Chapter 15

Katherine and I journey to a tavern called “Lonewolf.” It’s about five in the afternoon when we arrive. We still have another two almost three hours of sunlight in the day. That gives me plenty of time to have a quick drink before I head off to Sidney’s manor. At the door the bouncer starts to let me pass until he sees Katherine. “Hold on little lady. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You have to be eighteen to enter.”

“Ah come on let her in. She’s almost eighteen and she’s not here to drink.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

“No you don’t. My friend money makes the rules.” I summon a 10,000-âme bag and place it in the bouncer’s hand. He gestures for us to go in, so we pass.

Entering the tavern, we immediately scope out the scene. The tavern has a wooden floor, beige walls, some tables with wooden chairs in the front, a rectangular stage in the center of the building where bards or various other artists can perform, and some additional tables on the other side of the stage towards the back of the room. On the left-hand side of the room is a long-stretching bar with numerous stools laid out in front of it. Behind the bar, the barkeeper manages a wide array of beers, ales, whiskies, and wines all shelved in a display of fancy bottles. The barkeeper himself has smooth slicked back brown hair, a bushy mustache, and hawkish blue eyes that suggest cutthroat business acuity.

At the moment the tavern has less than ten customers in it. They’re mostly inquisitors on break accompanied by one or two professional drunkards. Katherine and I help ourselves to the choicest seats directly in front of the barkeeper. I hop up on the stool and lay my staff down next to my feet, resting against the bar. “What’ll you have?” the barkeeper asks.

“I’ll have whatever’s popular. The lady will just have water.”

The barkeeper takes one look at Katherine and then shoots a knowing glance at the bouncer. Dismissing her obvious age violation, he takes a mug, moves to a large barrel with a tap on it, and pours me a dark brown ale. He brings it back to me and sets it down. Then he takes a small clear glass, fills it with water, and sets it before Katherine. “In this tavern you have to pay by the drink.”

“How much?” I ask.

“Hundred âmes.”

I toss him a medium-grade pink âme crystal worth precisely 100 âmes. I sip at my drink and discover that it’s greatly sweetened with the taste of honey as opposed to the normal bitterness of ale. It’s different, but I like it. Katherine quietly sips at her water beside me. “Do you come to taverns often Master?”

“Not often enough,” I answer sardonically.

As I sip slowly at my ale, bad memories continue to spring up. It seems that I’m not drinking fast enough. I guzzle down the ale and ask for a chardonnay. The barkeeper sets a glass of white wine in front of me and demands 200 âmes. I toss him the money and get to work sipping at my new drink.

Katherine observes me gulp in the wine with undue haste. Displeased, she tries to trick me with her cunning. “Master, I’m hungry. We should go to a restaurant to have dinner.”

“They have food here,” I answer uncaring. “Barkeeper prepare something for my servant to eat.”

He enters into the kitchen through a rotating door behind the bar, and orders the cooks to prepare something. While we wait a solid twenty minutes for the food to be ready, I help myself to a third drink. It’s a whisky on the rocks costing me an additional 400 âmes. It’s strong, but I like my drinks strong. Later, the barkeeper brings out the dish that the cooks prepared for Katherine. It’s a simple plate with two bratwursts and fried potatoes on it. Demonstrating good table manners, Katherine eats the sausages with a knife and fork while wiping meticulously with napkins to keep her face clean. Watching Katherine eat reminds me of my own empty stomach. Of course, unlike her, I prefer to fill my belly with drink rather than food.

I gesture for the barkeeper to bring me another glass. We’ve now been at the tavern for roughly an hour. It’s 6 p.m. and people are starting to pour into the bar fresh off from their jobs. Also at the turn of the hour a scrawny bard takes the stage backed up by a band of shoddy looking instrumentalists. They’re just the opening act for the evening. At least that’s what I hope. They sing a few songs about love, poverty, women they can never obtain, and then top it all off with a crappy rendition of Greensleeves.

I down my fourth drink. Now I feel like singing. The bard and his crew get off of the stage. Nobody replaces them, so I interpret it as a golden opportunity. I’m no sound mage songster, but with four drinks to my credit, I don’t particularly care either. I take to the stage.

“Hello everyone. My name is Souladonis. I’d like to sing a little song that I wrote.”

I break into an a cappella performance of the song that I like to sing when I’m sad. It’s called Winter Soul. I sing:

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Winter Soul

As a boy I knew a girl

her hair was black.

