Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

The Laughing Lion

A large bearded man licked the last of the faintly purple, amber colored sauce off of a sticky clay plate, before adding it to a stack of four like it with a clink. He had some on his nose as he belched, and held up two fingers to Kelith, pointed at the pile of plates and swirled his hand. The taproom smelled like stale beer, fresh linens, and oak, most days; but tonight it smelled strongly of slow cooked meat and the lavender honey sauce that Claudia only had made when it rained.

 The rain was loud - if you listened you could hear it over the giggling at the bar, the accusations flung across the dice tables, and the cacophony of cutlery that made the space hard to think in. The rain brought unusual customers travelers, even merchants occasionally, that were headed somewhere with more prestige, usually Havenhelm, or Fallcrest. The giant of a man, with the beard, had been boasting all night that he's been pulled off of the long road to Dotharill. That city was the self proclaimed capitol on the other side of the continent, a full eighty days ride without a days rest.

Just get through the shift, and head straight to the stables.

"Two more plates of the braised flank." Kelith ran a forearm across his face as he spoke into the kitchen, then raised the same arm to acknowledge the very hungry not so gentleman. 

He hurried to clear and clean tables, and did his best to navigate the quickly intensifying crowd. "Another round of pies for the corner booth if you could, Rye." 

"On it." Ryisha sung. A familiar flurry of long brown hair and a simple but deliberately enticing serving dress.

How is she always so happy?

A man sauntered through the heavy front doors, in a sopping black cloak, that might be a dark blue when it's dry. He wore a frown, a real bow and arrow, long pointed ears, and a scar from his left eyebrow to his chin. 

It must have been some kind of claws.

Kelith had a hundred questions. For all of Havenhills monotony, The Laughing Lion Tavern and Inn was a high point. It sat at the top of the hill, in the center of the town and if anyone ever heard anything about this region, it was about The Laughing Lion. Sometimes, actual adventurers came through and their stories were worth as much to Kelith as his wage.

His heart leapt, as three other equally storied looking characters entered with the elf. A stout and heavily armoured dwarf, and a fair skinned woman in a glittery red robe with a large book clutched to her chest. 

"Kettlesbee! " Claudia barked over her long gnarled nose, from behind the bar.

She has always been the tavernkeeper of this inn, and commanded power within it's walls. She wore a ring on almost every finger, and never wore the same one twice in a cycle. The Laughing Lion was her domain, and she ran a tight ship, she had a reputation to keep after all...

...but Kelith was her favorite. So quick to do as he was asked, so slow to cause any trouble. Never grumbled about his pay and so easily enthralled by a stranger with a story. Adorable.

"Yes?" He stood at attention, and she took the tiny and rare sip from the glass of red wine that she always seemed to be holding but never seemed to actually drink. She held up her index finger finger to a woman shaking an empty glass as she spoke.

"Take another shift and climb behind the bar, we're packed today with your kind of patrons." 

Kelith couldn't help but beam at the prospect, "You're kidding!" he put both hands on the bar top. She was right, the place was full of strangers and the party of three that had just entered took their seats at the bar.

Just get through the shift and head straight to the stables.

He scrunched his mouth into the corner of his face. "I can't."