The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 1: Bad night in Ansolar
Hey, everyone greetings and salutations from the Pacific Northwestern U.S.
It’s time I shared with you some of my fiction writing skills. First off, I’d like to send a big shout out to Aragmar and Robert Van Dusen for inspiring me.
What I’m about to share with you is the first part of a big fantasy serial I’ll be putting here on Minds called, The Willowsbrook Chronicles.
You’re about to read the first chapter of the first story arc, Bad night in Ansolar.
Prepare to enter the world where a humble Innkeeper seeking to get an inn of his own who will unexpectedly become a hero. No powerful no holy magic or arcane magic. All Gunther Willowsbrook has is his knowledge of good food, good drink, and good company.
I hope you enjoy the first story, now without further ado let the tale begin.
The Foamy Mug Tavern teemed with laughter and cheering. Under normal circumstances Gunther Willowsbrook would’ve enjoyed it.
Tonight they were shorthanded, and the patrons were not the usual working-class crowd.
Instead, they wore the scarlet leathers of the Bloodmasters. They were one of two rival criminal gangs that plagued the city of Ansolar. The fact Rier Kethwelt, the tavern owner had welcomed them brought a grimace to Gunther.
A female gang member gave Gunther's barmaid Naomi a slap on the rear. Much to the great amusement of her male colleagues.
Despite Naomi’s outrage and Gunther’s nothing else happened and nothing spilled. For the moment.
What is Ansolar coming to? Gunther wondered.
We're one of the most prosperous cities in the Kingdom of Velstand. Yet the residents had to tolerate this kind of vulgar behavior?
And what had Earl Helfgin, do? Nothing. The ruler and protector had refused to have his Constabulary intervene.
Meanwhile the violence between the Bloodmasters and their rivals the Sapphire Knights had grown.
Gunther returned to the kitchen feeling disgusted. He set to work slicing up the vegetables for the spiced potatoes. Then he moved on to the char-broiled steak meal ordered by a customer.
Cooking usually calmed and centered the big man. That night the calm concentration he sought had eluded him.
At that moment Gunther didn’t want to slice vegetables and prepare meat. He wanted to do something. He wanted to throw every last gang member out but couldn’t.
There were too many of them. For all his anger and indignation Gunther knew he wasn’t much of a fighter. His large hands were for cooking not swordsmanship and brawling.
If only I’d learned the art of the warrior instead of how to prepare steak. The big man thought to himself.
He pushed the thought away. He remembered the words of Reverend Mother Allegra. There’s no sense worrying about the what ifs.
Sobered Gunther returned to his work. After a few minutes Naomi entered the kitchen agitated.
“By Mallastra’s scathing glare,” she growled.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life! I am tempted to take one of these frying pans and hit one of those Bloodmasters in the head!”
Gunther finished with the last of the vegetables and looked to her. “Hold, Naomi,” he cautioned.
“These are dangerous people out there. All we can do is serve them then hope they go away.”
Naomi started to utter a tart rejoinder, but a cry and a sound of breaking glass cut that short.
“You call that magic?” Someone complained.
“Never seen anything so bloody pathetic in me life, charlatan!”
Gunther grimaced. “Naomi, could you take over with the meal? I've got a mess to clean.”
“Of course,” Naomi responded.
She flicked an annoyed glance in the direction of the disturbance.
Gunther left her and stepped out into the dining area.
Bloodmasters had occupied many of the tables. Others had some patrons. They were trying to finish their meals and leave before the situation worsened.
The entertainment, one illusionist, Quigsley Starshatter, was on the floor, covering his head. The small stage he'd been performing on had shards of glass and was wet with beer.
Gunther walked over to a trio of Bloodmasters who were laughing at the beleaguered mage. But it wasn’t amusement that fueled their laughter it was cruelty. They were enjoying his terror and getting ready to start something nasty.
Better halt this trouble quick, Gunther thought.
