Long Roads and Short Tempers Part I is a piece of fiction for Species of Sundara: Elves, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

Arumil was holding court from atop his bar stool, gesturing languidly with one hand while he told the tales of his travels since he’d last been through the town of Barstock nestled in the foothills of the northern mountains. Though he’d slept beneath the stars and walked into the wind near every day since he’d last departed, the Rhodann had all the grace and poise of a king on his throne, rather than the look of a road weary traveler.

He was just getting to the climax of his tale about a mysterious door he’d found while taking shelter in a cave one night, when the door of the tavern opened. Half a dozen men stepped out of the night, entering one after another. They fanned out through the tavern, cutting off escape routes and positioning themselves near doors and windows. Every man wore a blade at his belt, and many carried heavy, iron-shod cudgels. Each wore a look of grim determination, and some emotion hotter than anger burned in their eyes.

The quiet buzz of conversation that had filled the tavern went still. Arumil kept talking, however, as if he were unaware of the tension pouring into the room. His bright green eyes noted the men and their arms, however. Once they were in place, a larger man strode toward where the elf had been telling his tale. This man was thick-shouldered and barrel chested, with the calloused hands of a butcher and the crooked nose of a brawler. His boots rang hard on the floorboards, and he had his hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger at his side.

“Ah, Valo,” Arumil said, raising a hand in greeting as if he’d just noticed the hulking man. “It has been some time. My apologies, you’ve missed the best part of the tale. Pour yourself a glass and sit a spell, though, and I could spin another should you wish.”

“Where is she?” Valo said.

“She who?” Arumil asked. He took a sip of wine, and set his glass on the bar. “It’s been several years, Valo.”

“You know who I mean,” Valo snarled, taking a threatening step closer. His knuckles were white on his knife. “My Drucilla. You took her. Tell me where, and maybe I’ll let you walk out of here with both those pointy ears still attached to your head.”

Arumil had his mouth open to respond, one open hand held up as if to forestall violence. That was when his companion, who had not spoken a word since the two of them had entered the tavern hours ago, opened his mouth.

“Was that the name of the woman whose husband tried to kill her because he was sure she’d lain with you?” the dark-haired elf asked, his steel gray eyes on Valo. “The one you brought to a new home where she’d be safe, and could raise her daughter in peace?”

If the room had been quiet before, it was silent now. The townsfolk sat there, mugs and cups hovering in midair, as if they were afraid to move. The men standing around the walls all looked to Valo. The big man’s face was turning red, veins throbbing at his temples. The second elf merely sipped from his own glass, his unblinking gaze fixed on Valo. Valo took a step closer, drawing his knife from its sheath.

“Don’t,” Arumil whispered. But he said it to his companion, rather than to the man with steel in his hand, and murder in his heart.