The autumn sun descended over the city as I waited for my friend. He always insists that we meet in this dingy tavern on the outskirts, and this time was no different. He was running late again, probably out with some woman. I sat in the corner, avoiding the gaze of the noisy patrons.
After what felt like an hour of watching candles flicker and drunken oafs argue, Thomas finally arrived. The round, shaggy-haired man glanced about the room as he entered the establishment and shot a big grin my way the moment we made eye contact. He wasted no time ordering drinks for our table. Once that truly critical task was taken care of, he clumsily waddled his way over to my table.
"Arthur! 'Tis wonderful t' see ya again!" the large man exclaimed.
"It's only been a week my friend, It always is," I replied. Tom and I have been friends for ages, but ever since I came back to town, he insists we meet every Thursday. I don't mind, he may be a bit much, but he's good company.
"Aye, but 'tis not often enough- Ah! The beer has arrived!" Indeed, the barmaid had arrived, and in her hands were two pints of beer. "Give 'em 'ere, before ye spill all the head on the floor." With that, he grabbed both mugs and greedily slurped down their foamy heads. "Ye see," he paused to let out a rather grotesque belch, "the head is the best part, 's a shame to waste it."
YOU ARE READING
The Storyteller
FantasyArthur has spent his whole life gathering as much knowledge about the world around him as he can. He has traveled all around the continent he calls home and knows more than just about anyone when it comes to history, tradition, and culture. One day...
