Dungeons and Dragons: Stories of a Dungeon Master

Chapter 1: Part 1 (Oscellia)

Harth, the innkeeper of the Crossfield Inn, wiped the rim of his mug with a ragged cloth as he casually listened to the low murmur of the tavern. Several of the locals had gone missing as of late, yet no one seemed to particularly care. It wasn't too worrisome; although, many of them would frequent the tavern, so the tables seemed relatively empty compared to the months prior. The door slowly opened as a young elf, who appeared no older than someone in their mid-twenties, stepped through the opening. She carried herself with a certain poise as she made her way towards the counter, turning a few curious heads as she passed. Harth straightened himself into a more upright position. "Greetings!" he declared. "Welcome to the Crossfield Inn, milady! What can I do for you?"

"Hello," she smiled, "Could I trouble you for a glass of wine?" she asked politely.

"Why, of course!" Harth said joyfully, turning to the area behind the counter. He pulled an old bottle from one of the higher shelves and carefully poured the contents into a glass. "Here you are," he said, sliding the glass across the counter.

"Thank you," the elf replied before taking a sip of her drink. She glanced over her shoulder for a brief second before turning back towards the innkeeper. "Have you heard any rumors of anything strange happening lately?" she said in a hushed tone.

Harth raised an eyebrow. "Strange?" he repeated. "Not that I can think of. Few drunkards coming and going, but nothing too off I suppose."

Somewhat disappointed, the elf sighed. "Thank you," she said with a half-hearted smile. She slid a few silver pieces over the counter before taking a seat farther down the bar.

The door suddenly opened; this time, a half-elf entered. Two elves in one day? Harth thought to himself. Interesting. She walked toward the counter with a slight skip in her step. "Hi!" she said happily.

"Why hello there!" Harth replied. "Would you like something to drink?"

The half-elf peered around the tavern. "It's quiet in here," she remarked. She rose her shoulder. Harth now saw that she carried an instrument of some kind on her back. "Do you mind if I play a few songs? Maybe liven the place up a bit?" she proposed.

Harth's hesitation was plain upon his face. "Perhaps..." his voice trailed off. "Let me hear you play first. I do enjoy a good tune, but I'd like to hear how well you play before I allow you to play for the customers."

The half-elf's face lit up as she nodded in compliance. She slung the case over her shoulder and placed it on the surface of the counter. Carefully opening the latches, she removed an old viol from the case. Harth rose his eyebrows in surprise. Haven't heard a viol in quite some time... I hope she plays well. The girl rose the instrument to her chin and slowly began to play. The notes screeched in an array of horrid sounds that sent chills down Harth's spine. "Enough!" he finally yelled. "That'll be enough."

"Perhaps, it's out of tune..." the half-elf suggested, trying to save face. She cleared her throat. "I'll just have a glass of wine then," she murmured defeatedly while sliding a few pieces of silver across the bar.

Harth nodded. "Probably for the best," he said while pouring the wine.

The half-elf drank almost the entirety of her glass as she walked towards an empty section of the tavern. Her eyes were fixated on the case of her viol, staring blankly at the leather.

What a strange night, Harth thought as he sank his head into his hands. "Excuse me," a voice suddenly prompted. Harth glanced upwards and staggered backward in surprise. The man before him had long black hair brushed to the side of his face, which revealed a rather alarming pasty tone of skin and vibrant crimson eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any milk, would you?"

What is going on? Harth thought, bewildered. "Billy!" he called from over his shoulder. A mug suddenly came flying through the window separating the bar from the kitchen. Harth caught the mug and slid it towards the newcomer. "Fresh from the yak," he said exhaustedly.

"I'd like to put this on a tab," the man said plainly before sipping his milk. Harth shrugged. "I've heard rumors," the man began, "Of a figure looming over the edges of the Vesp Mountains. Would you happen to know anything about it?" he asked inquisitively. The elf on the edge of the bar leaned in a little closer.

Harth rubbed his chin in thought. "No, not I," he replied. "But perhaps one of the fishermen may know." He gestured towards the corner of the bar. "That over there is Threll. He may be able to answer your questions." The man sitting in the corner of the bar, oblivious to the conversation at the counter, sipped his ale and exhaled slowly as he stared out the window.

"I should have a word with him then," the dark-haired figure replied. "Also, could I trouble you for a pint of ale?"

Harth slid the mug across the bar with pursed lips. "Here you are. I suppose you want to put this on your tab as well?"

The visitor nodded and then took the pint of ale with him as he walked towards Threll's booth. He set the mug on the table. "Your mug was looking a bit empty," he said earnestly. "My name is Noel. Do you mind if I sit with you?" Upon closer inspection, Noel could see that Threll's cheeks were quite red from drinking.

"Why thank you, boy!" Threll bellowed. "I'm Threll! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"It's nice to meet you as well. Harth tells me you're a fisherman. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The elf sitting at the bar hastily finished her wine and strolled towards Threll and Noel's table. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she interjected. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked candidly.

Threll's mood turned sour. The color from his cheeks appeared to disappear as he turned towards the elf. "It is proper manners to introduce one's self upon making a new acquaintance," he said in a low tone. "Where I come from, people introduce themselves before speaking."