The hinges squeak as you ease open the Tavern door. A thin tendril of hazy pipe-smoke escapes through the gap, and the cacophony of a bustling inn assaults your ears. Continuing in, you meander through a forest of tables filled with merchants and farmers, soldiers and craftsmen. Not an empty seat to be found until you reach the end of the bar. You can barely fit between the weather-worn traveler on one side and the dwarf on the other, but you manage, and settle onto the last open stool in the house.
The dwarf nods greeting from behind his graying beard before returning to his ale. You return the gesture and pull off your cloak, hanging it from the stool. Hailing the barkeep, you order a pint, thankful to have finished the day's work. Just as the barkeeper brings your ale, the traveler nudges your shoulder. His eyes shine beneath mussed hair, sharing a depth and wisdom that belies his soiled garb.
"Greetings, Stranger. Care for a tale to wash down that pint?"
Wondering what he has in mind, you accept.
"Which would you like to hear? Well do I know them all."
YOU ARE READING
Tales from the Tavern
FantasyAn anthology of the fantastic; tales of magic, of freedom, of peace, of war, of love and loss, of vengeance, of adventure. It's like opening a chest in Skyrim; you never know what'll be inside. Basically, it's where any ideas or musings I have can f...
