Chương 3: Standard Tavern Fare, Really

"The man's got coin. I heard enough jingle from his pockets to know that much," Lady Talia said.

"Keep an eye on him, though. Caught him sleeping off a few drinks in a ditch outside of town." Talia sneered in disgust, clearly happy to be rid of me and sorry to see me stay in her town. Yet the young innkeeper—Wynnie—just looked at me with pity.

"Oh, you poor thing. That's the worst place to sleep."

"Not that the beds here are much better," the constable murmured. Then, louder, "Good luck to the both of you. Please give me no reason to return." Wynnie and I watched the severe woman exit. Discreetly, I looked for a tail on her way out, but discovered none. She clearly worked out, though. At least I caught that much. After the door banged shut and her footsteps disappeared down the creaky wooden steps, the innkeeper turned to me.

"How long are you planning to stay?" I shrugged.

"Probably just the night. With any luck, I'll be gone by morning."

"Just passing through town, then?"

"Yeah, you could say that." My hope was still that I'd wake up on Molly and Dan's floor. In the meantime, I was stuck here. I looked around the room. A handful nautical knickknacks adorned the few flat surfaces. A small anchor rested above the fireplace, affixed to the brick with knots of aged rope threaded through rusted iron rings. Several faded paintings of sea captains hung askew on the walls. The whole place smelled of smoke and salt. Yet underneath the unwelcome vibes, there was something else.

The hint of rosemary and potatoes wafted through the air, and I was pretty sure I could smell wine. Cheap red wine, but wine nonetheless.

"Gosh. It's been so long since I had a real guest. I can barely remember what I'm supposed to do!" The tanned innkeeper worried at the sleeve of her dress while looking around, mildly panicked.

"Think, Wynnie. Think!" The bar I'd worked at most recently was part of a hotel. This wasn't my first rodeo.

"Probably, you'd like to set me up with a room," I suggested.

"Of course! Silly me." The pretty brunette shook her head, letting a few tangled locks shake loose from her bun.

"Why don't I show you to your room?"

"Wonderful idea."

"Where are your things?"

"No idea. Honestly, I just woke up here. All I have is my phone, keys, wallet, and a pocket full of change."

"What's a phone?"

"It's, um, nothing important. Just a thing." I realized that if I were in a fantasy world, trying to explain technology would be pure insanity. The town guard had already tried to lock me up once, just for sleeping. The last thing I needed was to be burned at the stake for scrolling through my photos.

"Okay, then. Follow me. I'll see to it that you get a fresh pair of linens to wear, too. For an extra charge, of course, but my prices are cheap."

"Of course."

"Want me to wash the ones you have on?"

"Um, sure," I said, completely winging it now. How did our party handle these things in our game? I always let the bard do the talking. More often than not, the dungeon master just hand-waved away these minor NPC interactions. I shook my head, scolding myself. It wasn't fair to think of her as an NPC. Despite being a small-town innkeeper, she must've had a rich and vibrant life of her own. If she were real, that is. Wynnie led me through a door to the right of the desk, which opened into a short hallway.

Immediately, she opened another door to her right.

"This is the best room in the house. It's right next to the hearth, so it's the warmest one we've got." I shivered. Warm wasn't a word I'd use to describe it. Somehow, it was colder than outside, which, last I checked, was a bright summer day. Even though coastal weather ran cool, it didn't run frigid enough to explain this damn room. Not only that, but the place smelled musty. It must have been quite some time since anyone set foot in there.

The last time she'd turned the sheets or fluffed the pillows could've been a year ago and I wouldn't be surprised.

"Thanks. It's perfect," I lied.

"I'll let you get situated. Dinner will be ready soon. I'm guessing you'll want to join me for that?" Seeing as I had no other food on me, nor plans to eat, that seemed like the best option. The place might've struggled to gain a single star on Yelp, but I could still smell the rosemary and potatoes.

"Yeah, I'd love that."

"Great! Just come out to the common room when you're ready. If I don't see you by the time I'm ready to eat, should I come get you?" I scratched my head.

"Sure. I guess I might try to take a nap."

"Great! See you then."

"Oh, one last thing before you go." I halted her.

"I'm a traveler, you know. This land that I'm in, is it called Amara?" She giggled.

"No. What gave you that idea?"

