Ol' Flint the Crow

A Bleak Tavern

With the rain beating hard on Samuel's curly brown hair, he took shelter under the porch of a nearby tavern. Looking at the sign which read' Bleak's Bar', the wandering minstrel shook his wooden flute to dry it out. Samuel licked his parched lips and pushed open the door of the gloomy tavern. Inside, the smell of hot baked bread permeated the air of the musty room. Walking towards the bar, Samuel saw the bartender, a hefty but muscular looking woman, serving drinks to her paying customers. With a blow of his flute, the minstrel was able to capture the attention of the lady behind the counter.

"A wee bit of beer for a poor flute player, fair maiden?" Samuel spoke with another cheerful note from his instrument.

Glaring at the minstrel, the bar lady grunted as she continued to pour drinks for her clients; the minstrel not being one of them. With a heartbroken bow, Samuel tore himself away from the bar; his mouth still begging for a small sip of ale. Scanning his eyes at the potential audience, the minstrel walked to one of the dark corners of Bleak's Bar and leaped on top of a table. The people sitting down laughed at Samuel, thinking another idiot had drunk past his limit.

"Fine ladies and congenial gentlemen!" Samuel said in his best stage voice. "I come before you as a pitiful beggar seeking nothing more than the sinful taste of alcohol. There is not a bronze coin to my name but I offer you the sounds of the heavens to your ears."

Putting his flute against his lips, Samuel played the instrument. Honing all his musical talent into this one song, the minstrel played a festive balled. His fingers fluttered across the holes of the pipe, making the listeners dazzle at their speed. Even the bar lady had to stop working to hear the lovely melody that engulfed her dark tavern. Having everyone's undivided attention, Samuel closed his eyes and played his lungs out. His belly would soon be full of the wonderful taste of liquor.

A sharp pain from his head caused the minstrel to crash land on to a hard wooden stool. With his head dripping with beer, Samuel glared in the direction the mug had been thrown. On the other side of the building sat a small hooded figure, no bigger than new born infant. With fire in his eyes, the minstrel stormed towards the shrouded person and waved his flute angrily in front of the individual's beak.

"What was that for!" Screamed Samuel; his face was still covered in the sticky alcohol. "I demand an apology!"

The hooded figure lapped at another mug of liquor before he answered. "I hate happy songs. They depress me. As for the apology; I am sorry. Now get lost!" The small person snarled like a wild animal as he swung his arm to signal the minstrel that he should leave before things became violent.

His face turning red with rage, Samuel scoffed at the drinker's sad excuse of an apology. Samuel stuck an accusing finger at the person's face as he said, "You are a bloody jerk! How dare you throw a mug of beer at an innocent flute player. What kind of monster does that?"

"Monster?" The hooded person said as if trying to recall a past event. "I'm a monster? Hmm... Perhaps I am; a monster crafted by the hands of devils in human flesh. Yes! Monster! This I can agree with. Now I think it's time for you to run away from the horrid monster. GO!"

Hearing the commotion, the minstrel was making, the bartender glanced to see who Samuel was arguing with. She dropped a pitcher of mead as she heard the shrouded figure's voice yelling in frustration.

"Oi!" The bar lady said in fear as she rushed to the minstrel. "Stop bothering Flint, YOU! Come get yourself a drink or leave my tavern! You have no idea who you're speaking to!"

"I'm speaking with an obnoxious ass!" Samuel said as his teeth gnashed with saliva hanging from them. "No one pushes me around when I've done nothing wrong! This stuck up creep doesn't scare me."

Flint moved his cloak off his hip to reveal a steel rapier hanging from his side. Taking a step away from the dangerous looking sword, the minstrel whispered, "Is this want you do; threatened the guiltless to make yourself feel tough? No, you're worse than a monster! You're evil incarnate!"

As quick as lightning, the creature discarded his shroud and lifted his small body on the table. Feeling a cold pointy object, Samuel looked down underneath his chin and saw the rapier inches away from his throat. Glancing back up, the minstrel stared at his attacker; a common black crow.

With the crow's one good eye peering at Samuel's shivering pale face, Flint's horribly scarred beak chattered in blood lust. The eye patch, that concealed his missing eye, gave the bird a menacing look about him. Even with his ruffled feathers, Flint's old battle wounds across his body, could visibly be seen by all. This bird had been through may life-threatening ordeals.

His eyes widening as he realized to whom he had been speaking to, Samuel fearfully blurted out, "Poor Flint Crow?!"

The bird nodded his head and finished the minstrels sentence, "What a tale of woe. Yes... That is me. And I really hate that song!" Sheathing his rapier, the bird seated himself back down with his head drooped below his knees. Flint the Crow exhaled as the tavern guest gazed in astonishment at the talking crow.