1 Prologue

It was a busy night in the tavern. It was a tavern of no renown, and yet it was always busy.

The bartender swept his eyes across the room landing on a new face at the end of the bar. It was a young face, not one that should be drinking alcohol. And as it happened, he wasn't he was just sitting there, talking to the other patrons.

The bartender moved closer to him and upon closer inspection realized who he was. There was no mistaking that aura. Not to mention the black waistcoat over the rest of his black captain's outfit.

"Lord Scribe!" The bartender called out. "I didn't notice you come in! Just a moment, I'll cook something up really fast."

The young man held up his hand. "There's no need," he said, his kind smile ever on his face. "Food would only hinder my storytelling ability, as this fine gentleman here has asked me to share my story."

"Are you sure, sir?" The bartender asked for confirmation. "I really don't mind."

"I understand, my friend, but I will tell my story, or the part that I will tell tonight - as it is a very long story - and then I will have a meal."

The bartender bowed. "As you wish."

The Scribe nodded, and then lifted his voice to the others in the tavern.

"Listen, all those who are interested in hearing this old traveler's tale of how he went from a weak runt, to a powerful wandering swordsman overnight."