Awkid swirled his mead in his wooden cup, amused by the Hobbit's impatience,
"The trees sang their blissful songs with the wind, the birds with the beasts, and man played their instruments in concert. But after so much harmony, a string had to break under such great power. And so the tale says the sixth Mystic Red King became absorbed by his magic, slaughtering his entire council spare his queen. He cursed himself to prolong his life and sacrificed others to perform his blood ritual. The wife of the sixth Red King turned against his plans, and started a rebellion against him."
Balamor wondered who this Mystic Red King was and if these monstrous creatures were cursed by him. He didn't want to become cursed by magic like this famed Necromancer. His fear on the subject seemed to grow as Awkid told him the story. The tense green eyes of the wise Anvorbeard studied the young hobbit a moment as he took his last chug and placed his empty cup on the wooden table,
"That rebellion came to be known as the Anstian Monarchy. And ever since it defeated the Necromancer, the Kingdom has silenced magic."
The Dwarf's last words lingered awkwardly in silence. Awkid realized what this meant to him as he finished telling the tale. His entire way of life centered around concealing his cursed limb, and dismissing its attachment to him. He wished for a world that accepted those who possessed magic. As much as he felt cursed, his arm could save lives when a normal arm could not.
Balamor couldn't help but stare at the Dwarf's concealed clay limb after he finished his speech. It was wrapped in white cloth bandages, shielded from the rain and from the eyes of the Kingdom. His steel blue eyes scanned the single room of the log cabin. He knew this tree home was also hidden. Suddenly he realized this man lived a very isolated life.
Balamor closed the thick violet colored book and studied its cover once more, Of Nefarious Nature.
“So Mr. Anvorbeard, when do we begin?”
Latching the leather pack shut, Awkid threw it to his back and looked up at the wooden ceiling of his home. He let out a breath before his eyes turned to Balamor,
“Grab your map.”