The Drunken Goat was a surprisingly solid building. The bottom floor was built of rough-hewn stone with a dirt floor. Wide but narrow windows, not quite arrow slits but close, had their thick wooden shutters propped open to catch the breeze. In the center of the room was a piled stone hearth with a cheery fire burning in it, with most of the smoke drawn out through the chimney that pierced the ceiling.

We grabbed a table near the fire and motioned for the innkeep. In most inns, there’s a stereotype of the innkeeper. He’s a fat jolly man, slightly balding, wearing a stained apron. The innkeeper that strode up was nothing like that. He was a trim, muscular man with snow white hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard. A terrible scar cut the left side of his face and had him wearing an eyepatch.

The jovial mood at the table quieted down quickly. “Welcome to The Drunken Goat. A flagon of ale is two copper. Mead is five. The ordinary is two copper. I can have duck, lamb or goat prepared special at eight copper. Wine is a silver a glass and I can have it heated at no charge. The spiced goat is very good. What will it be?” The innkeep said in a quick, professional tone that carried easily to all corners of the room. He didn’t shout, just projected his voice well.

“Screw that goat. I’ll take the spiced goat special.” Marko said to general laughter. “A flagon of ale, too.”

“I’ll get a round of ales on me.” Jackson said with a smile. “What’s the ordinary?”

“It’s a stew. Generally made up of the meat leftovers from last night along with vegetables. Today it’s mainly duck with potatoes and peas.” The innkeep said.

“You know, that sounds good. Round of ales and the ordinary.” Jackson nodded.

“Ma’am, we already have an elf in the house. The cook is preparing a spiced potatoes and peas dish with honeyed rolled oats, if that’s okay.” He said, looking at Izzy.

“Sure. It’ll be great. Just water for me to drink, please.” The sea elf told him.

“Water?” The innkeep asked, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

“Yes, please.” Izzy repeated.

He nodded and looked at Niobe. “Ma’am, we can halve a duck and serve it rare if you’d like. Just defeathered and the intestines removed. I’ll keep the heart and liver in. Same price as the special if it’s to your taste.”

Niobe smiled, her fangs evident. “You know what sugar, I think that would be fabulous.” She turned the last word into a growl. A ghost of a smile flitted across the innkeep’s face.

He looked at me. “Sir, I don’t have bug shells or anything like that. I do have a seasoning made of crushed seashell I think you’ll like. If you get the special, I’ll have the cook keep the bones in it.”

“Yeah man. Uhh, how about some more goat? I’ll help avenge Marko.” I grinned. The ogre held up a big fist for me to bump, so I did.

“Okay, that’s 44 shields, please.” The solid innkeep said in a bored voice. We all dug out our money and gave it to him. The hand that took the coins was missing a finger and had several scars all over it. He nodded and went towards the kitchen. A moment later, a young girl dashed from behind the bar with an empty pitcher. She ran to the fountain and filled it.

“I wonder what his story is?” Niobe said. “No way, he’s just boring village barkeep. Maybe he’s got a quest or something.”

“I doubt he got those scars peeling potatoes, that’s for sure.” I agreed.

“Anybody noticed how this place is decorated?” Izzy asked.

There was a goat skull hanging over the bar. Its magnificent curled horns looked like they were made of a deep blue mineral, like maybe mica or something like it. Broken shields and weapons hung on the wall.

The inn was medium full, which kind of surprised me for early morning. My impression was the peasantry worked from early to late. “Is there a celebration or something? Why is everyone here?” I asked.

Several burly men dressed like lumberjacks were gathered around laughing about some story at the far end of the room. Many trainees were also here, scattered around in little groups. The door swung open. A big man who walked with a limp came in. “Sergeant Major, 1 ale if you please.” He called out. The innkeep nodded and filled a flagon. The limper made his way to the bar and raised his flagon. “Breakthrough!” The group of lumberjacks made an exhortation that was close to a dog barking and drained their flagons. The limper made his way over to them and pulled up a chair.

“Sergeant Major?” I asked the table in a low voice. “If this were a game, he’d absolutely have a quest for us.” I laughed.

Stolen story; please report.

“You know, come to think of it, this room is decorated like my uncle’s man cave.” Jackson leaned over the table to say. “He was in the army, desert storm, I think. He’s an accountant now, but that one room is all camo’d up with busted gear and netting hanging everywhere.”

“You guys have man caves in Georgia? I thought you lived in one-room shacks sleeping with your sister?” Marko asked with a grin.

“Naw man. We don’t have to sleep with our sisters.” Jackson shook his head. “We do it ‘cause we want to.” The table laughed at that. Innkeep brought the round of drinks. The girl bringing the pitcher of water arrived at that time and he put the whole thing on the table.

The innkeeper silently went back to the kitchen, and Marko chortled. “You southerners are nasty as hell.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Jackson turned up his flagon.

