by Wolfe Locke
"Hire a fiddle band! We need some dancing! Actually, we need some dancers. Dancing girls!" They would laugh and say.
"Can’t wait to taste what Lloyd has cooking. Tell him to do a sour ale next. Like really sour, like they make it on the Silver Sea."
"Rotate your meats! It’s pork every night! What are you thinking? Try chicken one day, pork the next, beef on Fridays. Maybe we can do tacos? Have you thought about trivia night? Like the Bull and Bear does, they do it great, I can put you in touch with the owner over there."
"Do you have rice wine?" Another would ask.
Sven did have rice wine, but it wasn’t for customers. Basequin had given him twelve bottles of his family’s finest Hirado vintage after they’d killed a massive serpent together, years ago. Sven had drunk a single cup on the anniversary of Basequin’s death ever since. He only had two bottles left.
"No," he said curtly to that request and promptly apologized to the terrified patron. “Sorry. Personal reasons.”
The scrawny elf who had asked for it goggled at him in surprise. Sven was normally friendly and warm with his patrons. But on that particular night, his emotions hit him a little too hard. Sven retreated into the back room and left Lloyd to run the bar alone.
To all other requests, Sven responded with a smile and a "Sure!" He and The Crazy Pony went in together to hire a fiddle and accordion family band that could split their time between the two bars—Crazy Pony on Thursdays and Saturdays, Adventurer’s Rest on Fridays and Sundays. Sven hoped to eventually hire a house fiddler that could play at his tavern every night, but it seemed prudent to be cautious with his money for now. Mr. Matthews hasn't sent for payment, but if I don't start earning, the first round of coin will be a little too light.
He obediently rotated his meats for now, although he wanted to be able to provide multiple options for customers every night and conveyed his patrons’ requests to Lloyd.
Lloyd shook his head. "They want me to make every type of ale and then some. I can try for more variety, but I need more casks and more space to be able to do that. Tell them I can do two for now: a dark and a light. But they’ll be the best damn dark and light they’ve ever had. Anyone more than that and it’ll push us straight into financial ruin."
And so Sven wrote down, in his ever-growing notebook of ideas and improvements: "Lloyd: more casks. More space. Soon. More money? How?"
Overall, things were going well. Sven was adjusting to his new role. He felt better than he had in years. But there were some storm clouds brewing on the horizon.
The first was personal. When The Adventurer’s Rest had opened, Sven had written to all of his surviving adventuring friends. Well... something like friends, and invited them to come out, share a drink and enjoy his hospitality. They were all retired like Sven was trying to be, at least those who were still alive, and while some of them had found other jobs to occupy their time, Sven knew that most of them had a surplus of free time.
But, despite his personalized and, as Sven thought, very eloquently written letters, not a single one of them had shown up. It hurt, and while Sven tried not to dwell on it, his old friends drifted through his thoughts at night. It felt like they’d abandoned him. Maybe they did. We haven’t seen each other since the war with the Dark Lord.
The second issue was financial. Despite Sven’s charm, despite the massive numbers of customers coming through every night, The Adventurer’s Rest was hemorrhaging money. Sven had a problem. He loved handing out free food and rounds of drinks more than he cared about making money. He often became caught up in the moment and gave more than was prudent.
More than once, he waived the tab of the entire tavern on a packed night, only to turn and see Lloyd shaking his head in disgust. "This why you’re always poor Sven! I like you, but don't forget, you still have to make enough money to pay me."
The job itself was rough goings. Mostly because Sven was constantly breaking things—steins, plates, chairs—and replacements cost coin. Unlike its name, The Adventurer's Rest stayed wild and was subject to regular brawls between customers when the night got late and people got drunk—and that was an additional financial drain, particularly when Sven got involved in the fights, and on one such night, trouble found him.
Chapter 10: One Rowdy Night
"Hold up you two!” Sven shouted out one night as he leaped over the bar to separate a young lizardman from a gray-bearded dwarf. "We are not doing this. Not in here. Take it outside.”
