The druid, the Vlad, and the grubby

In far away Outlands, in a remote village somewhere in Nagrand, sits a pub of ill repute. Owned by a dwarf named Vlad, of such notoriety, that it is rumored that his own family shunned him and cast him out of his village where he was born and raised. The pub, known as The Wayward Frog, has a well-deserved reputation for a long history of violence. Many consider it to be the roughest place to get a drink, not only in Nagrand, but all of Outlands. Among its patrons, only the most nefarious ruffians, ne'er-do-wells, thieves, scoundrels, and murderers frequent this establishment; if a structurally unsound, filthy, wooden firetrap could ever be called an 'establishment.' To order a drink, much less actually find the opportunity to enjoy it without being challenged, attacked, or worse, in such a place is what many would call a death wish. But to the tough and rowdy familiar faces of "the frog," it is just a chance to prove one's worthiness, or even one's right, to become a 'regular.' Getting injured at the frog through one of the many various activities such as fighting, gambling, knife throwing, and others is simply seen as par for the course by its many customers. One typical day of violent drinking and chaos, an enormous, scruffy-haired bear came in through the front entrance. From the markings on the bear’s fur, and from the various anklets, earrings, and a well-worn bandanna around its neck, it was obvious to anyone that the bear was a druid. Noticeable to everyone in the frog was the fact that the bear was limping severely. The bear’s right front leg was nearly concealed due to the bear holding its leg and claws in so close to its chest. The bear’s entire leg seemed almost covered in dark blood that was dripping from its extended claws. Initially, the bear drew no attention from anyone. Injuries are frequent at the frog. Why should an injured bear be any different? It wasn’t until the bear roared out, bellowing its clear pain and discomfort at its injuries, that people immediately stopped their activities to notice. At first, the noise level simply lowered slightly while everyone turned to look at the poor bear. When the drinking resumed, the bear began to look very angry. Agitated, the bear stood up on its hind legs and let out a growl that overpowered every sound inside the frog. A deep, guttural, thunderous blast of anger and pain came forth, silencing every possible sound within the pub; the type of sound that could only come from a great, mythological beast. Finally, the mug clattering, the drinking, laughing, clanking weapons and armor, all stopped and looked in awe. All eyes were on the druid bear. Even the toughest among the rowdy crowd seemed to stop breathing, as if taking quiet, short, unnoticeable breaths would prevent the great bear from turning its attention towards them. Still on its hind legs, the druid in bear form stood nearly nine feet tall. It slowly uncurled its leg from its chest. The bear, attempting to conceal the pain of its injuries, made small, inconspicuous twitches. With the leg almost fully extended, the crowd realized why the bear was in pain. A clean, near-perfect hole had been made in the center of its right front foot. Despite the blood, one could see clearly through the hole as if a perfect sphere was cut into the druid’s hand. Vlad, fearing that this may have been the result of the activities of the frog taken too far, nervously addressed the bear. “We’re not lookin’ for any trouble druid,” he said in his typical heavy dwarven accent. “What do ye want?” The bear slowly turned his head and looked deeply into Vlad’s eyes. Now fearing for his life, Vlad uttered, “We don’t want any trouble druid! What do you want? Bandages? Ale? I can get that if you need! What do you want?” The bear stared intently at Vlad. Then slowly began to pan over the entire pub, subtly leveling its gaze at every member of the frog. After what seemed like an eternity, the bear finally replied, “I’m lookin’ for the man who shot my paw!”






Ok well maybe I "borrowed" an element or two from a famous joke. But still, another attempt at my lame creative writing. I still enjoyed writing it. I'm one of the very few among my classmates at school, and even among many of my colleagues, that actually enjoys writing. I sincerely wish I had more time to do it. Oh well. Hopefully, I'll get another opportunity in the future.