Whelp. I supposed i should find the source of that smell. Somebody here is baking bread and boy, am I starving. I start patting around my waist, and unfortunately, I feel not the slightest bit of money. “Great. So God decides to take away my clothes and drop me here with no money? Hopefully somebody would let me eat for free.” I start looking around and not too far to my left, there looks to be a little village. It looks pretty poor, theres a crappy little dirt road leading there. I doubt im going to find much but its worth a shot I guess. Step after step, I saunter over to this village and I absolutely dread every second. These shoes fucking suck. This shirt is itchy. These pants are too tight. Why cant anything be right for me? After what felt like a stupid amount of time to be walking, I find my handsome self standing in the midst of that village. As I investigate the buildings, I see a sign that reads “Tanner’s Tavern”. A tavern? Hopefully they have half decent food, but judging by the look of the people here, I doubt it. Seriously, these people look like they have no idea what a bath is, nor how to craft half decent clothing. What kind of moronic place am I in? I walk up to the tavern doors and hear people inside, some laughing, some singing. Seems like a bunch of rowdy people who have nothing better to do than get drunk. Pushing the doors open, im immediately greeted by a dude with a pretty large stature. Old, ugly, fat man with broad shoulders and even broader eyebrows. “Howdy!” He belches out. “Im Tanner, welcome to my tavern!” Oh. Funny. Its called “tanner’s Tavern” because a guy named Tanner owns it. How creative. “What can I get for ya, young man?” Quickly, I come up with a little plot. Im going to tell him a bullshit story, and if he doesn't believe me, I’ll just steal some food and book it. None of these guys here look quick enough, sober enough or even smart enough to catch me. “Well, Tanner, I’m m in a little bit of a predicament. See, i have no money, nor memory of how I got here.” “No money? And no memory? Well what're ya doin in here for?” Jeez this guy must be really stupid. Im trying to tell him why I’m here, and he cuts me off asking why I’m here. I hope everybody in this town isn't so braindead. “Look, I’m a foreigner. I’m not from around here and I was traveling with some merchants. They sedated me, stole my money and everything I had, then they dumped me outside in the grass not too far from here. Its been a little while since I’ve eaten, would you happen to have anything left over you could spare me?” The old man rubs his chin, thinking to himself for a moment. I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “Yessir, I’ve got some stew left from yesterday’s dinner. Lemme fetch it for ya.” He meanders off into the back, his hips even wider than his eyebrows, swaying back and forth like a penguin with scoliosis. He wobbles back in holding a massive pot of something that looks like a combination of potato salad, chicken, dumplings and some sort of green vegetables. I don't know why, but this actually looks pretty decent for something a neanderthal such as Tanner could create. He grabs a small bowl, and scoops some of that stew out with it. Plops the bowl on the table in front of me, hands me a wooden spoon and says “Dig in, guy like you’s gotta eat with all that travelin’ don’tcha?” I hesitate, of course, but I take that wooden spoon and scoop up some of the stew. Hoping I dont get any splinters, I shovel it on into my mouth. Swishing it around, letting the flavors absorb, I realized that this is actually pretty damn good. “Did you cook this stew, Tanner?” He chuckles, and his belly rises with each grunt. “No, sir. My wife made that fine stew.” Yup, that explains it. Theres no way an oaf like this can allow his braincells to work together efficiently enough to formulate such a delicious meal.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“So stranger, where are you from? You said you're a foreigner, yes?” I sigh with a breath of disappointment. Im not fond of answering questions that shouldn’t be asked. “Well, I don't remember. Whatever they hit me with seems to have wiped my memory. I don't even know what this land is called. Where exactly am I?” The man looks me in the eyes and calmly says “You're in a town known as Esela. A little place not seen on a map that specializes in trade. Clothes, animal hides, even people. We supply the training and arms for most of the soldiers to the south. Not a big town, but a very productive one.”