“You know the answers you’re looking for will never be found at the bottom of that drink.” Izzy said.

Jackson peered into the flagon. “Well, they aren’t in this one. I’ll check the next. Innkeep, another round, please!” The innkeeper brought out food and another round of drinks.

The sea elf let out a silvery laugh. It was a little unexpected since she wasn’t an overly joyful person. “Ass.” She hit him in the arm playfully. “You know, these roasted potatoes and peas are really good.”

“Yeah, tastes different than back in the castle. Fresher I guess.” Marko said with his mouth full.

After a few minutes of everyone eating, the cat woman pushed back the torn remnant of her half bird. She delicately wiped her mouth and whiskers with a napkin. Clearing her throat, she looked at the sea elf. “What’s the deal with you and drinking, anyway?” Niobe asked.

All the happiness fled Izzy’s face. “I was in active addiction for a long time. Really screwed up my life. You know, I’m in recovery now for the last six months, but it’s tough.” I gave her a fist bump when she said how long she’d been in recovery.

“You just drinking all the time or what?” Marko asked.

“Heroin. I mean, I’d take pills or whatever, but my drug of choice was heroin.” She put a tiny webbed hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “So when I see someone power drinking, it just makes me nervous. That’s all it is.”

“Quite a mood killer there.” Jackson said, putting down his partially full flagon.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to kill the party.” Izzy put her face in her hands.

“You haven’t.” Niobe told her, leaning down to give the tiny woman a hug. “Do you think anyone at this communal bath does nails?” She held out a paw and popped the claws out. “I’m looking like a werewolf over here. You want to go find out?”

Izzy looked up and smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that. Let’s do it.” She said, nodding.

“Okay boys, don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.” Niobe said, standing up and doing a back cracking stretch.

“Have fun, guys.” Izzy said as she hopped down from her chair. The two ladies strolled out of the tavern.

“Heroin…” Jackson paused for a long time. “Shit.”

“Right? Wow! That’s some heavy stuff.” I told the table. Marko ignored us both and kept smacking, getting every bit of food out of his goat.

Pushing back from the table, I stretched. “I’m gonna go exploring. I hope you gentlemen have a good time.” They both waved from behind their flagons. I walked out to the market square.

The hill down to the valley floor was obvious here, as one half of the square was much lower than the other half. The cleared space was surrounded with buildings. Tall, short, wide and narrow. From the looks of it, the square really was the village and the smaller offshoot roads coming off it led to residential areas.

Across the square in the center of the block along the lower portion, was a very odd building. It appeared to be made from bamboo with flowering vines weaving them together. The whole thing was also green and blooming in the middle of winter. I felt drawn to it.

In the front of the green lawn were two cypress trees. Growing from the front of each were two extremely low, wide branches that touch on knees. They were benches. Living cypress trees are growing in a mountainous valley and has benches coming out of it. That’s weird. Cypress are a low lying swamp loving tree.

I walked to the front and saw the doorway was just a bunch of hanging vines. Reaching out, I touched one and then all withdrew with a rustling sound.

“Hello.” A woman’s voice called out from within. “Welcome to the Garden’s Grace.” The inside was all growing things as well. Twisted live oaks had the bench branches at different heights, the ones at the rear higher than the front. It made for a type of stadium atmosphere. The center was the low point, with a fifteen or twenty food cleared circle. Then low stone benches surrounded it and after that, growing trees.

A human woman of middle years was walking towards the door with a wooden watering jug in her hand. She saw me and beamed. From about ten feet distance she put down her jug, swept her hair over her face, knelt in an elaborate curtsy and said something in a strange language with a lot of harsh consonant sounds, almost like rocks banging together. It rang a bell, but nothing I recognized.

She stared at me, hair covering the lower part of her face. We looked at each other. I tentatively said, “Hello?”

“Ah, I messed it up, didn’t I?” She let her hair fall back to her shoulders and stomped a foot. “I’ve been practicing. I so wanted to get the greeting correct when a member of your species came into my temple to consult.”

“Messed up what? Do you think I’m someone else?” I asked.

“That was the traditional travelers greeting from a female to a male in deep common, was it not? But I must have butchered it horribly if you don’t even recognize it.” She let out a theatrical sigh.

Deep common? Wasn’t that one of the languages I’m supposed to speak? At that thought, knowledge burned itself into my brain. A dizzying array of customs, greetings and words between silver dwarves, gnomes and other residents of the deep places. I put a hand to my temple and staggered.

“Oh, you need healing? Please have a seat.” She ran forward and grunted when my weight hit her but she was strong, not holding up me up slowing down my fall enough to guide me to one of the living benches.

I blinked. She’d said, “Greetings. May the cavern above you be sturdy and your delving free from raiders.” I retroactively understood.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“They must be very different in the deep places. This is a temple to Marylyr, guardian of farms and fields.” The woman said proudly.