Tales from the Founderland

“Old Three-Fingered Rub”

(Pt. I)

 As told by Jezzrik Toeman

Regular patron at the Copper Kettle Inn

            “You’re not from around here I can see, so I’ll give you a bit of local lore for nothing (or for an ale if you’re the generous type).  Here it is, strangers:  Three fingers is bad luck, as anyone in the Founderland can tell you.  Hold up three fingers on any street in Coddleton and men will turn their heads and spit.  Just ask Old Rub if it’s unlucky, though he’s like to throw you out of his pub if you do.  Lost all five of his sons to the Deadcliff Caverns, he did, or so the tale is told.

            “Old Rub was a blacksmith from the Old Lands just West of here.  You probably don't need my telling you that Dwarves are renowned as fine smiths, and their work is coveted by all, but most dwarves don’t take to a big city like Coddleton.  So he ran a good bit of business as a smith and a tavern owner and did quite well for himself.  His wife gave him 5 sons while he dwelt here among men, but she died with the last.  Rub’s made a fortune making weapons for the gladiators of the Arena and exotic armors for the fighting animals at Tyson’s Farm. 

“You’ve… you’ve never heard of Tyson’s farm?  Never you mind, that’s another tale, and Old Rub’s tale is already long enough.  Anyhow, Old Rub had 5 sons (which is an exceptional brood for a dwarf - Old Rub had the fire, that's for certain, but never mind that). They grew up as strong and stout as Rub himself, working the forge with him day in and out.  But the sons had their father’s hot blood in them as well.  See, Rub was a warrior in the Old Lands before he settled down, and whenever dwarves come East to visit our fair city they’d pay a visit to Rub’s Tavern (‘Old Rub’s Brew Pub', that is – fine ale but a sad place, as you'll soon learn).  They’d drink enough to drown a stable full of horses and tell all the things Old Rub had done in his youth.  Well, the sons, they heard all this, and they got the idea in their heads one night to make their own name for themselves as adventurers.  They bought climbing gear with the wages Rub gave them and girded themselves for battle and then made their way by moonlight to the Deadcliff Caverns.

“If you've never even heard of Tyson's Farm, you won’t have heard of the Caverns as well,  I wager.  Well you won’t hear of them from me, either.  Men come from miles around seeking them out, hoping to find some artifact or bit of treasure not looted by the hundreds who came before them.  It’s said the Caverns were home to an ancient people, dead before the Founders ever set foot in these lands – I know, I know, it’s a tired tale told of many places, but that’s what the Caverns are, a tired tale set in the cliffs to the North of Coddleton.  That’s where Rub’s eldest three went that night, Jonquil, Haddock and Tate, there heads dancing with all the wealth they’d bring back and the monsters they’d slay with their mighty arms.  Their arms and necks were thick, and so were their wits.  All I can say is, well, perhaps you've been young yourself once.

“The next day, Rub was running all about town asking if anyone had seen his three boys.  When he found the man who’d sold them climbing gear, he beat that man senseless and toothless.  The next morning, Rub and his friends srearched and they found his boys alright - found them at the bottom of the Cliffs, their ropes cut and their bodies crushed by the fall.  Old Rub, he doesn’t howl or even shed a tear; he just binds them up in sheets, lays them gently on his cart, and takes them back to town to prepare them for burial.  Paid to have them all shipped to the Old Lands, he did to be laid in his family’s tomb.  Didn’t say a word of it to anyone, though many told him how sorry they were for his loss.  Rub was well liked about town, you see, even if he was an old dwarf.

             “Now everyone knows the Birdmen live in dwellings above the entrance to the Caverns, and everyone knows they’ll make trouble for all comers if they’re able.  Oh, they’re a cowardly lot to the last, and bear no arms save beak and claw, but a man or dwarf scaling the cliff - well, it’s hard to fight and climb at the same time.  The birdmen cut their ropes, you can be sure of that.  Think of that before you decide to go treasure hunting yourselves, and think whether a fall from 500’ suits your fancy.

(cont.)