"He inssssssulted my mother! He called her cold-blooded ounce pouch." the lizardman shouted. "Do you endorse thissss?"
"Your mother is a snake!" protested the dwarf. "It’s not an insult! It’s just the truth! She is cold blooded."
"I know what you meant by cold blooded ounce pouch! You chose that wording deliberately!" The lizardman responded hotly.
Before Sven could talk them down, a crowd had gathered behind each party, eager for a fight and egging them on. Shouting out things like "Don’t back down now," "Be a man!" and "Don’t let him talk about your mother like that! Bet you won’t do it."
"Apologize," the lizardman firmly demanded.
"Never," the dwarf said, clenching his teeth, making sure to draw out the word.
With a hiss, the lizardman launched itself at the dwarf, teeth bared. The dwarf responded by grabbing an iron club from around his belt and striking the lizardman with it. The crowd joined in eagerly. The drunken patrons started to brawl among themselves, not really concerned with whose side they were on. If it had been any other tavern but his own, Sven might have joined in.
"You don’t even know what they’re mad about!" Sven protested, trying to pull people out of the fray. "You just want to fight!"
They ignored him, and somebody brought a chair down on Sven’s back, breaking the chair. Sven was fine, and Sven was pissed.
"STOP IT!" Sven shouted, overturning a table in a fit of anger. He’d tried to hold back, use only part of his strength, but anger got the best of him. The table shattered against the far wall, and the whole building shook as if an earthquake had just hit them. The crowd froze immediately, and the one who had hit him with the chair backed up with his hands raised, trying to apologize.
"That’s it. Nights over. Out!" he said, flipping another table for good measure. That table broke too, but Sven had been more careful and at least hadn’t damaged the building. "Out! Out! Out! Everyone out. Ouncepouch and dwarface, your banned. Don’t bother coming back. I won’t be as nice next time."
As the crowd filed out, all of them shame-faced, he heard a dark and rattling laugh coming from the corner.
"Always with the temper," the laughing voice said. "I remember that about you, Sven. Just need the right conditions to unleash it."
"Krivor," Sven said, partially shocked. "I’m surprised to find you here."
Krivor was one of the few S-Ranked adventurers still working—and she just happened to be an Arachne, a half-human, half spider. Sven hadn’t seen her in years. Mostly because I refuse to work with her. Watching her eat a goblin was not... pleasant.
"I got your letter," she replied in a sultry as she moved her body to accent her curves better. "Sorry I didn’t respond sooner."
"No worries," Sven said edgily. Krivor always spooked him. He had never liked spiders.
"Though I’d heard rumors you were back. You’ve been gone a long time. I thought I’d stop by and check it out," Krivor said, creeping closer. Her eight legs tapped on the floor, she lifted one of those legs towards his collar and Sven struggled not to recoil as she checked his emblem. "You’ve the emblem, then. That makes this more interesting. Have seen any of the old crowd lately?"
"I haven’t. Not since the battle of the Dark Lord Mannon." Sven responded. "It just didn’t feel right anymore when the battle was over. I’ve been on my own since.
"Hmm," Krivor said, clacking her mandibles. "That’s funny."
"Do you know something I don’t?" Sven asked, feeling a sense of unease creep down his spine.
"Remember our adventures together?" Krivor responded, changing the subject. "The Minotaur’s Labyrinth? The Younger Kraken? The Goblin Insurrection?"
"I do," Sven said, trying to not cringe. "What did you mean about the old crowd?"
He and Krivor had worked together when they were younger, it was true, but they hadn’t shared that many adventures. Fewer than Sven had with the other S-Rankers, and for good reason. Krivor moved with a darker crowd and explored deeper dungeons than Sven. He had no desire to be involved with any of that. Sven half suspected she was blessed by a dark god.
"I’m just saying," Krivor continued, her voice devoid of empathy. "It’s surprising that none of them are here now. You’d think they’d flock to your tavern, wouldn’t you? All your old friends. I wonder where they could be."