We’d smile and sing and play

joke and laugh.

Each shining winter day

was better than the last.

But unparalled joy

is never meant to last.

We rolled hand in hand

tick for tack.

I took her breath away

but couldn’t give it back.

So now those happy days

have all passed.

The joys of a child

never come back.

I’ve since traveled the world

searched high and low.

I’ve spun around in circles

with no place to go.

Can a sinner find redemption?

I really don’t know.

But she’s entombed in stone

and my heart is snow.

“Thank you. Thank you,” I say hobbling off of the stage. A few people clap. The rest ignore me. I return to my barstool next to Katherine and request another drink. Katherine leans towards me and says, “That was pretty good Master. Did you say that you wrote that song?”

I toss the barkeeper an entire bag of money. I’m tired of plucking through the little sacks for the correct amount. “Yeah, I wrote it.”

“What’s it about?”

“I’ve only had four drinks Katherine. I’m not nearly drunk enough to tell you that.”

So I say, but then two more hours pass. I’m now down eight drinks. Everything’s kind of fuzzy and I’m starting to lose feeling in my face. I take a look at Katherine. Her radiant beauty lights up the dim tavern like a lone candle trapped in the darkest of nights. She’s soooo pretty. So pretty. I gotta tell her. “Katherine,” I say. “You know what? You are pretty. I mean, like, really pretty.”

“Oh Master. You’re drunk.”

“Nah, I’m not saying it ‘cause I’m drunk. I neva seen anyone with skin like yours before. –That light earthy brown. I don’t know what you call it, but you’re pretty.”

“You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself loverboy,” a voice says behind me.

I childishly spin around on my barstool and take a look. I see the blurry silhouette of what is most likely a voluptuous blonde Fashionista. She could be smoking hot, or as ugly as a troll. I have no way of knowing, so I decide to play it safe. “And I’m sure that if I could see straight, I’d return the compliment, but I can’t, so I’m going to assume that you’re an ugly troll.”

“Why I never!” she hollers.

“Well… Maybe once, eh toots?”

She turns from me and stomps out of the tavern.

“Begone foul troll!” I proclaim loudly, lifting my mug high into the air. I slam it down and tragically it breaks. I lose most of my beverage. Nonetheless, I try to sip at the remnants, but Katherine soon stops me before I slit my tongue. Thinking pragmatically, I toss the barkeeper another bag of money. “Can’t you see I need a drink?” I complain. He takes away the shattered mug and gives me a fresh new mug filled to the brim with sweet, sweet ale. I slurp it down greedily.

Katherine leans to my ear and whispers to me, “Master you have to stop. You’re wasting all of your money.”

I reply loudly, “I don’t care! It won’t make him happy! Money do-int make anyone happy!”

Katherine leans away from me unsatisfied. I think I hurt her feelings. I have to apologize. “I’m sorry Katherine. I didn’t mean to yell. You’re a good girl. I’m, I’m, the bad guy.”

Katherine plants her head in the palm of her hand. She must be bored. “I know you’re bored Katherine. Just let me have two more drinks and we’ll leave in twenty minutes,” I tell her. I quickly guzzle my drink down and demand another one.

“Woah buddy. Slow it down,” the barkeeper suggests.

I snap, “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!”

The barkeeper tilts his head, “What?”

“Nevermind. A bourbon – dry, please.”

I toss him another bag of money and get to sipping. Katherine twiddles at her hair. “Master what was that song you sang about?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I killed my girlfriend.”

The barkeeper is taken aback. “Woah buddy! Am I going to have to call the inquisitors?”

“What do you mean Master?” Katherine asks horrified.

I hang my head and cough into my cup. “It was an accident a long time ago. I got her turned into stone. That’s all.”

I choke down the bourbon and ask for another drink. The barkeeper refuses me.

“What? I have money!” I whine.

“I’ve already got plenty of your money buddy. I don’t need your corpse to go along with it.”

“Fine!” I shout. I grab Guilt and descend from the barstool. “This tavern smells like piss anyways.”

I hobble over to the front door and kick it open, yet I nearly fall on my face doing so. It’s now pitch black outside. It’s too late to go after Sidney and I’m drunk off of my rocker. The only rational thing to do is to go back to the Armbear Lodge and try to sleep my pathetic life away.