(This is the first in a long series of posts based off of a Dungeons and Dragons tabletop role-play game that my husband and I play with our friends once a month. These posts are my attempt to turn our game-play into a short fictional novel. Use the tag #ruthrrien (main character’s name) to search for all posts related to the story.)
In a dark and dingy pub, many were still celebrating the recent champions fight. But down at the end of the bar, a rather moody red-scaled dragonborn who had already put away five large mugs of ale, continued his story with the barkeeper.
“Honestly I don’t know what *hiccup* he saw in her anyway.” his low-rumbling voice ending with a note of disgust.
The greasy haired barkeeper nodded in silent agreement, matching his face with an equal look of distaste. He had recognized the dragonborn as the one who had delivered the fatal blow in the recent fight, which had been the talk of the entire city. The female barbarian that the dragonborn was now referring to was the stuff of juicy gossip, and the barkeeper was eager to hear it. Up until the third and final battle, she had fought ferociously alongside the dragonborn without restraint. But when the final challenger was announced, she hung back and refused to attack until the challenger gave her little choice, nearly killing her. The whispers among the town said that there had been something between them, and she had disappeared shortly after, leading to wild speculation. So he made sure the dragonborn was well supplied the moment he had arrived, accompanied with a thick layer of praise and flattery to get the dragonborn talking.
“So what was in the letter?” He had asked nonchalantly.
“Dunno, honestly.” Now frowning slightly at his empty mug. The barkeep quickly replaced it with another.
“Thanks, mate.” He took a long drink and continued, glad to have the barkeeper’s undivided attention. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “But she took off shortly after reading it…” pausing for dramatic effect, “…so I followed.”
“Go on,” also leaning in.
Grinning, he continued. “It was miles. I nearly gave up on my curiosity,” pausing again to take another long drink, grinning at the eagerness he saw in the barkeeper’s eyes. “But when loverboy jumped out to surprise her, it was all I could do not to give myself away.” At this he lost his bravado and dropped his gaze, voice ending with a low growl. As much as he enjoyed recounting the story to his very captive audience, he could not avoid the reminder that he had not in fact been victorious in the fight. He continued to drink.
The barkeeps eyes flashed with shock, but he remained quite still. “So he is……still alive?” his voice barely audible.
The dragonborn said nothing for a moment, frowning more grumpily now. “I don’t make mistakes. I killed him…I know I did…”
“But that means…” a steely glint in the barkeeper’s eyes. He grabbed yet another large glass for the dragonborn, stealthily tipping a vile in the drink before handing it to him. His now sulky guest took no notice and started drinking it, nearly downing the whole thing at once.
“Do you know where they went?” he asked cautiously.
The dragonborn huffed angrily and shook his head. “Just that they headed toward the desert.” He gulped down the last of his drink and got up, staggering some as the poison started to take effect.
“Do you need help to your room sir?” Hiding a snide smile.
He winced a little and shook his head. “Had too much to drink, even for me,” grinning weakly as he staggered down the hall, the barkeep keeping an eye on him until he entered his room before sneaking off to tell his master what he had just learned.
The Whitney Scott 