It was a rainy night, but the visitors of Rose and crown, a famous pub of this small city, were all in a very excited mood. It was the fault of the empty bottles.  Ewalt was in a good mood. He was standing on the table, making weird sounds on something that seemed like a guitar and singing from the top of his lungs.

Hartwin Ferdinand Leon Bluee von Dresslerg was carefully sitting in the corner. And by carefully I mean he was trying to touch the table and the bench the least he could. Hartwin was a son of a baron, who owned a little land by the sea and he was used to some comfort. And yet he tried, he couldn’t imagine those awful wooden tables being comfortable.

Ewalt finished his song, received applause (and one apple, that smashed on his shoe) and sat back at the table.

“I was amazing, wasn’t I?” asked Ewalt with a wide smile and waved to one of the girls for another beer. Hartwin gave him a disgusted look.

“How can you call it music? It’s...I’ve never heard something as terrible as this,” he said with a sarcastic tone. Ewalt pathetically put his hand on his heart.

“Oh the shame coming on a poor poet! Your words stab deeper than swords, noble sir!”

The prince just rolled his eyes, but Ewalt already started shouting to the whole pub and it didn’t seem like he’s going to stop.

“Oh what a poor man I am! Everyone hates me! If they only knew what a path I have behind me. It all began when I was a little child…” He reached for his guitar and with a few twisted acords he started to sing another song.

“And this is what I am supposed to work with?”
Hartwin moved his head to look up at the stranger who was pointing at him. The stranger had the face of a man, who knows exactly what sword is the best to kill a random prince in a questionable pub. He was staring at Hartwin with a mix of disgust and disbelief in his look. Hartwin blinked.

“Um, I guess it’s so, sir. You’re the warrior that’s supposed to come with us?” he asked, hoping that it’s just some random person passing by. He really didn’t want to spend his first expedition with this man. To his disappointment, the warrior nodded.

“That’s me. Tyrak. Aren’t we supposed to be three of us?” he asked, looking around. Suddenly he stopped and glared first at Ewalt and then at Hartwin.

“Oh damn, please don’t tell me this is him. I’m gonna need a drink.”

Hartwin just silently nodded. Tyrak sat by the table and waved for a beer. He kept staring at the wall behind Hartwin without saying a word and that was scaring the prince a little. Ewalt finished another song and came back to the table, laughing.

“Look who we got here, some pretty face!” he laughed and grabbed Tyrak’s cheeks. The warrior stood up. He was more than two feet taller than Ewalt and he looked like a mountain.

“What did you just say?”

Ewalt made a few steps back. Tyrak was just standing there for a moment, looking scary, until he sat back again.

“If I don’t kill you ‘till the end of this...task, you owe me at least two beers.”

Ewalt sighed in relief and nodded.

“Then I’m afraid you’re gonna stay sober, because I’m really good at surviving. Like that time with the goat and the knight… Have I told you about it? No? Oh, what a mistake! I have amazing rhymes to this story!”

And the third song of that evening started.

-

It was a few hours later, when they were sitting at the table and Ewalt already had a certain amount of alcohol circulating in his blood, when Tyrak brought up their mission.

“So I am supposed to kill a dragon and you two are my right hands,” said the warrior with sarcastic glaze on Ewalt. The man just hiccuped and took another sip of beer. Tyrak sighed and turned to Hartwin.

“What about you, little lord? Any experience with this dragon kind of stuff?”

“Nah,” Hartwin shook his head, “I’m here just for the diplomatic part. You know, contracts, ladies in trouble and so on. Dragons are not really my field.”
Hartwin reached for Ewalt’s beer, who looked like he'd had enough. The singer made a weird noise and tried to reach again for his glass, but  Hartwin put it from his reach and  took a sip himself. Tyrak was staring at them with an expression of absolute despair on his face.

“Oh my god. If we don’t get killed by tomorrow, I’ll assign  it as my personal achievement,” he whispered to himself, before he stood up, grabbed both his companions by their arms, and dragged them to their beds.

-

They left early in the morning. As they got out of the grey, rushed town, Vranian mountains opened in front of them in their full grace. The sun, rising over silver tops of mountains, coloring the whole land under in orange and pink. A big bird, sitting on one of the mountains, stared at the three new wanderers, who were grinning as the sun hit in their eyes.

Hartwin was the first one who put his eyes away from the sun and urged his horse to go again.
“Come on, we don’t have that much ti-” The prince never got to finish his sentence, because a strong force pulled him back so sharply he almost fell down. Tyrak gripped Hartwin’s sleeve and his eyes were giving the prince a mad look.

“Before you enter the mountains,” he hissed, “you should pray to all gods you know, that you’ll make it out alive.”

Hartwin was staring in his mad face and maybe he was praying in his mind for Tyrak to let him go, but the warrior didn’t seem to be satisfied with Hartwin’s inner prayer.

“Gen-tle-man, please,” a jovial voice interrupted their conversation. Ewalt was sitting on a mule, concentrating on putting stress on every single syllable. Two deadlooks reached him at once. He raised his hands up as a sign of peace and almost fell from the mule. Tyrak just shook his head sarcastically and continued going without another word.

-

“And?”
“And that's all for today,” said Hartwin and ran his fingers through his grey hair. His little daughter gave him a sad look.
“But please, you said today you will tell me a longer story. I don't even know how it ends!”
Hartwin smiled. “That's one more reason for you to go to sleep right now. The sooner you go to bed, the earlier tomorrow will come and I'll tell you the rest of the story."
He kissed her on the forehead, before he left and slowly closed the door behind him, his mind still flooded with the memories of the old adventures.