Cedric’s eyes opened slowly, and took a moment to take in the sight of dust motes swirling above his head, glimmering in the light of the slowly rising sun. Pretty he though to himself as he felt his eyes slowly inch their way closed. With a start they opened wide again and he sat up, shoving back the drowsiness.
Today’s the day! He thought with a jolt of realization. He launched himself out of bed and got dressed quickly in his cleanest shirt and pants, forgoing the heavy tabard he wore when on the road, which was still laden with dust and grime. Thank The Smith I washed my hair and trimmed my beard before bed he thought to himself, as he quickly ran a wooden comb through his significantly less bushy beard and pulled his hair into a tie. He held down the excitement for a second while he took a deep breath. Rushing right now won’t help me get there any quicker.
With forced calm, he pulled on his belt, giving the buckle a quick and absentminded buff with his sleeve, as well as attaching his coin purse, fishing out the scroll case which held his letters of introduction from the clergy certifying him as a graduate, and took a second to adjust the iron chain that held his hammer. Satisfied he looked fit to present himself to the guild as a dashing young adventurer, and not a ball of grime that had rolled in off the street like an unwanted jumble of tumbleweed, he pulled on his boots and started towards the door. Then he paused, doubled back, and grabbed a large leather holster from where it was snugly buckled to the side of his pack. A little bigger than the size of his hand, it jangled faintly as he hefted it. After a second’s consideration, he threaded it onto his belt, where it hung just over his right hip, the top flap loosely fastened where a quick flick of his wrist could open it at a moment’s notice. It’s not like I’m planning to use it he thought to himself, but I’m signing on as an adventurer. I need to get used to wearing it in easy reach. Might as well start now. With that out of the way, and feeling the reassuring, but unfamiliar weight on his hip, he practically bounced out the door and down the stairs,and into a taproom that was slowly filling with the sun’s rays.
A sleepy looking Olric was behind the bar, slowly starting to wake up with a mug of something steaming in his hand. He was speaking to the bartender from the day before, who was pulling on a coat, seemingly about to head out. “Anyway, that’s all. A pretty quiet night; hopefully the day isn’t too rough!” Cedric heard her say to Olric before heading off. As she walked past her eyes met Cedric’s, and she gave a polite nod as he walked towards the bar.
“How’s the morning treating you, Olric?”
The befuddled gaze the half orc gave in return seemed to stretch on a second before Olric shook himself slightly and seemed to fully wake up. “Far, far too early for me, but I’ll get there. Maybe. Breakfast?”
_______
“So, what’s your story, Cedric?” Olric asked, as he placed a steaming platter of fresh bread, a runny egg and a rasher of bacon down in front of where Cedric perched on a too high stool at the bar. Why are they always human height? Cedric mused, as he fluttered his feet slightly where they hovered a few inches off the ground. He was about average for a dwarf, and therefore stockier than most humans, but he always felt like a child when he was in mostly human cities. Although, I guess the “mostly human” part of “mostly human cities” pretty much explains it.
He took a second to inhale the scent of the meal. After so long on the road it felt like he’d died and been taken to a heaven. One with really good cooks.
“I’m here to join up with the adventurers guild. I heard that the forests in this region were starting to become more dangerous, and there was a fairly light guild presence in this area. I figured it would be a good place to start my career”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Well…obviously you’re hoping to join the guild. But I meant what’s your story? I get bored, and if I stop talking I’m probably going to fall asleep under the bar” Olric ground out, his voice still holding a note of drowsiness to it, as he gestured around the mostly empty taproom with a hand wave. One of the other patrons was a woman in deep blue robes sitting on a far table, a staff propped up against a chair, clearly engrossed in a heavy, leather bound book, with yellowed pages and so many rents in it that it seemed like it’d been thrown down a well and fished back out. Occasionally she’d mutter something to himself or turn a page, but looked like he didn’t want to be disturbed. The only other occupant of the taproom was a halfling slumped over a table, with a few empty ale mugs surrounding him, with an empty flagon of whisky lying on it’s side on the table next to him. He was faintly snoring, and would occasionally twitch or mumble under his breath, or shift slightly, having what appeared to be a pleasant dream.
“Wait, what do you mean obviously?” Cedric asked, his curiosity latching onto the phrasing as he started tucking in to the bread. Always start with the bread. Warm bread is one of life’s little gifts his mother had used to say at the breakfast table.
“What, like you stumbled into this inn out of all of them by pure chance?” Olric chuckled, taking another sip from his mug of what smelled to be a potent peppermint tea. Cedric could smell the menthol bite from where he was sitting. He looked up at Cedric, and paused. “Hang on a second. Did you…did you actually stumble into this inn by pure chance?” he met Cedric’s eyes, and Cedric saw genuine disbelief tinged with slight amazement there.
“Of course not! I saw the sign that said you had baths and a kitchen. And, well, I was a little lost and just wanted to find somewhere fast. I got turned around a few times in the city, and this place seemed perfect.”
Olric was openly staring at him now. He slowly shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“The Huntsman’s Haunt” Olric toned slowly, as if speaking to somebody several pints deep, “is an adventurers’s inn. More specifically it caters primarily to hunters, workers and adventurers in the bar, however it only allows adventurers of copper rank or above to actually lodge here, to protect it’s image as a serious place for serious adventurers.” Seeing Cedric’s puzzled expression and opening mouth, he held up a hand to forestall the question about to be asked. “But, the only exception, by absolute, inviolable instruction of the owner, is clerics or other open followers of The Smith.” He finished, looking back at a now very intent Cedric.
“W…why? Not that I’m complaining, but that’s such an odd rule. And how does it even stand up? Wouldn’t there be a backlash over the owner refusing to let people stay? And are they a follower of The Smith?” Cedric let the questions fall out, his breakfast totally forgotten.
“Hah!” Olric let out a short bark of laughter. “As if anybody could do anything to old Hroth. He’s…well, he’s a bit of a lunatic, but because of his position, most people just look the other way when his little eccentricities show.”
“It’s like you’re actively trying to bait me with both too much information and not enough at the same time. Who’s Hroth, and what does he do? Is he a cleric of The Smith?” complained Cedric, as he suddenly remembered the platter and scooped up another mouthful of bread, this time dipping it in some egg yolk. It really was quite good, fresh from the oven and with a bit of butter slathered over it.
“Hroth is an interesting one. But he really is the key to why this might just be simultaneously the funniest but also most frustrating coincidence I’ve ever witnessed.” Olric took a second, and breathed out a sigh. He straightened his shirt, and Cedric noticed just how big he was. He was clearly a half orc, but easily the size of a full blood. Cedric had only met a few of the mountainous species, but the few he had always left an impression. I bet he doesn’t need to worry about his feet dangling off of chairs. He had no idea where the pang of grumpiness about that fact had come from, but was finding it hard to ignore. Although looking at the shirt that Olric was adjusting, he supposed it came with it’s own set of problems. Getting a shirt that’s not three sizes too small must be a trial of it’s own he pondered. The too tall stool suddenly felt like a much smaller problem.
“Where do I even begin? So to start with, picture…” just as Olric began to finally describe the mysterious owner of the Huntman’s Haunt, he was interrupted by a loud bang as the door was roughly slammed open, the harsh sound at odds with the lazy morning atmosphere and slowly waking mood of the taproom.
“Barrrrkeep” a new voice slurred from the doorway, somehow managing to make the word sound both raspy and nasally at the same time. “Three alesh in whateversh clean mugs you have, and a flagon of whishky QUICK or I’ll have you flogged!”