Part 2: Chapter 1 - 01

Chapter 1 - 01

Introduction (How did it come to this?)


At the Sign of The Drunken Rat




"Aaah! A rat! A rat!!" shrieked Mary Macrary.



The fearless Bard swung into action, pulling his lute from his pack with lightning speed, and playing the tune that unsummoned his verminous companion from existence, saving the day just in the nick of time.

Mary Macrary: Ah, what a strapping man you are, to be savin' me from that wee beastie.
: I happened to be wandering by when I heard your screams over the rumbling of my empty belly. You aren't hurt, are you?
Mary Macrary: No, but aren't you the sweet one for askin'. Say, I've got an idea. If you'd be willing to do a little job for me, I'd give you a good meal, and a warm place to lay your head for the night.



: I'd be only too happy to handle anything you'd care to heave my way.
Mary Macrary: Then it's a deal. For it's a wee rat problem I've got in my cellars, and if you could do away with 'im, I'd be ever so thankful.
: Rats you say? In the cellar... how cliché of you love, but I'll forgive you this once.
Mary Macrary: You'll need a bigger sword then what you've got, in case you run into any troubles.
: Oh, my sword is big enough to handle any ... "troubles" you might have.




With that, Mary walked back to the bar. The Bard blinked in the dim light and took in his surroundings. It was a modest hovel, with a dirt floor, mud walls, and filthy, smelly, disgusting and dim-witted patrons. The Bard fit right in.

In a corner, a group of drunks started singing a rousing song.

The Beer Song



Beer beer beer tiddily beer beer beer
A long time ago, Way back in history
When all there was to drink was nothing but cups of tea
Along came a man by the name of Charlie hops
And he invented a wonderful drink, And he made it out of hops

Hey! He must have been an admiral, a sultan or a king
And to his praises we will always sing
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer



Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer beer beer tiddily beer beer beer

The Drunken Rat, the Aiken Drum, the Trowie's Pub as well
There's one thing you can be sure of, it's Charlie's beer they sell
So all ye lads and lasses, at eleven O'clock ye stop
For five short seconds, remember Charlie mops
One, two, three, four, five

Hey! He must have been an admiral, a sultan or a king
And to his praises we will always sing
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer beer beer tiddily beer beer beer

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick
The kind of lubrication, to make your engines tick
Fourty pints of wallop a day to keep away the quacks
It's only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax
One, two, three, four, five

Hey! He must have been an admiral, a sultan or a king
And to his praises we will always sing
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer beer beer tiddily beer beer beer tiddily beer beer beer
The Lord Bless Charlie Mops!



Ever the procrastinator, the Bard attempted to delay his task by talking to some of the customers in the bar.


Patron: Hey, I understand your hesitation, stranger ... there isn't enough ale in the world to get me to go down there. Then again, I'm the cowering sort.




Patron: What are you, a man or a mouse? Get down there and Mary may have a go with you. You wouldn't want to be the only man in town she hasn't had a go with, would you?

Mary Macrary: Well for someone who says he's not afraid of rats, you sure are procrastinatin'. If you are afraid, you can tell me... I won't have any interest in speakin' with you any further, but you can tell me.


Under the pressure of all the impatient stares, the Bar reluctantly proceeded to the basement stairs. If he had been paying more attention, he might have noticed that the patrons were concealing smiles, and the bar had a strong air of anticipation.

As the Bard headed down the hallway towards the basement stairs, he caught a glimpse of something in a room he passed. The door was open, and judging by the lived-in look, it must have been the room of the widow Mary Macrary. But it was not the décor that caught the Bard's attention.

It was a simple chest.


Touching Mary Macrary's chest



: And then the Bard looted the chest which contained the Widow's most precious... wait a minute, did I read that properly? You're stealing from her?
: I wouldn't call it stealing, exactly. I mean people leave all sorts of things in chests and they never seem to object when I help myself. Think of it as a public service. I mean, who knows how cluttered these chests might become if I didn't do my part to help clean 'em out.
: In hindsight I'm surprised that it took the Bard this long to get his hands on Mary's chest.


The Bard proceeded down the creaky stairs into the cellar. It was filled with shelves containing alcohol of various vintages, and a great many barrels.



Our hero pulled out his sword and proceeded to smash the barrels...



What do you mean 'why'? Because ... that's just what adventurers do, I suppose.
...
How should I know? Perhaps because he thought there would be silver coins, or weapons, or armor or something in them.
...
No, I don't know why anyone would hide such things in there, alright?

Ahem. As I was saying, the Bard smashed the barrels, which turned out to all be empty -
...
Look, I'm just reading the story, I didn't write this trash, how should I know why anyone wanted to store a dozen completely empty barrels in their basement. Perhaps they're all a bit thick in the head. Now can we please get on with the story?

The Bard didn't find any rats, but he did discover a rather large tunnel in the wall, of a size not normally associated with common rodentia.



Whether the Bard was feeling brave, or - and more likely - whether he was too occupied with the thought of Mary Macrary's busoms to notice the unusual size of the rat hole, he proceeded down the tunnel.



Then the Bard saw it. A small, helpless rat.



Through a lucky blow, the Bard managed to land a hit, skewering the vermin on his sword.






A tiny, helpess rat


: Quest complete!
: All hail the Bard, Rat-Killer and Rodent-Bane, who has bravely made the cellars once again safe for Buxom Barmaids and Wanton Widows!



: Or has he?


Videos:

Introduction (How did it come to this?)


At the Sign of The Drunken Rat


The Beer Song


Touching Mary Macrary's Chest


A Tiny, Helpless Rat