The Grey Friar- "A Tragedy, a Tale, and "Bobbies".
A Tale of Tragedy, Loyalty, and Reward
One of the earliest known tales originally told by the renown bard Brandilynn Windchymer. Re-told by the 1/2 Elven Priest Bant to the Noble Court of Castle Ehlenestra, where he shared the tale for a night's respit. Chronicled in the Tales of The Lightning Brigade: Volume 1
As they parsed through the rubble that was once the inn, she thought, "What a tragedy." “Why the long face?” inquired the half-elven priest to the bard. She shrugged. “Only days before, this was quite a different place.” she muttered softly. They had stayed here laughing and telling tales, awaiting the return of her companion and friend Sir James. Now the orc raid had changed all of that. Funny how the fire spares some things, and yet consumes others. That is chance. Had they not chosen to return and rest here, more ill tidings would have befallen those who did survive. Though, for some, an ill tide did arrive. Looking at the lifeless body of the Innkeeper’s son on the road, the tide has gone out, she thought, and washed away life with it. Looking about, as her companions helped the survivors remove salvageable items from the smoldering ruins, she saw him staring at her, studying her face for a response. “Sorry?” She stared, studying his face. Seemed odd for an elf to sport facial hair. Must be half-elven then. Yes, that would make more sense. He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the conversation. “You alright? Is anyone here in need of healing?” Pointing, she directed him to the others gathering the common folk to determine the course of the past evening’s events. Once they had gathered what could be salvaged and paid homage for those lost to the gods, they collected the remaining folk and debated their options. “We can make way south to the ford and 'safer' lands," suggested the rogue, though all knew it was only his own safety that concerned him. She thought, pondering the sense of it. "It would be safer, and she would also learn what had kept James." He had been gone two days longer than he had claimed the trip was to take. Before resolving that thought, another had made a choice known. “We could stay and not surrender the area to the orcs, and could even send a message to the Vesve Elves telling them of our encounter.” shouted out the Fighter and the Ranger in near unison. Stay? Where? In what? She was not accustomed to living in the wilds. To her, that seemed the choice not to make, but in staying she would be supporting her friends. She weighed the matter in her mind. "Hmm. It is safer with them than without, and by rebuilding, they get a place to return home to, so to speak, and maybe even part ownership. Surely, the innkeeper would prefer them as houseguests, rather than orcs? Don't know. Neither choice seems a good one." A third, and then a forth voice responded. “Return to Chendl. It is where the innkeeper is from, and the walled city is large enough to offer good shelter." the guard and the half-elven Cleric responded. “Follow the orc leader south! Him have sword of ancestors! It is the thing that only matters!” boomed the Barbarian. "One certainly makes sense," she ponders. "Walled city, good shelter, means good food, good company, and good opportunities. Yet the barbarian, with all his obvious character flaws, does make for an epic story. 'The Quest for the Sword! The Glory!' One can hardly resist a good story opportunity." The half-elf focused on her again. "And your thoughts?” he asks, bringing her out of her internal debate. “Seems each choice has things we must consider." the bard softly muses. “True. 'Tis tough choices and always misfortune you can find upon the road these days,” he adds. “No, not always." she smiles, just slightly, hardly to the notice of any save the perceptive half-elf. “Being an adept of St. Cuthbert, have you not heard the tale of the Grey Friar?” she asks, with raised brow. The Adept, looking puzzled and taken back at her shift of the conversation, replied “No. I would happily hear such a tale." As they collected the remains of any salvageable items, she began her tale...
