NOVEL WEB Chapter 1: A Pint of Trouble**
Chapter 1: A Pint of Trouble** The tavern was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of spilled ale and pipe smoke. The steady hum of conversation echoed off the stone walls, blending with the crackle of the hearth.
In the far corner, perched at a rickety table under the flickering light of an old lantern, sat Zorath, a dark elf whose silver hair and pale, ashen skin stood out starkly against the shadowy recesses of the room. His eyes, like molten gold, scanned the room with a bored but watchful expression. The tavern was a crossroads for all sorts: humans, dwarves, orcs, and even the occasional gnome. Zorath liked it here, not because of the company, but because no one asked questions.
And for a man like him—someone who carried more secrets than silver in his pocket—that was important. His long fingers wrapped around a worn mug of ale. He downed the bitter beverage in one swig, slamming the mug back down on the table. From across the room, he noticed a squat, muscular figure glaring at him. Zorath's pointed ears twitched in annoyance. He knew the look. He’d seen it too many times. "Oi! You!" The gruff voice belonged to a stout dwarf with a wild, ginger beard and arms as thick as tree trunks. He stood up from his table, knocking over his stool in the process. “What’s a pointy-eared twig like you doing in our part of the tavern?”
Zorath sighed, leaning back in his chair. “what’s it to you?” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed, and the bar fell into an uneasy silence. The regulars knew this wasn’t going to end well. Dark elves and dwarves had a long history of bad blood, something Zorath rarely bothered with. But tonight… tonight he wasn’t in the mood to let things slide.
“Your kind ain’t welcome here,” the dwarf growled, cracking his knuckles as he approached. His companions, a ragtag group of miners and mercenaries, chuckled behind him, clearly entertained by the coming spectacle. Zorath’s hand drifted toward the dagger hidden under his cloak, but he didn’t draw it—yet. “I suggest you turn around, dwarf before shit gets ugly.” The dwarf chuckled; a deep belly laugh that echoed through the room.
“Ugly? You’re talking to Uthgar Stonefist! No one dares to call me ugly!” With a roar, Uthgar lunged at Zorath, swinging a ham-sized fist toward his face. Zorath moved like a shadow, slipping to the side as the dwarf’s fist sailed through the air, crashing into the table, and splitting it in two. Ale spilled across the floor, and the tavern erupted in chaos.
Zorath countered with a swift kick to the back of Uthgar’s knee, sending the dwarf sprawling to the ground. But before Zorath could follow up, one of Uthgar’s companions—a hulking human—charged at him. Zorath ducked, spinning low and sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. The human hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the stone floor. Uthgar was back on his feet, swinging wildly. Zorath dodged and weaved through the dwarf’s onslaught, but even he couldn’t avoid every strike. A heavy fist caught him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him and sending him stumbling backward.
The rest of the Barflies began to join in the fray, smashing chairs and throwing punches indiscriminately turning into a full-on brawl. Zorath cursed under his breath, pulling his trusty dagger from his cloak. He didn’t want to kill anyone today, but if this kept up, he might not have a choice. The dwarven drunk came at him again, this time with a hammer in hand. Zorath parried the Uthgar’s weapon, twisting Uthgar’s arm and sending the dwarf crashing into a nearby table. “Enough!” a booming voice shouted from the bar.
The tavern owner, a burly orc with a booming voice and arms like tree trunks, waded through the chaos. “I don’t care who started it. All of you—OUT!” Zorath wiped a trickle of blood from his lip as he was grabbed by two of the orc’s enforcers, who roughly shoved him toward the door. Uthgar, nursing a swollen jaw, was being dragged out as well, still muttering curses under his breath. The cold night air hit Zorath like a slap in the face as he was thrown onto the cobbled street outside the tavern. His ribs ached, his head throbbed, and his mood was sour. He hated these towns—always the same ignorant fools looking for a fight. He dusted off his cloak and turned to leave when he felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck. Zorath froze, his keen senses suddenly overwhelmed by a strange, pulsing energy. It wasn’t magic or any martial arts, at least not one he was familiar with, but it gripped him tightly.
He tried to move, but his body refused to obey. Before he could call out, a hooded figure stepped from the shadows, their face obscured by the dark cloak they wore. “Don’t struggle,” the figure whispered, their voice low and cold. “This will be over soon.” Zorath’s vision blurred, and he felt himself falling. The last thing he saw was the cobblestones rushing up to meet him.
*** When Zorath awoke, he was no longer in the street. He was bound to a chair in a small, dimly lit room. His head throbbed, and there was a dull ache in his chest. He tried to summon his magic, but it felt distant, like a faded memory. A door creaked open, and the hooded figure from before stepped in, followed by another—this one taller, dressed in dark robes with silver runes etched across the fabric. “Ah, you’re awake,” the robed figure said, his voice smooth and measured. “Good. We’ve been waiting.” Zorath glared at them, his mind racing. “Who are you? What do you want?” The figure chuckled softly.
“Who I am is of little consequence. What I want, however, is… complicated.” he chuckled softly. Feeling a sudden, sharp pain in his head like someone was driving a spike through his skull. He clenched his teeth, trying to push through the agony, but the pain intensified. “Tell me, Zorath,” the figure continued, stepping closer. “Do you remember our past?” Zorath’s breath caught in his throat as fragmented memories—flashes of another life—suddenly flooded his mind. Images of a vast underground city, of fire and steel, of a name that wasn’t his but felt familiar. “You’re beginning to remember, aren’t you?” the figure whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “The life you thought was lost… it was never gone. It was merely hidden.” The figure vanished into thin air, and Zorath gasped as the flood of memories consumed him.
The figure vanished without a trace.