A Talk In A Tavern – Blog Part 4

The Tale Teller arrived at the Tinkerer’s Tap, the main tavern in the nearest little settlement of Quent. Despite its size the town had two taverns, serving a mere fifty or so people, half of which were children. The Tale Teller mused, ‘this would be the tavern head to‘, as it was on theme with his story. He didn’t doubt the man would come here first.

He opened the door with a gentle prod from his walking stick. It opened with the slightest of creaks. The Tale Teller stepped inside, and as the door swung closed behind him, he breathed in a deep breath. He tasted it on his tongue, the smokey taste emanating from the fire, the sweet scent of cider, and the less pleasant scent of sweat slowly turning stale after a long days work. He looked at the fire and saw a chair with a small footrest of a table beside it. He strode over and went to sit down. A boy then tugged on what must of been his mother’s sleeve saying, “Look, it’s a wizard!” The boy was pointing towards him. As his mother reprimanded him with a gentle backhand to the head for his apparent rudeness, The Tale Teller smiled at the inquisitive youth, before completing the task of siting down. The chair creaked as he did so. He closed his eyes and thought back to his carpentry days of youth, now so, so long ago. He remembered what his father said, “When a chair creaks, it’s the wood remembering its days of blowing in the wind.” As such, The Tale Teller’s thoughts wandered… To the point where he wondered, ‘what had brought the mighty tree, that made such a sturdy chair, to heel. Was it the wind of a freak storm, or the blade of an axe; And had it’s branches’, -three of which, roughly carved, were now pressing into his back- ‘ever nested birds. If they had, were they local birds, or had they migrated?’ It was at this point when a serving girl came over and asked him, “What ya want to drink? And do ya want a bite to eat with that?”

  “Ale please, and that will be all,” -He looked the girl in the eye then and smiled- “Thank you!” he concluded as she turned to leave.

And with that, The Tale Teller nestled into the chair as his thoughts returned to it. He started into the fire then, waiting, wholly content in his contemplation…

The serving girl and the traveller he had met arrived at pretty much the same time. The door opened to reveal the recipient of his story. Not two seconds later a drink was placed in his hand. The man looked around, no doubt seeking him out. Accordingly, The Tale Teller lifted his walking stick into the air, in the interest of making the man’s task easier.

It seemingly worked; As the man saw him and headed over, dodging customers and staff alike, as chairs were pulled in and out from tables, nearly tripping the poor fellow twice. Being a tale teller had it’s advantages, for he had flown through the hustle and bustle like water.

“It’s like a death trap in here.”

The Tale Teller chuckled in response. He looped his walking stick through the spindles of a nearby chair and pulled, spinning it in such a way that it ended up on the far side of the fireplace facing him. “Sit down,” The Tale Teller said, accompanying it with a gesture of the hand. He sat down.

“So, where were we?” The Tale Teller asked. He knew full well, but it was just a customary thing old men did, and so he complied with societal norms and just got it out of the way.

  “We were at the part where they’d just taken the thopter for a test run and were returning to the workshop.”

  “You remembered entirely. I must say I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah I like stories. They excite me.”

  “Truly a man after my own heart. I approve,” -The Tale Teller smiled- “And in that case, let us waste no more time on pleasantries. Let’s begin…”

I could spend a good deal of time explaining what happened in the interim between these two events, but alas it grows late and I don’t wish to make you return to me again to hear the end, so let me summarise… When Jack got back to that workshop he was inspired. And it was real inspiration, not some unstructured inspiration that fades away after but a day. Far from it, it was the kind of inspiration that could last one an entire lifetime.

So, Jack devoted himself to his craft wholeheartedly. He made many many contraptions in the weeks that followed, skipping work and notably pay, just so that he could work on his little projects. Jack had none to look after him. He looked after himself and after but a few days the lack of income was starting to effect him physically. Lack of food tends to do that to someone you see.

George said nothing at first, as he realised it was perhaps a touchy subject, but soon worry overcame him and he asked Jack why he’d gotten so slim.

  His response was this, “The work I do on projects ain’t paid, so I ain’t got nothin much to spend on food that’s all.”

  George was horrified. “Buddy, I never realised you were living so scant. Hey, look at me! If you ever need food just come and ask. OK?”

  “OK” Jack said with a smile “Thank you. I don’t want to be a burden though.”

  George’s heart seemed to grimace, “A burden. Burden! Never my boy will you ever, ever be a burden!” he bellowed, tears almost swelling in his eyes, only barely holding them back with his iron will.

With that, Jack set back to work. He worked, and worked and worked, with new found determination. His little projects soon became big projects. Each more impressive than the last, he had finally made a beetle that flew and responded to the voice command to fly. That’s all it did, but the voice control bit had taken a lot of work and he was chuffed with it.

Now that food wasn’t a particular issue, he rarely turned up for work. His real work that is. Why would he? He never had money for discretionary spend before, the concept was alien to him. He didn’t think he needed it. He only turned up enough so that he wasn’t totally reliant on George to feed him. At times he felt a bit like a leech, and in those times he ate from his own little stash of dried and salted meats.

His next project took him a lot longer than those prior to it however, as it was a real leap from his little bug. His goal was to make an eagle out of metal that could fly and defend itself. It would act like a normal eagle, but would have a few added magical defences built into it. He made a list of the parts he’d need. He was only halfway through the list and the parts totalled to more than twice what he made in a year. In a glum, yet determined mood he headed off to work; Only to find his place taken by another. He’d been fired. He complained and asked what he’d done wrong.

“Nothing. The boss just wants someone who’s willing to do extra hours that’s all.”

Mentally shattered he head towards the Emporium. He arrived there, but even it couldn’t cheer him up. Not today. That job was all he’d ever known and he’d been left floating in a sea of uncertainty, all the definites of his life pulled out from under him. Not knowing what else to do, Jack finished his little list of necessary components. He thought of handing it to George, then thought bad about it. He couldn’t ask so much of George. Not after all he’d done for him already.

And so, he headed for… well, home? On the way to his little rooftop hideout he witnessed someone getting pickpocketed. He looked the thief dead in the eye and signalled him over. The thief looked puzzled but came over. “Hey, any chance I could get paid for getting money too?” Jack asked, pointing at the insignia of the Thieves Guild, only partly concealed by his collar. The man smiled, “Yup. If you know where to go.”

  “And where must one go?”

  “Dimma lane. Ask for Ross. He oughta sort you out. See ya round kid,” he said with a devilish grin.

Alas this is how Jack found himself waiting outside the door of the chief conscription of the Thieves Guild.

“Here we shal take a break however. For you do not have a drink my friend, and that’s hardly fair.”

  “Yes indeed. You really are good at this whole story telling lark.”

  “Do not refer to it as ‘lark’, you do it a disjustice my friend. But yes, they call me The Tale Teller for a reason.”

  “hmph. Oh hey!”

The serving girl turned, “Yes?”

  “May I have a flagon of sider.”

  “You certainly may. And you? You want a refill?”

The Tale Teller turned his head to see how much ale he had left. Just over half full. He shook his head, “No thank you.”