Chronicles of Ardavia

Chapter 1

Moradin's Hovel Tavern and Inn

The narrow mountain pass only seemed to get narrower. The once block became a line of adventurers, the leader gruff and stout, with a long red beard. He was quite clearly a dwarf, a mountain folk. His chain armour chinked with every heavy step he took, and his fingers waited anxiously on the grip of the mighty axe.

"Are you sure we're going the right way, you stupid dwarf?" whined comparatively lightly fortified elf behind him, bearing a wooden symbol that resembled a unicorn, the holy symbol of Ehlonna, elven goddess of the woodlands.

"Listen here, ye uppity elfy! Ah know these 'ere mountains like me own home, so either shut yoor yap, 'er faller me!" the dwarf bellowed.

"Oh fine, we'll see how yo---ow!" A hand slapped the back of the elf's head. "What was that for?!"

"I won't have you making threats against our primary defender. What would us spellcasters DO without our friend Meit?" asked the man in elegant robes behind the elf.

"Do what we do best, of course. Blow the brains out of anything we come across with a great balls of fire." Interjected the diminutive halfling in commoner's garb.

"Oh? And just when did YOU research that spell, Cade?" asked the man again, his voice deep but nasaly.

"Oh...er...um...I can cast Magic Missle!"

"...do shut up..."

"Yes! That's a brilliant idea! All of you shut up! The end of this pass is up ahead. Do be quiet...we wouldn't want to draw attention to ourselves, would we?" asked another halfling, this one in leather armour, with knives adorning his limbs for easy access.

The elf in leather armour, holding a violin ready to play commented. "Oh, but that's what I do best! Oh, and don't argue Greenbottle. You're great at making a spectacle of yourself...around every tavern."

"It's hereditary!"

At this the party took time to stop and laugh. They all were smart enough to know inhibitions to drink were NOT in the bloodline. Barnes Greenbottle just liked to drink...a lot. This was a new adventuring party. As of late, in other kingdoms, adventuring was becoming a common occupation. It only recently spread to the Kingdom of Hemdale.

Thamior Estrallis is the healer of the group, a preist of Ehlonna from the town of Viarroc in the Kingdom of Tokol. He's known for his tendencies towards being particular. Meit is, of course, the one who knows how to put the sharp, pointy bits into the soft, squishy bits. His brother is a recent legend, Veit of Goldar, a powerful dwarven bulwark knight, or more often referred to as Dwarven Defender. Both Meit and Veit are from the Kingdom of Goldar in the Goldar mountain range, in which his pass happened to lie. The man is Jason, a wizard of Viarroc. He owns an alchemy shop near the temple in which Thamior resides. Then there is Cade Lightfoot, the party's short sorcerer, a very destructive one he is. Behind him is Barnes Greenbottle, a pyro, a thief, and a drunk. Need I say more. Lastly, there is Indiana Galanodel, the party's minstrel. He's a devout worshiper of Olidammara, god of thieves. He wears the symbol on several occurances on his armour, and he plays a fiddle with the same mask symbol etched in. It's a good sized group, but they know eachother well.

Meit had come to Viarroc looking for his own adventure, to follow in his brother's footsteps. In a tavern he met Indiana, who offered to write an epic about Meit's adventures. Also in the Foghorn Tavern they came across a very drunk Barnes Greenbottle, with his cousin Cade Lightfoot. The growing group stopped at the alchemy shop to pick up some supplies, and naturally Jason insisted on joining, and Thamior follows him wherever he goes. They heard about a goblin problem in an out of the way thorp called Tarivale, north out of the Goldar Pass, so this was where they eagerly marched to make a name for themselves.

The stocky dwarf pushed his way out of the narrow crevice, almost too bulky to get through with his armour and pack. The rest followed through, either thin or just short. Those lucky little halflings.

There the tiny town stood, not even a mile away. The homes were small wood huts, big enough to accomdate no more than 3 people comfortably, single story. There were a few larger buildings, one several stories high with many windows. It was obviously the inn.

The party fanned out, looking more like a simple clump, than a foreboding militant line, all keeping their weapons concealed. The headed directly for the inn, and in no time at all, they stood at the inn door. A sign above the door read, "Moradin's Hovel Inn and Tavern." The dwarf made a wide, bearded grin. "Ah, praise Moradin, we mus' stop 'ere!"

"You only say that because you want a drink..." Thamior irkly commented.

"Ah shoul' be'ead ye right this instant foor insultin' Moradin, Creator o' the Dwarves." Meit grunted as he pushed open the tavern door. Never before had he seen such a tidy bar! Even the barflies were neat...drunk, but neat. An auburn haired dwarf with spectacles glanced over, and his eyes lit up.

"Ay, me, can it be? Arr ye the famous Veit?"

Meit slouched annoyedly. His eyes narrowed. "No...I'm NOT Veit...I'm his brother...Meit..." he growled through clenched teeth.

"Oh...well thas' close enough fer me. Have a drink, will ye?" the bartender offered. He saw the blond haired halfling's expression light up. "An' yer friends too." He added, before going to retrieve the ale mugs. "How many?"

Meit looked around to his friends questioningly. Thamior glared. "Why would I drink? Do I look like some sort of FOOL?"

Jason merely shook his head. "Spellcasting and ale do NOT mix."

"Ditto..." piped in the other elf.

"Aye...and do I really look like I can hold my alcohol?" Cade answered. The second hafling, Barnes, nodded excitely.

"Aye, make it too, then, sirr." Meit finally responded, holding up two fingers indicatively.

Author's note: If it looks like it's spelled funny whenever a dwarf talks, that's just me trying to type out the awesome dwarven/Scottish accent. The "rr" is a rolled "r" for that sort of thing, so on and so forth...