3/31

With a nod, El walked inside, one hand laid on the straps of his haggard travel pack, the other gently resting up his blade, a practiced and casual stance, and sauntered inward. The buildings were basic, but solid. This far into the frontier it did not pay to be careless with your buildings, and the inhabitants of this small town knew as much. El was a practiced scribe, and there was no discomfort as he took in the elegant labels on each of the town’s buildings. Apothecary, Doctor, Blacksmith, Carpenter. But the tavern stood apart from the rest. The largest building in town, it was a full three stories and mansion-like. The recurring promise of the frontier was as much lland as you wanted, and all your own, and so they came and they built their buildings big and beautiful whenever they could.

Dark, sloped roofs with a red-tinted wood, each pillar intricately carved, some fresher than others, and a wide patio that stretched around the base of the building. The higher floors were slightly smaller, but had a similar walkway around. The top was smaller still, housing four rooms at El’s guess, but it stood apart like a tower. Only the watchtower near the gates was any higher in the town. A sign with connotations of flourish and approval read ‘The Battleborn Tavern’, and two large red doors were swung open, and dozens of folk were sitting inside, a few patrons swaying back and forth to a regular timing, a few of them banging their cups along.

It wasn’t until he was inside that he saw a fiddler and an accordionist that was presumably the source of this common rhythm, standing on an elevated stage. The faintest trembles of vibration through his feet told him that the acoustics were well-designed, though the curving shell would have let him guess. Each table was broad and round, there were maybe twenty of them, and the common room was absolutely enormous. Like many towns, the tavern was the beating heart. A shelter for the worst disasters, an inn for the travellers, a gathering place for discussion and conversation, a restaurant for local families, a place of celebration and necessity. There was a town hall and a guard post, somewhere, but this was the head of the community.

At the far side of the room was a gleaming bar. It wasn’t natural wood, almost certainly mund-made, but it had the same gorgeous carving to it and unique red sheen, polished to a shine, and behind it worked three women. All three of them looked too similar to be coincidental, and El clocked them for triplets. Each of them a red dress, straight and form-fitting, and pale skin. One was blonde, and she looked the oldest, a little bit tired, and was busy organizing the bottles behind the bar with a look of extreme focus. The red-head was chatting with an elderly man near the edge of the bar with a smile of surprising warmth. The third had raven-black hair and was working carefully, a grim look on her face as she mixed several beverages together in order to achieve the perfect mix.