"It is surprising," Sven said. "You’re right, Krivor. Now tell me: the way you’re talking feels like you know something about it. If you do, you should tell me."
Krivor looked at him innocently with her dark Arachne eyes. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sven," she said. "I was just asking."
"Yeah, okay, well, bar’s closing. You heard me. Time to go. That’s for everyone." Sven said, pointing towards the door
"I see how it is. Have to clean things up. Replace the things you broke. Send an old friend on her way," the spider woman responded sarcastically.
"Yep, that’s it, basically." Sven folding his arms, no longer amused. “I’m a big believer in the 3 F’s and I’ve given you more attention than you deserve.”
"Well, I’ll head out then," Krivor said. "Best wishes and all that."
"Good." he replied. "Travel well."
"How’s the tavern going anyway?" Krivor said, pausing at the door and eyeing the broken tables. "Staying afloat, I’d hate for this place to go under. It’s not like you can just go out anymore and make money in the dungeons. I’d hate for you to have to do escort missions, just to make ends meet?"
"We’re doing all right," Sven replied stiffly. "Can’t complain. Thanks for the concern."
"Glad to hear it." she said, seemingly disappointing Sven hadn’t taken the bait and got more upset.
The spider woman skittered out, and Sven sank into his chair. It had been strange seeing Krivor here. He wondered what she was up to. In his experience, she never appeared without an agenda. What the hell was that about.
With a sigh, he pulled out the tattered notebook where he kept track of profits and expenses.
700 copper pieces. He scratched out with a quill. He’d need to replace the tables he’d destroyed. And that wouldn’t be cheap. Another day in the red. Sven frowned. This is harder than I thought it would be.
Time passed. Luckily, the rest of the weekend was busy. The new fiddle band Sven had brought in was called Party of Illusion, and they were a big hit. Young and old adventurers alike twirled across the tavern floor as the band launched into a folk favorite. Maybe I can try charging a cover for entry. Sven was leaning against the wall enjoying the show, letting Lloyd take most of the responsibility for the night when a mage in the far corner suddenly caught his attention.
Chapter 11: The Magic Girl
His trouble started with the girl. Something about her was so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Sven felt like he knew her. She wore a floppy hat that partly covered her face, clearly trying to be unobtrusive, but Sven could see that she was young. Even to his relatively non-magical eyes, she crackled with power. He could feel it from all the way across the room. Sven looked around, but nobody else seemed to have noticed. Just who is she?
The girl in the floppy hat felt his eyes on her and looked back at him boldly. Her eyes were intense, intelligent, and pierced through him.
She had pointy shoes. Just like every other woman he’d run into that ran him ragged. Oh boy. Sven knew he was in trouble.
The mage got up and walked toward him, looking suave and in control, until—
"Wahhhhh!" she said as she tripped over another adventurer's legs and fell flat on her face and scrambled ungracefully to get back up. A scowl on her face when she did.
"Hey," the elf said. "Watch where you're going, and what are you doing, bartender? Just watching this girl attack me?"
"Sorry!" the mage transforming the scowl into a smile. "I didn't mean to! It was an accident"
Sven didn't want another bar fight so soon after the last one. Lloyd had made him promise to intervene before trouble started and do it... gracefully
"Here," Sven said, holding out his hand to the young mage. "I'll help you up."
"Thanks, Mister," she said, taking it and leaping to her feet. "I’m Ash. What’s your name?"
"Sven," he said. "Sven the Shatterfist."
Ash looked back at him, wide-eyed and grinning. "Wow! What a name! Two S’s and everything."
For the first time, Sven felt a little foolish about it. "I chose it when I was young, before I’d even become an adventurer. I thought it would help make me sound tougher."
"That’s all right, Shatterfist. My real name’s not Ash, either." The mage responded, leaning in, getting close to him.
"What is it?" Sven asked, his heart beating, wanting to know.
"I’ll never tell," she said, winking at him. Unlike the flower girl, she pulled it off. "The elf said you work here, right? Can you get me a pint of the ‘light’?"
