I is Midge Highwater and I guess I’ll be tellin’ a story t’night since that no ’count musician ain’t showed. You gots to do somethin’ for entertainment around here. The Busted Gut ain’t exactly known for its good ale, that’s fer sure.

No, no, Arnie. Jus’ settle down. I ain’t puttin’ down yer place. I spent plenty a night sippin’ grogs around these parts. It sure as hell beats goin’ to one a them fancy places, like the Frog or the Hex. Besides, where else can a workin’ man get four quaffs for a silver? Seems like these days a man can’t even —

What? I’ll get to it! I’ll get to it! Can’t a man finish his damned drink first? I ain’t one uh them fancy storytellers on the streets scrapin’ up change. I’ll tell my story in my own way and in my own time. That’s how us Highwaters is.

Now. Let’s see.

My story.

Well, you know how yer always hearin’ about them fancy sword fighters. You know the kind, don’t you? Like that Zith feller who teaches fancying to the young lads? Or that big Oracar?

I know! I know! So what if Oracar don’t use a sword? He’s still one uh them big ones everybody’s always raisin’ some sort of hullabaloo over.

Now don’t interrupt me again. Understand?

Good.

Huh? What was that? Oh, why not. One more ale won’t hurt. Thank you much, Arnie.

As I was sayin’, everybody knows about all them big name sword fighters. About how they is always goin’ off to save the world or some sort uh nonsense. How they is slayin’ dragons left and right and defendin’ the honor of some hussy who done up and lost her honor years ago.

Well, ole Midge has been around for a while and I’ve seen a thing or two. And I’ve come to the conclusion that for the most part all them stories is hogwash. Oracar hisself was in here just a couple of nights ago and he was drunker’n a pissed rat, he was. Swingin’ that big axe around like he was gonna cut off heads if’n he didn’t get his drink right quick. Shoot. He was so drunk even that fairy musician (Damn his eyes. Where is he? ) coulda tossed him out that window.