Malvern
“Welcome to the Malvern. Do you have your adventuring party already, or shall I seat you at an empty table and fill it up with singles?” The hostess looked at them bleary eyed. Away, behind a wooden pillar, there was a shout and a burst of flame that came round the pillar, before a loud thunk put an end to it.
Morel Th’an Jor’el looked over to his wife, Ratina Cage. She was shaking her head vigorously. “Um, sorry,” Morel said, “but we were under the impression that this was a more quiet establishment.”
The hostess shook her head. “It was, back in the day, but because the Malvern is situated on the King’s Road beneath the Mountains of Doom and above the Eighteenth Goblin Kingdom. Adventurers come here to start their adventure. So table for two.”
Morel looked over to his wife. She only sighed. There was a look in his eyes that she understood too well. “We’ll have a table, but we don’t want to have any adventure that lasts past six tonight. We have kids.” As interesting as that was, the hostess ignored it and was walking into the tavern.
The couple followed. As soon as they rounded the corner, they were assaulted with the noise. There were to many tables too count, but at each of them were sets of five. Some of them were in armor of varying quality, others were just in shirts and pants. Elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings. Morel thought he caught an orc. They were shown to their table, Morel’s back was to a large lizard man.
“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” Ratina asked. Something belched flames.
“Look, I’m not saying that I want to become a regular, but it has its charms, no?” Ratina was undoubtably thinking about the babysitter, but Morel was more concerned with the mutton he was eyeing.
A halfling came by and peered over their table. Morel gave a start. This was faster service than he was used to. “I’ll have the Magician’s mutton and a mead.”
“Oh, I’m not a waiter. I’m your third. Shortshank’s the name. I’m a rouge, a pickpocket.” Morel checked his pants, the money bag was still there. “I was told to meet up with you guys. What are your classes?”
“Oh, no. I’m an accountant now. I used to sing in a band, but I’m a dad now.”
“Bard!” the halfling shouted unhelpfully. “And you?” he asked, turning to Ratina.
“Morel, I hate this place.”
“Barbarian!” the halfling shouted as two more adventurers sat down. Ratina was about to turn purple. She never got the chance to loose it on the halfling, however. Someone burst into the tavern.
“Goblins have taken three children and their baby sitter!”
Michael Frutig 