"Uh, no reason. I'm a bad guesser."

"This kingdom is called Solus-El."

"Oh." So this wasn't exactly the land dreamed up by my DM. There were a lot of similarities, to be sure, but this was something different. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. She turned around and headed for the main room again. Before she left, she took one last look at me, her gaze lingering a fraction of a second longer than was strictly necessary. And then, when she did turn, my eyes were glued firmly to her backside. She had plenty of it.

Enough to make a man lose a wisdom save and get hit with a passive charm effect. There was little else in the room besides the bed and a nightstand. An oval rug with a drab pattern sat on one side of the bed, and a coat rack with a single hook stood near the door. Aside from that, it was devoid of just about any creature comfort. An empty vase sat on a shelf. Not even dried flowers filled it. I ambled over to the bed, ready to try a nap if my brain would allow it. I didn't feel like I had any makings of a hangover.

During our game, I'd been on my third whiskey. Fourth, I guess, counting that "kill shot" I'd taken. Yet after waking here, I hadn't felt any of the effects. Disoriented, sure, but not actually tipsy. Nevertheless, I felt tired and sore. Maybe it was the long walk, or maybe it was my awkward sleeping position in a ditch. No matter the cause, a quick lie-down wouldn't hurt. I rolled onto the bed. A bloom of dust erupted around me, causing me to cough, then sneeze.

The mattress was as comfortable as a plank of wood covered with a scattered handful of feathers and wool. For all I knew, that's precisely what it was made from. I wished Lady Talia wasn't so correct about the lodging here, but this really was barely a step up from the ditch. For nearly an hour, I tried in vain to take a nap. All I succeeded in was tossing and turning. My mind was too curious, and the bed was too firm. What was this place? How real was it? And how could I get back home?

A light knock came at my door.

"Hello?" I called.

"Dinner is ready. If you're still hungry, you're welcome to join."

"Yeah, that sounds perfect right now." My stomach rumbled in agreement. I hadn't eaten since I woke up, and I had no idea how long ago that was. My mouth watered as it remembered the rosemary and potatoes from before. When I opened the door to my room, Wynnie was waiting anxiously. Her hands were clasped anxiously just below her abdomen. Again, her curves stood out. She was borderline plump. In all likelihood, she was probably an excellent cook with a healthy appreciation for rich, indulgent foods.

A bit of wholesome, old-fashioned tavern food would be just what I needed. She led me out to the bar area where she'd set two separate tables. Both were small, round two-tops with plain wooden chairs pulled out. Each place setting had a bowl, a small plate, plus a knife, fork, and spoon. On the front desk nearby sat a large iron pot with something steaming inside. A loaf of bread rested on a platter next to it.

"Did you want to eat separately?" Wynnie dipped her head, not quite making eye contact.

"I didn't want to presume. In case you wanted your privacy."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind a bit of company." A smile appeared on her lips, revealing a flash of white teeth. She looked down, blushing slightly, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her pointed ear. How had I missed that before?

"Are you an elf?" I asked.

"Of course. These are elven lands. Most of the residents are elves. Lady Talia likes to preach diversity, but I think it's just because she feels awkward as one of the few dragonkin here."

"I gotta admit, this is all still pretty new to me. Where I'm from, it's just humans."

"Really? Not a single elf, orc, or dwarf?" I thought about it for a second before deciding, yeah, I was going to say it.

"We have dwarfs, but not the kind you're thinking. They're human, too. Just a bit smaller, mostly."

"Well, that's just strange." Instinctively, I flinched emotionally. Hard to describe, I guess. But hearing her suggest that dwarfism was strange made me want to correct her. Suddenly, I understood Lady Talia's reaction to my orc comment a bit better. Wynnie sashayed over to the countertop where the soup and bread were waiting. Steam barely escaped from under the heavy iron lid of the Dutch oven. The bread on the platter next to it smelled yeasty and fresh.

"Gosh. I hope this turned out okay this time," Wynnie murmured to herself.

"This time?" I asked.

"It's a tough recipe for me," she explained vaguely.

"Well, at least there's plenty of it."

"Yeah, usually I try to cook enough for guests. But I never have any guests, so I tend to eat enough for guests as well." Her lips twisted into a luscious but defeated pout.

