The Meeting At The Inn 1st subjective

This is an exercise in writing 1st subjective


I, Ogmar Beardstrong of the South Gurum Dwarves, stood amongst these ale stinking humans who filled up the village inn. ‘A seaweed in a forest, many miles from the Gardom Sea. impossible!’ I could not stop thinking on the strangeness of this fact. It made the words of young Jack Hamstrung, the village fool ring true. ‘A seafaring man, dragging a big bleeding bag through the forest late at night. I looked through the window and the sun’s first rays just began to show through the dense leaves.


“It must have been the body!” Said Miss Grishwem. Tooting at the top of her voice and looking around the small crowd in that crowded inn of the Green Leaf for support of her claim. “Poor Mr. Dafferd.” She lamented.



I doubted her grief knowing full well the neighbours quarrels these two had almost every other day. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder in order to guide her back to her seat. “Let’s not jump at such conclusions.” I Said. “The blood on the leaves was animal’s blood. Not man nor dwarf bled that blood. Mr. Dafferd’s body has not been found yet.” That I knew for a fact since I had consulted with a grey wolf. He told me it was the blood of a chicken.



Miss Grishwem bounced up from her chair tooting again at the top of her long neck sounding like a frightened chicken. I tried to calm her down by placing her back into her seat but she resisted making it all very comical for the other villagers who laughed heartily. “Let go of my shoulder foul peck!” Said Miss Grishwem.


I could feel my heart quench. ‘So there it is, the ugly head of racism, that blind old snake.’ thought I, feeling very shocked and surprised. After all I had done for these people’s safety. ‘But surely someone will quite this old bat down.’ I looked around searching for an ally and found only averted eyes. I felt gutted, as if punched in the stomach. She eventually sat down, averting her eyes as well. I stormed out of the inn feeling betrayed and alone and slamming the door behind me.


I walked a few steps into the forest and heard a loud hubbub of voices from behind me. I knew Miss Grishwem was being berated for her racist words. I was now living in the village for five years. I knew very well how the people of the village appreciated my protection and loved me. After all just last week I was given a great feast in my honor. Feeling the fool I turned around heading back to the inn door.


Miss Grishwem spoke as I listened from outside. “Why couldn’t they send a human?! What with our little girls walking around all day. And now this murder! I tell you he did it! Not some seafaring human stranger. You all know it. A man would not murder his own. Let’s vote! Let’s vote and see what you think. Who thinks this peck is the murderer?”


I could not believe my own dwarven ears. I felt my blood rise up filling my head with rage. My eyes burned as I unconsciously stepped into the inn. Placing my hand on my old hammer handle.



Miss Grishwem looked around pleased, until her eyes fell on me, standing furious at the inn’s entrance, then her expression turned to fear.



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