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More Writing In Italics! Sometimes on Twitter I pretend to be an Innkeeper at the Silver Pony Inn named Grunch Chumpkins. Don’t ask me why I do this. In any case I thought I’d expand the world of Mr. Chumpkins and provide a little short story about what it’s like to be an Innkeeper in a fantasy world.
Let me tell you a story. One from long ago. I remember the day my life changed. It should have been a normal midweek night. On a normal day I’d have a few farmers in town and perhaps a couple of merchants. They’d eat whatever I had bubbling in the stew pot, usually some potatoes, goat meat, a few carrots, maybe some cabbage if we happened to have any. Don’t misunderstand me, it was good, but it was nothing special. On top of that we’d go through maybe a few loaves of the morning bread, a bit of cheese, a few pickles. Mostly they’d be looking to have a few pints of brown, or cider, or the barley wine that I was selling in those days. Whatever was in the keg I’d tapped that morning. The customers would chat, share the news for a few hours, make jokes they wouldn’t make around their wives. I remember one about a goose and a ferret that makes me blush even to this day. They’d head out by dark and make their way to their farms. Me and the boy would clean up. The merchants, if there were any, would head to their straw beds on the second floor. I’d get the ingredients ready for the morning’s bread, blow out the candles and head to sleep. Our busy days wouldn’t happen until the endweek, when the markets were open and people came in from all areas to trade, even from deep in the Tramerack Woods.
That day however, was different. The Silver Pony Inn was packed to the rafters. I had already opened three kegs of brown, two of cider, and four of the barley wine. And the sun showed no sign of going down. People were standing in between tables, sitting in the stairwell, and I was pretty sure a few had even taken their drinks outside. Halland, the young orc boy who helped me, was sweating through his roughspun shirt trying to keep up with the orders. We had run out of bread hours ago and were on the last of the fresh cheese. I was supposed to have enough to last me the week. I’d had to whip up a few crackers of unleavened bread flavored with rosemary, and pull out the dried cheese and nuts I was saving. That didn’t seem to stop the guests from drinking though. Fortunately, I had enough drink in the cellar to drown a village. Or at least, I thought I did. To be honest with you I was a little afraid to check.
But that was just a little fear. What I was really afraid of was the Big Man. I’m calling him the Big Man because to this day I still don’t remember his name. When he stood up it felt like he had to duck lest he hit his against the ceiling. When he sat down on one of my roughhewn benches – made with my own hands out of the strongest wood I could find by the way – it bent and creaked. Where three men would normally sit comfortably, he seemed cramped. Too big to be real. When I first saw him, I thought one of the giants of Mytheria had come into my Inn. But they were long dead, at least according to Elder Marcus.
The Big Man was clearly the center of attention. The crowd was mostly townsfolk that I recognized, more than one Elder, our miller and several youths seeking out one of the rare bits of excitement we had. The rest were the Big Man’s followers. The seemed hard men, though each and every one of them was polite as they could be when ordering food or drink. They had on leather armor and they all wore some type of weapon. A few had swords, some bows, and more than one had several knives strapped to arms and legs. I think I might have even seen a mage, but my mind could have been playing tricks on me. There hasn’t been a mage in the Valley of Three Rivers in over five hundred years.
What scared me about the Big Man wasn’t his weapon. I have a sword behind my counter and I know how to use it. He wasn’t wild or anything. The crowd wasn’t rowdy, just big. It wasn’t his size, nor was it his crew. It was the way he stared at you. Like he could pierce your soul with a single thought. I think it was his eyes. At first, they seemed normal. White on the outskirts and then a torus of color and then a circle of black. But the Big Man’s eyes changed. At least the color did. The first time I saw them, when he ordered a fully roast pheasant, my last, and two pints of cider, they were a light brown. The next time, when he asked for some bread and butter, they were purple. The next time he came up they were bright blue, like the sky during a clear Midsummer day. The final time he came to me I made it a point to not look him in the eyes. Something came into my head that if I looked him in the eyes I’d never come out.
“Can I get some more of that brown beer? It’s rather good.”
His voice was a pleasant rumble, thunder during a nightstorm, the kind in the distance that rocked you to sleep. I nodded and gestured at Halland for another pint. The Big Man spoke again.
“I must apologize for all the hassle we’ve caused you.”
“It’s nothing. I appreciate your custom. We rarely get this much excitement in these parts. Mostly just local markets. Sometimes some traders, sometimes a bard or two. But nothing like this.”
I don’t know why I was babbling so much. But something about that man made we want to talk. As long as he was happy, he wouldn’t be dangerous I thought.
“Nevertheless I must thank you. Most innkeepers would not allow a crew such as mine to use their facilities. We’ve become most accustomed to sleeping on the road, in ditches and the like.”
I nodded.
“You coin is thanks enough. Who am I to turn away hungry and tired men, when I have food, drink, and beds enough for all.”
“A noble sentiment, and yet one not shared with many in this world. So, I feel duty-bound to give extra thanks.”
With that he reached one of his large hands into the satchel that sat by his side. As if on cue, his men went quiet. The rest of the people followed. Every eye in the room seemed to be on us. I didn’t like that. I was an Innkeep, not a Bard. No one really needed to pay attention to me. After what seemed like an age the Big Man’s hand came out of the bag. In it was a bronze amulet. A thin gold chain allowed it to be worn as a necklace. A big green stone sat in the middle of it. Engraved on the sides was a scene of a giant wave.
“We found this in lands beyond the great Freeze. Let it keep you safe.”
I steeled my nerves and looked the Big Man in the eyes again. They glowed a soft gold. I swallowed and then smiled and nodded at him.
“I will wear it with pride.”
“See that you do.”
With that he stood up and held a finger in the air and twirled it. His men all stood up as well and tromped up to the second floor, arranging themselves in their rooms. It was as if a spell had broken. Soon the rest of the folk left as well, heading home for the night. I cleaned up with the boy. I set out the ingredients for the bread tomorrow, figuring I would take stock of the damage done to our stores then. I was about to blow out the candle in my small room just off the kitchens when I felt the amulet in my pocket. I fingered it, feeling the metal. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put it on. So I did and then fell asleep.
The next day there was no sign of the men. They must have vanished in the middle of the night. My stores were back to what they had been before they arrived. No one I talked to remembered them. I haven’t seen them since. But I have worn the amulet every day since. That was four hundred and twenty-seven years ago.