As they parsed through the rubble that was once the inn, she thought, "What a tragedy." “Why the long face?” inquired the half-elven priest to the bard. She shrugged. “Only days before, this was quite a different place.” she muttered softly. They had stayed here laughing and telling tales, awaiting the return of her companion and friend Sir James. Now the orc raid had changed all of that. Funny how the fire spares some things, and yet consumes others. That is chance. Had they not chosen to return and rest here, more ill tidings would have befallen those who did survive. Though, for some, an ill tide did arrive. Looking at the lifeless body of the Innkeeper’s son on the road, the tide has gone out, she thought, and washed away life with it. Looking about, as her companions helped the survivors remove salvageable items from the smoldering ruins, she saw him staring at her, studying her face for a response. “Sorry?” She stared, studying his face. Seemed odd for an elf to sport facial hair. Must be half-elven then. Yes, that would make more sense. He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the conversation. “You alright? Is anyone here in need of healing?” Pointing, she directed him to the others gathering the common folk to determine the course of the past evening’s events. Once they had gathered what could be salvaged and paid homage for those lost to the gods, they collected the remaining folk and debated their options. “We can make way south to the ford and 'safer' lands," suggested the rogue, though all knew it was only his own safety that concerned him. She thought, pondering the sense of it. "It would be safer, and she would also learn what had kept James." He had been gone two days longer than he had claimed the trip was to take. Before resolving that thought, another had made a choice known. “We could stay and not surrender the area to the orcs, and could even send a message to the Vesve Elves telling them of our encounter.” shouted out the Fighter and the Ranger in near unison. Stay? Where? In what? She was not accustomed to living in the wilds. To her, that seemed the choice not to make, but in staying she would be supporting her friends. She weighed the matter in her mind. "Hmm. It is safer with them than without, and by rebuilding, they get a place to return home to, so to speak, and maybe even part ownership. Surely, the innkeeper would prefer them as houseguests, rather than orcs? Don't know. Neither choice seems a good one." A third, and then a forth voice responded. “Return to Chendl. It is where the innkeeper is from, and the walled city is large enough to offer good shelter." the guard and the half-elven Cleric responded. “Follow the orc leader south! Him have sword of ancestors! It is the thing that only matters!” boomed the Barbarian. "One certainly makes sense," she ponders. "Walled city, good shelter, means good food, good company, and good opportunities. Yet the barbarian, with all his obvious character flaws, does make for an epic story. 'The Quest for the Sword! The Glory!' One can hardly resist a good story opportunity." The half-elf focused on her again. "And your thoughts?” he asks, bringing her out of her internal debate. “Seems each choice has things we must consider." the bard softly muses. “True. 'Tis tough choices and always misfortune you can find upon the road these days,” he adds. “No, not always." she smiles, just slightly, hardly to the notice of any save the perceptive half-elf. “Being an adept of St. Cuthbert, have you not heard the tale of the Grey Friar?” she asks, with raised brow. The Adept, looking puzzled and taken back at her shift of the conversation, replied “No. I would happily hear such a tale." As they collected the remains of any salvageable items, she began her tale...
“That is quite a tale you have versed.” He smiles, putting the last of the crates into the wagon. With that she smiles and slowly nods to the elven cleric, pleased to have told the Tale of the Grey Friar and Bobby. “It certainly makes traveling the road more inviting. Shall we see what is to be decided then?” Helping her down from the wagon, they made their way back to the group and concluded their debate.“There once was a Grey Friar that was known by all in his hamlet. He sustained himself meagerly, yet always had kind words for any that spoke to him, but seldom did he choose to initiate any conversations. Some saw him as a beggar, others as a hermit, but everyone agreed him harmless. Even with his meager funds, he always had something for a local stray dog. The dog, (of a Scottish terrier look) was nothing fearsome to behold, nor did he work or entertain for his meals. He was, however, a good and faithful companion, following the friar as he made his way through the day. Sadly, one eve, the friar met with misfortune. Brigands on the road accosted and slew the old man. "Bobby," as the dog had come to be known, could do little to effect the outcome of such a grizzly scene. He lay there in the aftermath of the terrible event next to his friend, keeping vigil. No one could believe why any would do such an offense. Yet none, really, tried to investigate further. All were content, and agreed on how tragic it was, yet they let their days pass on without any effort to exact justice. Every day Bobby returned to the gravesite along the road, and every day he kept watch. Days, months, and years went by, and every day Bobby returned to keep his friend company. One day an older, ruddy, ruff-honed look of a man in a chapeau passed on by. He was so impressed and touched at Bobby's devotion. Also knowing that Bobby was in the twilight of his life, he imbued Bobby's "spirit of devotion" to forever remain. Now it is said that special travelers devoted to St. Cuthbert, and all that are good and faithful, may find Bobby along the road to help guide and look over them, as he once faithfully did with the Grey Friar...
Spread
The knowledge and spread of this myth seems associated with the spread of the Church of St. Cuthbert and the renown of the travels of The Lightning Brigade predominantly in the Kingdom of Furyondy and some versions westward as far a Veluna and Geoff.
In Literature
Recorded in The Chronicales' of the Lightning Brigade: Volume 1
The Wolves' Howl Inn, located on a militia traveled road to the battle lines known as the Razing. Smoke and burnt timbers are most of what remains of the waystation that sheltered from the elements at the midpoint from the Fortress of Redoubt and The Razing Line.
Date of First Recording
4th of Needfest 585
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