Sociable Tavern Novels & Stories

We headed up a short hill, following the main flow of cars, and the houses began to get more spread out, until they disappeared entirely, replaced by a cute little downtown area. The suburbanites were out in force. Lots of boomers in fancy outfits, a few packs of teenagers, little kids running from bench to bench. I found a halfway decent spot called Parlor Twelve and held the door open for her. We sat at the bar toward the far side, with our backs to the wall, and a good view of the door. I didn’t plan on practicing good defense, but shit, might as well anyway. The place was an upscale gastropub sort of thing, with lots of metal and repurposed wood, the lightbulbs giving off that warm orang

Moss’ grin widened, “this, right here, is my turf.” Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The noise hit them almost immediately. The place was packed with people chattering and bantering back and forth between mugs of ale and glasses of wine the kinds of which Kilvic had read of in the stories. A lady walked around the busy tavern carrying two trays of cups and jugs, tactfully fending of grabbing hands with nothing but her wit and her footing, accompanying the noise with the thudding of mugs on tables and glasses on trays. And the smell, Kilvic hadn’t smelled so much alcohol since he’d stumbled upon a group of drunk men at the edge of the trepid forest one winter night while he’d

I grinned, “It's the least I can do since you're helping me find shoes to match my dress.” Brynn excitedly scrambled from behind the counter, following me out the shop. The streets weren't bustling as much. Only a few wandered about, the rest probably returned home or grabbed lunch in a random pub. “Just down the road.” I pointed, “It’s the one called Humblers Tavern.” “I don’t think I ever ate there.” “It's not much appearance wise, but their food is amazing.” “They could do with a makeover.” Brynn agreed, “Maybe some paint could do. Or-”

There wasn't a tavern in town before, but people decided to turn empty buildings into makeshift taverns to accommodate the onslaught of visitors in recent months and made a hefty sum in the process. This place was called the Robust Spirit Town, but what was robust wasn't the spirit of humans. In fact, vicious beasts would emerge from the Miasma Mountain Range and injure humans and livestock. This prompted any youngster with an ambition to make a name for themselves in the prosperous cities of the East Continent. Those who remained were mostly elderly people whose families had been here for generations or good-for-nothing hooligans that lived every day meaninglessly. The man in the woven rain

- If I have no heirs, yours will be there. - Oh no, don’t even think about it; my children will never lead a mafia; it’s too risky, too dangerous; they won’t serve as bait for the vultures. - So, I’m bait for the vultures? And why don’t I see them? - Because they fear you too much. We arrive at the tavern (the name given to one of my buildings that includes a hotel, two bars (one with strippers and the other for karaoke fans), and a brothel where auctions take place.

“I don’t think you’ll be welcome within.” Inside the tavern was much as taverns were - a large room warmed by a well-fed fire, clustered with tables and bench seats, and a wooden bar set against one wall. Most of the occupants were there, propping it up, their elbows against the scarred wood. They turned, laughing, to see who entered and their laughter slid from their faces. Two men abandoned their tankards and grabbed their cloaks from beside the door, stepping out into the cold night. The proprietor filled a tankard and set it on the bar before me. “Vienthrey has little tolerance for rabble rousers,” he cautioned me. “We are guarded by the dragon.”

Lena chuckled. "I didn't notice her that day," Darian said with a bored expression. He halted his steps when they arrived in front of a local tavern. "We are here," he declared. "Here?" Lena stared at him, her eyes twinkling. There was a tall billboard outside, indicating the name of the tavern. "Moonlight days," she read aloud. She could make out the sound of boisterous laughter echoing in the tavern as they stood outside on the tiled floor. "Come with me," he grabbed her hand firmly and they filed into the tavern together with Dickson and Harrison.

“It’s just a tavern. No different from the ones you have back home.” I doubted that, but I stepped inside anyway. Inside the tavern, the air was thick with the scent of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. Someone was playing a fiddle on a small stage in the corner. The bartender, a muscular woman with caramel skin, was laughing at something someone else was saying as she cleaned the inside of a large mug. All around, drunken patrons laughed, played cards, and swayed to the music. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that different. While Eric and Ember got us drinks from the bar, Neil, Castor and I found a table in a dark corner. With our cloaks covering our faces and our heads bent, we looked just like the other s