The Fairwealde Campaign

Of the Meeting of the First Party

Half-Orc Bartending Sucks

Theatre D&D Campaign

The filthy half-orc bartender slung a filthier pint of mead in Igor’s face.

“Drink up Horner!” he snarled, and turned to his other barflies. A few who heard the name “Horner” turned their eyes to see Igor standing at the bar. His thick traveling robes were coated with a fine dust, but only a fool would have thought him another beggar. One didn’t have to listen hard to hear the clinking chainmail beneath his clothes, or look hard to see the filthy, rusty spear strapped to his back. A shield and battleaxe were also strapped to his body, unhidden from public eye. Igor knew this drew attention, but he didn’t care.

He wanted attention.

He spat into the concotion with disgust.

“What was that?” the bartender said, looking angrily at Igor. But even as he did his anger quailed and his eyes fell on something behind Igor. An enormous shadow covered the tiefling, and he felt his horns grow cool. A stony hand touched his shoulder.

“Excuse me?” said a booming, low voice.

“What?” Igor said harshly, his hand dropping to the axe at his side. His fingers faltered before they reached the handle.

Standing above him was a massive figure with skin like stone. Muscles like boulders rippled out from underneath a thin hide armor, and a massive greataxe swung loosely from it’s hip. The stony man leaned down, and Igor saw his eyes were wide and hungry.

“Excuse me,” he said, “But are you gonna drink that?”

“Uhhh…no,” said Igor, and the minute he did the giant was scarfing down the whole pint.

“I’ll have one,” called a frazzled voice from behind Igor. A small man in purple robes hopped up onto a barstool and dropped a few coins onto the bar. “Two please!” He turned and flashed a crazy smile at Igor. “Are they any good?” he asked.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked a strange, weak looking man in a golden brown robe. His face was thin, but he smiled and said, “Nothing for me. I’m starving myself for my belief in a god.”

“Sounds stupid to me,” Igor called out to him, and the giant and crazy eyes chuckled. An instant bond was made between the three of them.

“Please!” The thin man’s eyes grew firm. “Do not insult the heavens!”

“Why? They’re insulting me.” The purple cloaked man was witty.

“You can’t prove that!” the thin man shrilled.

“Don’t need to,” and he buried his beard in his mug.

Just then a roar and a scream came from the entrance. “Oh! Sorry! Bad Simus!” A large bear had torn one of the barflies in half and was drinking his blood. A young woman with an irresistible urge to lift up her arms and expose herself kept apologizing to the screaming customers.

“I’m soooo sorry! He’s not usually like this!” She begged with them, often clumsily bumping her khopesh into them, which for some reason had no scabbard to protect it.

“Hey! No beast companions!” shouted the bartender, but the great bear Simus roared out over his voice.

“This is gonna be good,” said the little man, and a purple light flashed in his eyes. “Think there’ll be blood?”

“Think there’ll be urine?” said the giant.



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