Though he was a bundle of nerves, he put on his most appeasing face and walked up to the Bloodmasters.
“Hail, gentleman and lady!” He shouted.
The men turned towards him with hostile expressions.
“Ere’,” The leader said to his comrades.
“Who’s this dumb arse?”
He was a big ugly looking man covered with obscene tattoos, and he gave Gunther a predator’s smile. His breath was as foul as the rest of him, and Gunther stifled a grimace.
“Is there some kind of a problem?” he asked the thug. “I’m Goodman Gunther Willowsbrook, Head of staff here.”
The woman who had smacked Naomi on the rear earlier answered. She had a pinched face and small eyes that reminded Gunther of a rat. “Aye, aye we gots a problem all right!” she snapped.
“This twit’s magic stinks to the High Hells!”
Another Bloodmaster with a huge scar running down the side of his face chimed in, “T’me too it does,” he snarled.
His fellows added their own chorus of disapproval. Gunther realized several of them were reaching for their daggers.
He raised his hands. “My apologies if Quigley was not up to your expectations. I can provide something special as a goodwill gesture. We have a nice keg of Charleskan Ale.”
Interest blazed in the eyes of the street thugs. “Hang on,” the one with the tattoos challenged.
“You got Ale from the Dwarves of Charleska?”
Gunther nodded. “Aye indeed we do. And who wouldn’t want Ale from some of the finest Ale smiths in the world? If you’d like I can serve mugs of the drink at your table.”
Rat woman smiled. “Ye bring us mugs of that blue-colored Heaven, and it’s six gold coin for your efforts.”
Tattoo grinned in anticipation. In the process he showed off his rotted teeth. “Yeah, and I’ll wager 5 silvers I can beat you, in a drinking contest Carlik!”
“You think you can keep your Charleskan Ale down?” Scarface laughed.
“Or even stay standin’? We’ll see about that ya’ milk drinkin’ bastard!”
The exchange met with a general roar of approval. Gunther used the distraction to make his way over to the illusionist and help him to his feet.
“Come Quigsley,” he whispered. “Let’s leave while they are in a good mood!”
Casting nervous glances at the Bloodmasters the Illusionist followed him without protest. Before they reached the kitchen, a fourth Bloodmaster barred their path. Muscled and blond, he was even bigger than the other thugs.
“Ere’,” he said to his fellow gang members. “Any of you lot mind if I has a word with these two before the Dwarven Ale flows?”
Rat woman laughed and answered for them all. “Not at all. Teach em’ a right good lesson Brogan so they’ll be nice and behaved when that ale comes our way.”
Brogan grabbed Gunther and Quigsley by the hair and dragged them the last few steps to the kitchen. He shoved them inside. “In ya go, ya’ stupid bustards!”
Naomi turned with a start as they stumbled in. “Gunther what’s happening?”
Then to everyone’s surprise, Brogan raised a finger to his lips. “Listen well t’me all. Be ready to clear out of this place in the next five minutes. I fear that you're in grave danger!”
Gunther’s face furrowed. “What trickery is this?”
“Tis’ no trick, mate,” Brogan answered.
“You and your friends ‘ave walked into a trap set by your boss. Can’t speak of why but be ready to flee in about five minutes or less. We’ll meet again later.
"I’ve need of you on a task of the utmost importance. I’m not what I seem of that I swear!”
Then he left.
“Who the Hells was that fellow?” Naomi wondered.
Gunther shrugged and rubbed his mustache. “Naomi I’ve no idea.”
Out in the dining area the roaring got louder and the three exchanged concerned looks.
“Those Bloodmasters sound ready to slit someone’s throat,” Naomi observed.
Gunther had no reply. He was thinking about the warning Brogan had given them. They were in some kind of trap, and for the moment, there seemed to be no way out of it.
Quigsley interrupted his thoughts with a cry of alarm. “Bloody Hell!”
