Tungdil’s day off!
And darkness again.
Slightly more hesitantly, and this time no bang.
The success overcoming the headache for a few moments Tungdil opens his eyes to a solid timber surface 6” above him.
“So buried alive again, or;” turning his head to the right, “thank Tralda it’s a table this time.” A sawdust floor meant an inn, hopefully one he was ‘Patron’ of. The tang of Fish probably meant near water. “So probably Thanemouth”.
The holy glow near the door sealed it. “The Pidgeon, and home it is, lucky.” Then as a secondary thought creeped past the roar in his head, “Anyone else there?” The roughness of his own voice hard in his head.
“Aye” another gruff voice replied from near the shrine.
“Here T” an all too elven voice called back from somewhere in the general direction of the bar. Lotte had needed a job. Tungdil had initially thought owning a bar would mostly be drinking, but quickly realised it included ‘cleaning’ and ‘serving’, so he had needed an employee. Whilst she had reminded Tungdil far too much of the tree huggers she had turned out to be passable at cleaning, able to not burn soup, and poured pints with gusto. Most importantly she didn’t steal anything, or was good enough at it so Tungdil hadn’t caught her, and either way that meant she was a keeper.
It was tempting to ignore the daylight, close his eyes, and see through the day on the floor. But on a rare, self-mandated, day off Tungdil was not going to be so easily cowed. Rodger, or best friend Rodger, was on his own. His misses was away, and today the old mates were going to paint the town a slightly off shade of grey, Rodger having recently been promoted in his guild.
First to the smithy, and a dirty Rodger, then to the Juggs, and maybe later to Rodgers place, and a rather splendid 1017 Dwarven Ale Tungdil had acquired. But first the headache.
“Tralda, Lotte, 3 pints, back to back, don’t worry about the foam.”
“How many times do I need to tell you, my name ain’t TraldaLotte.” Came the lighthearted and well meaning response as a tankard appeared and was dutifully filled.
“Hah!” was the response from the Dwarf over near the door. “Like that ever gets old!”.
~ ~ ~
Rodger sat in one of his shops, looking through the window when an all too familiar voice was heard outside the door.
“Oi, human, I’m the fricking defender of the bloody faith, move your ass!” followed by the tinkling of a bell.
The two old friends embraced, and Tungdil set about examining, touching, poking, and almost breaking everything in the shop until Rodger realised it was time to close up before something was broken.
As they started off in to town, the sun fading behind them like all the best painting of heroes off to slay a mighty thirst Tungdil remarked “Did I tell you I’m publishing an educational book for illiterate adventurers.” And with that the conversation for the night was set.