔞𝔠𝔨)
The oldest of the three warriors in their brightly colored tabards clears his throat and speaks: »You laugh about trolls and battles, but what remains when the fight is over?« He lowers his gaze to his cup. »I’ve lost many companions. Their faces, their voices – they stay with me.« A reverent silence falls over the inn. Fredhi brings the old warrior a new mug and places a hand on his shoulder. »They live on in our songs and tales. Therefore, cease ye never to tell stories!«

𝕿𝖞𝖗𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖌
A towering woman from Thorwal rises to her full, impressive height. She wears a large hammer at her side. »You speak of peace, of happiness and of bravery«, she says grimly, »but have you heard of Tyrfing?« She leans forward, her voice becoming intense. »Tyrfing is a cursed sword, a gift from the demigod Ögnir. It must always kill when drawn – even if it has to kill its wielder. A man I once knew, his name was Ragnulf, carried it, Swafnir be my witness! He drew it to defeat his enemies and he was very good at that – but one day, he drew the blade carelessly – and then the sword turned against him. That was quite the mess!« A heavy sigh escapes her chest. »Sometimes, the greatest bravery is not drawing a blade.«

𝕯𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖑𝖑 𝖑𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖓 (𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔏𝔦𝔳𝔢)
A colorful man, who no one had noticed before, steps out from the shadows. »Tyrfing is a grim story. I have another – a story that shows how a bit of cunning can sometimes save the day – and perhaps even a life.« He grins widely and tells them: »In the palace of Vinsalt, I stole a count’s seal ring. But though he caught me, he called out, ›The rogue shall live!‹ – instead of killing me, he made me his spy.« The guests laugh and the merchant nods: »A wise Horas!« »Sometimes«, replies the rogue, »the difference between darkness and light is only a fox’s leap away.«

𝖅𝖜𝖊𝖎 𝕾𝖈𝖍𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 – 𝕽𝖊𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖊 (𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰 – ℜ𝔢𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔢)
The swords above the fireplace gleam dimly in the firelight, as night settles like a blanket over the inn. Ehrik spreads his arms and smiles at the gathering: »Stories like these, my friends, make us who we are. Brave fighters, wise wanderers, peaceful hearts – or fools with a fair share of luck.« The chatter subsides to a gentle murmur, and through the soft crackle of the flames, Fredhi adds, »And sometimes an inn like this is where heroes find the most important thing: a home, even if just for one night. May the peace of these walls cradle you in restful dreams. And when the morning calls, go out into the great wide world – but return when you have new stories to share!«
A comfortable hush settles over the room. The fire dims to a warm glow and empty mugs cradle the night's lingering warmth. One by one, the guests drift away, their footsteps fading into the quiet, hearts content. Fredhi walks through the taproom, lantern in hand, snuffing out the lamps, while Ehrik keeps watch over the fire, letting it burn low.

𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙:
1. Two Swords (Intro)
2. Emperor Reto
3. Woodland Tranquility
4. Orcs and Goblins!
5. Demon Crown
6. The Map
7. Paladin
8. Mountain Troll
9. Looking Back
10. Tyrfing
11. The Rogue Shall Live
12. Two Swords (Reprise)


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Music for Adventure. Dedicated to the old days.

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