"Sure," Sven said, flummoxed. "Lloyd?"
Rolling his eyes, Lloyd poured the ale and slid it down the bar. “Here you go Ash, good to see you.”
"Hey," Ash said. "Do you mind if I stick around for a while and finish this? I just got back from a crazy adventure! I’ll tell you all about it sometime."
"Sure," Sven said. "I mean, yes. I’d love to."
"See you then!" she said and dashed away to a table in the back, bits of her ale spilling out.
Sven watched her stop and look at the ale very sternly before she adjusted how she carried it and then carefully weaved her way through the crowd and back to her seat up against the wall. Sven watched her go—just to make sure she didn’t fall again, Wouldn’t want her to break something. Yep, totally just that.
He turned back to the bar. Lloyd was looking at him, eyes narrowed, shaking his head.
"What?" Sven said.
"You know what. That girl is always bringing trouble." Lloyd said.
"That’s some mage," Sven said, changing the subject a bit.
"You can feel it too?" Lloyd responded. "I haven’t felt that kind of power in a long time. Not even from you."
"Yeah, I know. She’s the most powerful person in the room. Wonder what she’s doing here?” Sven asked, looking over at her again. Who are you really?
Lloyd shook his head again. "What indeed?"
The young mage didn’t come over again. She seemed content to nurse her single flagon of ‘light’ all night, sipping from it occasionally over the course of the evening. Sven tried not to look over at her too often. He didn’t want to creep her out. Just stop it Sven, don’t stare.
As the tavern was winding down toward closing time, raised voices from the corner gave Sven a sign that something was wrong. A party of B-Rankers were started to get rowdy.
"You know what?" a dryad said, trying to stand up and failing. Falling over in its drunken stupor. "You know what? You know—what?"
"What?" responded the werewolf across the table from him. "What are you trying to say?"
"Hee-hee," giggled their gnome companion, who was sitting cross-legged in a nearby armchair. "Ferny’s drunk. Ferny’s drunk!"
"I’m—not—drunk," the dryad hiccupped. "I’m just trying to say, if you’d let me at the manticore, I’d have had it."
"Yeah. No." howled the wolf. "Don’t make me laugh. That one was mine!"
"I’d have had it! I’d have had it for sure! It was mine!" The dryad responded belligerently.
The dryad cast his gaze around woozily, looking for someone to back him up. "See! That little lady agrees with me."
&nbs
p; "Oh no," Ash said, looking startled. "Don’t make me a part of this! I’m just trying to enjoy my night, guys."
But the manticore was long forgotten, their attention turning towards the girl. The B-Rankers encircled the mage, laughing.
"You agree with me, little lady?" the dryad slurred. "Come on, say you agree. You know I’m right."
Ash glared at him. "Don’t call me little lady! Actually, I’d prefer it if you don’t talk to me at all."
"She’s the prettiest girl in this place!" the wolf proclaimed to anyone who would listen. "What are you doing here all alone anyways? You should smile more."
"Hee hee hee," the Gnome giggled, grabbing her arm.
"Hey!" she yelled, pulling away from them. "Leave me alone!"
The wolf narrowed its eyes. "Or—what?"
"I’m warning you..." the mage said, clenching her fists. Magic crackled up and down her arms, invisible to the B-Rankers, but not to everyone in the bar.
Sven launched into action. It was time to intervene. Gracefully. He stepped smoothly in between the young mage and the rest of the party. You fellas don’t even know how close you came to dying tonight.
"Hey," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "What’s going on here? Can I help you?"
"Nope," said the dryad, avoiding his gaze. "This ain’t none of your business, barkeep."
"Leave us alone, old man," the werewolf growled. "You ain’t a part of this.
"Yeah," giggled the gnome, hand still on the mage’s arm. "Nothing to see here."
Sven crossed his arms. This is what happens when you spend too much time on adventures. People can’t even recognize who you are. "Seems like you fellas have had a little too much to drink. How bout we call it a night."
"We’re fine, thanks," said the dryad. “You can go back to your business.”