Chickens

Imagine the Green Gryphon tavern in the evening on a rainy night. The place is busy as usual and a group of new adventurers are seeking advice from the barkeep (as all bartenders are keepers of worldly knowledge). Instead he directs them to a figure in the corner.

As the party approaches the man in a hooded cloak, they note that his clothes, though old, worn and no longer in fashion are never-the- less, clean and serviceable. By the light of the fireplace they can see weird designs on his shirt and cap that he wears.  Though he seems to carry a sword, other instruments of death and destruction can be seen peaking out of his high hard boots and a backpack that is close to his feet. As the strangers approach, they can see he is petting a cat. The feline growls a warning, but is hushed by the man with a ‘shh.’

The man raises his head to take in the new arrivals. He has a short goatee starting to grey. His eyes are a lighter shade of green than his cat; and if you could see into them you would get that they had seen much. Laugh lines and a few wrinkles around his eye and mouth make his age hard to determine. He leans back a bit in the booth, as his bulk takes up most of the bench. He reaches for a mug of something, but doesn't lift to drink. He gazes at the leader of this party, who has come seeking knowledge to help them on their myriad of untold adventures yet to come.

This man seated before them is called O.G. by friends and comrades. The rest know him as The Old Gamer.

“So, you want the knowledge that I and others like me, have gleamed over the years; hoping to cheat death and improve your social and economical levels. Hmph. You young ones don’t know really know about those that went before you. They paved the way. They are honored names; if you are even familiar with them. Always remember; you are standing on the shoulders of others who were like you at one time. And we didn't have any one to turn for advice. We made it up as we went along.”

He takes a sip from the mug and smacks his lips, “Ah. That’s the stuff. This,” and he shakes the mug at them spilling some, “is what you need to fortify yourself for a night of adventuring. It is the tried and true of most gamers; it is the Dew of the Mountains. Good stuff. You can get it in 2 liters, 6 or 12 pack. There, that’s some advice.”

Those standing before him looked unimpressed.

“What? Something more than drink advice? Well, if I must. Grab a seat. You standing there makes me nervous; can’t see the whole bar.” With that he puts down the cat, which immediately scampers off.

Reaching for a bowl that held chips and other snackables, he stuffed in a mouthful and chewed. “This,” and he holds up some popcorn before eating it, “reminds me of chickens.” He pauses. “Now I can see by the looks on your faces what you are thinking; No, I’m not drunk or pulling your leg and my mother had me tested; I am not crazy. See; this is what I mean about you young ones. You think you know it all.” He grabs another handful of popcorn but just looked at it.

“Back in the day, it was pretty much dungeon delving to get the gold and goodies. There was always something big, nasty and mean guarding the stuff; usually a lot of them. One group I hooked up with took some live chickens with them when we went down into this one dungeon.”

Taking a long pull of his drink, his eyes went back to another time and another place.

“Well, we cleared out a few rooms and redistributed various items and gold from their previous owners to our own packs. Seemed pretty easy. That was until our fighter kicked in this one door and we rushed in. I’m not sure what it was or how many; I just know that we were in it deep. We ran.”

Looking at his listeners, “Don’t give me those looks, I didn't stutter. We ran. Don’t think you have to stand and fight everything you meet. There is no disgrace when you meet something bigger and more bad-ass than you. In any case, we all took off down the hall-way. But these things were right behind us, and gaining!”

He laughed now, “Man did they smell.  Anyway, here is where this party’s smarts saved our hides. As we ran, they opened up the sacks that had the chickens in them and let them go. Besides lightening the load, we just gave the big baddies some free chicken dinners. Well they fell on those feathered things like nothing else. We heard a few squawks and then nothing.  I didn't take the time to look back, but I have a feeling there was nothing left but a few feathers.

“Those chickens provided us with a diversion, and gave those things a meal that didn't put up a fight. It took us 2 more days to get out of there. We needed to get back to town and get a few more swords. And chickens.”

He takes another healthy pull and pops a few kernels into his mouth as he watches what he said sink in. Smirking a bit, “Good; I can see you are starting to think unconventionally. And that may save your life.”

Making a show of looking around the tavern, he then focuses back on his listeners, “Now this other bit of ‘chicken-sense’ came about…oh I’d say 5 years ago.” He had lowered his voice so just the listeners could hear him. “While this might make some of the goody-two shoes a bit queasy; it’s effective. A group I was with had this mage. He was a bit…different. He too carried chickens. As we descended into a underground fortification, he took a chicken out, killed it and then cast animate dead animals. So it was a zombie chicken under his command. He then cast some spells on it; one was that whenever it took any kind of damage, it would explode. He then commanded it to walk ahead of the party about 20 feet. So if it ran into a trap, it exploded. If something was hiding ahead and attacked the chicken, it exploded giving us a chance to get ready and causing damage to whatever had attacked the undead chicken.”

He could see the skeptical looks on some of their faces, “I saw it with my own eyes. Disturbing, messy and effective, all at the same time.”

Yawning, “Well, that’s going to do with the advice giving for the evening. Go out and think unconventionally and you might just make it back to share what you have learned with a group of new adventurers.”

Signaling for another drink he yawned again. “Tell you what; come back after you've been out and I will tell you some more tales. I heard of this tree-preacher mage made a good living at it; telling about magic items, spells , monsters and all other things. Now what was his name again? Oak, wood….no Elm-something or another. In any case; good luck and well met.”