"At least I never want for leftovers." I glanced again at her figure. I could see it, but any extra weight she had, she carried exceptionally well. Then again, maybe I didn't need to focus on her body so much. Just because I was attracted to her didn't mean she needed my constant validation of her beauty. While she grabbed the pot and platter, I stood and moved her place setting over to my table. She set the food between us, and we both sat.

With a bit of hesitation and bated breath, she removed the lid of the cast-iron pot. Delicious smells wafted up from within. Herbs, beef, potatoes, and that rosemary from before.

"Is this beef stew with fresh-baked bread?"

"It's supposed to be," she confirmed.

"Wow. That's standard fantasy tavern fare, isn't it?"

"I don't know about fantasy. I'd always dreamed of doing something different with my life, but I guess it's standard tavern fare, yeah."

"I'm half surprised there isn't a halfling somewhere, leading the tavern in a rowdy song or telling tales about adventures past." She frowned glumly.

"That would be at The Good Inn down the street. You won't find any of that here." I'd never met someone with such a negative disposition. Yet for some reason, it felt like she came by it honestly. Judging by the look of the place, she was just down on her luck—a woman unhappy with her lot in life. Any negative self-talk or bad attitude was more a reflection of circumstance than core personality. At least, that was my read on it. It made me want to help somehow.

"You know, it's kind of sad hearing you call it that."

"Hearing me call what what?"

"You called the other inn 'The Good Inn.'""Oh! Well, yeah. I mean, that's the name of the place. The Good Inn. Meanwhile, I got stuck with the Breakwater Inn. I got totally shafted on the name." Damn. She really did. But if playing RPGs taught me one thing, it was that most problems had multiple solutions. Furthermore, the best solutions were usually the most creative. Or the most obvious.

"Why don't you just rename the place?"

"What?"

"Yeah, like, call it The Better Inn. Or even better, The Best Inn." For a second, her face brightened. A smile lit up her eyes, and she took an excited breath. Then, as quickly as it arrived, it passed. She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Unfortunately, I don't have enough money to change the sign. I don't even think I could afford paint."

"You're broke?"

"Honestly, if it weren't for your room and board, I might start worrying about eating next week." I winced. It almost made me feel bad that I might disappear as soon as I went to sleep. Even if she were imaginary. In computer RPGs, I always took the good-aligned character route because being mean to actual NPCs made me feel sad. She needed someone to help her out and turn this place around. I was sure it couldn't be that hard, either.

A bit of a facelift, maybe less smoke on the inside, and a better handle on the temperature? That couldn't be too hard. In fact, I was pretty sure we could handle some of that for free. A bit of elbow grease could go a long way, and a touch of paint could do the rest. I vowed to bring it up later after we'd eaten.

"Speaking of eating next week, how about this stew? It smells incredible," I said, looking at the thick, chunky dish in front of me.

"Oh! That reminds me, we'll want some wine."

"Special occasion? Or just because most meals can benefit from a wine pairing?" She grinned.

"If this is anything like the last time I tried to make it, we might need a second bottle. I'm not so good with the heat." Wait, what did she mean by that? Wynnie stood and headed back into what I now recognized was the kitchen. She clinked around inside, moving pots and pans awkwardly for some reason before yelling, "Aha!" While she was out of sight, I decided to do a little reconnaissance. I was hungry, and I didn't want to wait any longer. One small bite couldn't hurt.

I dipped my spoon into the delicious-smelling stew and brought it to my lips. All the smells in the pot had lied to me. Maybe the ingredients were right, but they sure as shit tasted wrong. The chalky taste of charcoal coated the entire inside of my mouth. Somehow, she'd burned everything. I wasn't even aware that one could char a liquid, and yet that's exactly what she'd done. I looked around for somewhere to spit the stuff but found nothing convenient. With some struggle, I swallowed.

No sooner had I choked down my spoonful than Wynnie reappeared from the kitchen door, brandishing two bottles of wine.

"Found some! Are you ready to eat?"

"I'm ready to drink, I'll tell you that much," I eyed the bread and hoped it was better than the stew. I'd definitely need to get drunk to choke down her cooking.

"Why don't we make a toast?" As I raised my glass, I sent out a silent prayer to whatever trickster god trapped me here. May a good night's sleep wake me from this fever dream.