A dwarven mage was a rare thing, especially in their capital city Ironforge. While most dwarfs were interested in treasure hunting or dragon slaying, their mages preferred a quieter life from behind the scenes. Some would manipulate matters in court, using their spells to gather influence and their intellect to impress nobles. Others, however, weren't so ambitious with their gifts in magic.
You were one such dwarf.
Your name was Zelda Bagshot. You had been born to a couple of hunters who had spent most of their lives living in the winter wilderness of Dun Morogh, only deciding to settle down in Ironforge after they had you. They opened up a tavern and you grew up living in the bar-room, listening to the stories of adventures and hearing about the world. But, most importantly, you grew up on ale. You were practically nursed on the stuff and by the time you were sixteen, you could drink four men under the table.
This was, in part, thanks to your magical gift you discovered on your own at an early age. When you turned ten, you discovered that you could move things with your mind and cast simple spells. However, instead of telling your parents so you could get a proper training, you kept your gift quiet and learned about controlling your powers on your own. They called dwarves like you hedge mages, but people had a different name for your now that you had turned twenty one.
"Wench!" called one of the adventurers who had visited your parent's pub. "Bring me more ale!"
Already an adult and you hadn't stepped out of your parent's home yet. But this never bothered you, as you enjoyed the stink of bar and the sounds of a pub. For your age, you were also incredibly beautiful and thin by dwarf standards. You didn't have the curves that most dwarven women were famous for, looking so much like a typical human save for your short stature. Most noticeable was your long fiery hair done up in two braids behind your head.
"Just a moment, hun," you said to your clearly tipsy customer. "You still haven't paid for your first few."
The ragged human looked cross with you now. "Don't give me any lip and fill my mug, stupid wench."
You knew better than to lose your temper with a drunk, and this was exactly the sort of man you had been looking for. "Fine, tell you what. I'll give you all the free ale you want, but you need to beat me in a drinking contest. If you lose, you need to put down twice what you owe for the drinks."
"Hah," the man pulled out two gold coins and slammed them on the table. "You're on!"
You smiled and quickly brought out a handful of drinks, allowing the both of you to get to work. By the third sip of beer, you had gathered the attention of everyone in the tavern as they watched.
Your opponent kept on drinking, never once realizing that you had been transferring a large portion of each of your cups into his own tankard with magic. By your tenth glass, he was already struggling to even sit up straight. In a couple of more chugs, he was out cold on the table.
You smirked at your success, barely even feeling tipsy from the few drinks you did have and snatched up the coins. "Thank you very much."
Most of the patrons returned to their own drinks as you left your sleeping victim at the table with a half-fill tankard still stuck in his hand. But in the shadows of the tavern was a pair of eyes looking at you. They belonged to...
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author