First Edition AD&D Game
Jarvis & Bart: Brad
Deneir & Alvard: Dave
Gwestiel & Dahlia: Myself
Written from Dahlia Brandybuck’s perspective
In the region of Eriador, about two or three days ride from the Coastal Road, a small village boasted of a large inn and a busy pub. It was a good place to stop for the night as evening set in. The stables across the street boarded my pony for a reasonable pitance.
The Old rotten Man Pub was a two-story affair. The downstairs was a bit too crowded for my tastes. I ordered a mug at the bar and made my way to the upstairs loft. Long wooden tables with rustic benches overlooked the main bar below.
A human glared daggers at me from another table. He watched me intently. That was not the first time that I had experienced such hatred from a human. He had apparently taken issue with all Hobbits and had prejudged me in a negative manner.
Halfway through my first mug, a tall and slender Elf quietly made his way up the stairs. He observed myself and the human and momentarily appeared behind the unwary human. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling me to keep quiet. I struggled not to make any sign with my face. My mug suddenly appeared fascinating as I locked my eyes on it, knowing what the Elf was doing. When I looked up, he was gone.
The human would surely blame me for this thievery. “All Hobbits are thieves” he would say. A few minutes later, the Elf returned with two hearty dinners. He set one plate before me and invited himself to sit down. We chatted for a bit. I nervously cleared my plate, expecting the human to notice his missing coin purse at any moment.
Sure enough, the human found his purse to be gone. He screamed and hollared. He didn’t even question me, however. He accused the Elf. The Elven thief denied it, “You must be drunk,” he dismissed the man’s charges. The man noisily stomped off, muttering on his way out of the pub.
The Elf introduced himself as Deneir. He wore no armor and appeared rather skinny. I found my smaller stature to be helpful with our shared profession but I did not point that fact out to him. I thanked him for the meal and he politely told me that I was welcome.
A few minutes later, the human returned with a friend. Deneir hid in the shadows in the corner of the loft. The two humans, apparently named Willie and Carl, were ready for a fight. Carl was large and carried a sword taller than myself on his back. I met the two at the top of the stairs, blocking them from ascending.
Willie whined loudly, while Carl slowly threatened Deneir. Many chairs scraped along the wooden floor downstairs. Apparently we had drawn a crowd. Deneir quietkly cast a spell from the corner and two men passed out, fast asleep. The elf splashed the two men with the drags from our drinks and left the empty mugs laying on the ground near them. The barmaid was relieved when she realized there would be no fight. No one in the tavern questioned us on our way out.
I walked across the street to the local inn. Deneir wandered off in his own direction, to find trouble most likely.
Written from Gwestiel Orlinde’s perspective
The Old Rotten Man Pub lived up to its name. The place wreaked of drunk humans and unpalpatible food. Upon the tavern owners recommendation, I went across the street to the Inn to dine and find a room.
The private dining room was unavailable for rent. The public dining room was decent enough to use. I found a nice table near the window and ate a lovely meal with a glass of aged Elven wine. Elven wine is hard to come by and the human fare is most undesireable.
The innkeeper offered a room for a mere two silver pieces. When he described the facilities, I refused to book. I inquired whether he had any better suites available and chose to rent a luxurious room with a tub and parlour for a single gold piece. Whenever I spend a few weeks out in the woods, I expect the finer things during my urban visits thereafter.
My dining companions were not much to note. There was a human dressed in chain mail. He wore some religious symbols held his head up high like a man of faith. A stout dwarf with an axe only matched in size by his tankard of ale burped to himself in the corner – how lovely.
A commotion across the street drew many of the diners outside. The gossip buzzing around the room was that a fight was breaking out at the pub. Such places always draw the worst sort of patron and I was not surprised. I turned my chair slightly to get a better view of the impending entertainment.
After several boring minutes of watching people go in and out of the tavern, the inn’s dining room began to refill. The fight had apparently been avoided and the mood in the inn was quite sullen over that fact.
Sometime later, a Hobbit entered the Inn and I overheard her ordering a “Hobbit-sized” room. She paid with a few grubby coins and went to sit with the human cleric. They began to chat among themselves.
I had just finished my most recent glass of wine when a rather dashing Elf entered the dining room. He was tall and lythe. After surveying the room filled with several Humans, a Hobbit and a Dwarf, he sauntered over to my table. I nodded at him and smiled. How could I deny another Elf civilized company when there was no other option?
“Deneir of the House of Elrond,” he said quite formally in Elvish.
“Gwestiel Orlinde of Mirkwood,” I responded in kind.
We discussed the other patrons quietly in Elven. The Hobbit turned to peer at us on occassion. Perhaps she understood our conversation, but I cared little about that.
The Human and the Hobbit invited themselves to our table. The human introduced himself as Jarvis. The Hobbit said her name was Dallia Brandybutt or something along those lines. I whispered to Deneir in Elvish, “Do human clerics often take their children on adventures?” He appeared amused at the concept. The Hobbit frowned. I was now certain that she had aquired an understanding of our language somehow.
Jarvis told us in common, “I’ve always found Elves to be fascinating.” I could only turn to Deneir and raise my eyebrows in surprise. He went on to tell us that he was looking to form an adventuring company and thought that as Elves we must be quite capable. If by capable he meant naturally adept at hunting, tracking, using survival skills, fighting and general adventuring, he was correct.
We were unfortunately joined by the dwarf and another human. The Dwarf introduced himself as “Bert, the Dwarf”. The human was Alvard and he claimed to be a ranger. How humans can think of themselves as such is beyond my reasoning. It seemed that we were bound to spend some time together as Deneir agreed whole heartedly to the endevour and I felt obligated to not leave such a noble Elf in the company of such vagabonds.