Gunther looked at the badger faced man and then all around him. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s Mages coming Gunther,” the Illusionist answered.
Gunther and Naomi gaped at him. “Mages?”
A moment later they heard the sounds of the front door getting kicked open. They peeked into the dining room. They saw a large group of men and women dressed in sapphire blue leathers enter.
“Hells, hells, hells!” Gunther swore. Things had gone from bad to worse.
Meanwhile the Sapphire Knights spotted the Bloodmasters. Immediately, they crossed their arms as they shouted, “Knights, Knights, Knights ho!”
The Bloodmasters rose from their tables. They brought their fore and index fingers together, and shouted, “For the blood!”
Gunther realized some of the hands of the Sapphire Knights were beginning to glow blue. Some of the Bloodmasters’ hands were becoming surrounded by crimson auras.
An moment later the two gangs launched their spells at one another then drew their weapons. The customers who were not part of either gang fled for the exit. Gunther and his companions retreated to the kitchen.
“I’m scared,” Naomi said as she trembled. “They’re turning the tavern into a war zone!”
“What do we do?” Quigsley asked. “I’m an Illusionist I don’t know any offensive spells.”
Gunther then he remembered the tavern’s back door.
“We flee for our lives is what we do!” He answered scurrying for the exit.
They fled outside into the alley behind the tavern. Gunther looked up and down the alley, trying to decide the quickest escape route. Then he made his decision and gestured for them to follow, breaking into a run.
Several energy blasts from the tavern struck nearby buildings. It caused shutters to explode and setting their wooden roofs aflame. "Gads not good," Gunther yelped.
“Time to head for greener pastures it is!” Quigsley suggested as a wave of intense heat washed over them. The trio ran faster.
Their destination was a stout gate at the end of the alley, a measure put in place by the city’s leadership. It separated each district from its neighbors, controlling the movement of the populace. It also generated revenue from the small ‘passage fees’ that required to use it.
Gunther and his companions left the fires behind them and fled within sight of the exit. They approached before they encountered a large group of guards...and Rier Kethwelt.
There was no mistaking Rier’s coal black hair, or fanciful clothes he favored. Gunther did not miss the expression of outrage painted on his face.
“There they are!” Rier shouted.
“I want them arrested!”
The trio stopped in their tracks looks of disbelief on their faces. The guards pulled wooded truncheons from their belts and approached…
Gunther tried to ignore the pain of every pothole in the cobbled street. The bumps reminded him of the beating he'd received at the hands of the guards. He didn’t think there was any permanent damage but that didn’t make the journey in the prison wagon any pleasanter.
The city guard had actually enjoyed giving us that clubbing, he thought. It was as if something had fueled their cruelty. But what?
He couldn’t account for it; he’d done nothing wrong and neither had his friends.
“Why did they come after us?” He asked out loud.
Neither Naomi nor Quigsley answered. They were as bruised and confused as he was.
Instead, the illusionist addressed Naomi. “How are you holding up lass?”
The young woman sighed. “Sore and achy but otherwise I’m fine.”
Then she met Gunther’s. “Any ideas?”
“No. sit and wait.” Gunther replied.
“And hope we can find a way to work this out or convince them they have the wrong people.”
Then a fist pounded on the wall of the wagon’s cabin. It was the driver. “Hey, shut your mouths back there.” the guard shouted.
“Or I’ll come back and make ya’ shut up!”
No one challenged him. Things were bad enough as it was.
Well now, isn’t this just dandy! Gunther and his friends got themselves out of a sticky situation with a gang fight but are now in more trouble as they’re locked up in a prison wagon heading for the stockades of a corrupt city guard for a crime they as yet can only speculate on.
So how will Gunther and the others get out of this spot, and could there possibly something else going on? You’ll just have to come back next time for A bad night gets worse in the saga of the Willowsbrook Chronicles.
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The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 2: A bad night gets worse.