Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery -- Episode 03: Darkness at the Edge of Town

The façade of the Ravenous Wyvern had seen better centuries. Decades of neglect had worn down its once crisp edifice to that of a dull, dirty gray. Where the elite of Regentsburg had once entertained themselves with expensive wine, imported upriver from Browridge, now the much less discriminating patrons plied themselves with whatever ale had been stolen from the wharves and resold at a reasonable profit. Sometimes it was fair, but most often it was bad, and made even worse by the owner’s habit of watering down his drinks with the tepid sludge that passed through the open creek in the alleyway behind the building.

How a place this foul can stay open, Nival thought to himself, must rank as one of the Great Unanswered Mysteries.

The word ‘rank’ came to mind again, as he shouldered open the creaking front door. A mixture of stale sweat and week-old hamhocks assailed his nostrils, made bearable only by the faint aroma of a decent pipeweed being smoked by someone deep in the tavern’s dark recesses.

“Good risin’ to yeh, m’lord,” called an overeager barman, wider than he was tall, as he squeezed through the gap in the bar to greet the dwarf. He wiped his greasy hands on an even greasier rag. “Wot can I git for yeh t’ make yer day passable?”

Nival fought down the urge to suggest a bath with plenty of soap, to improve both the barman’s appearance and the general health of the patrons. Instead, he held up a pair of coppers. “Your usual costs about this much?

The barman, his eyes struggling to leave the image of the burnished armor and the rod of authority in the dwarf’s left hand, nodded eagerly. “Yes, m’lord. That is, on most days. What with the wreck of the Marigold last week, prices for all our brews have increased around... oh, lemme see...” The barman tried to do a quick calculation in his head of how much he could take the dwarf for, but Nival spared him the headache.

“Don’t bother tryin’ to fleece me. There’s a silver in it if you can find a clean tankard in this hovel, and bring it to me filled with a decent ale. Just ale, mind you, without the benefit of whatever you use to cut it with. And for Moradin’s sake, keep your fingers out of it.”

Without waiting to see of the barmen had felt insulted, Nival strode to the back of the room.

“I’m surprised you’d drink that, without casting your most powerful purify spell first,” said the smoke-wreathed human near the back.

“I’ve been taught, when our muscles can bear the weight instead of our prayers, then that’s the way to go,” Nival replied. “Thought you’d have remembered that.”

“Oh, I remember, all right. I just don’t believe it any more.” The fellow’s drinking spell effortlessly drew sparkling wine into a pool floating in the air, where occasionally a small waterfall dropped down into his pursed mouth.

Next Episode: Smoke and Errors