Pint & Pony

Short legs carried the young halfling around the tavern, a tray of drinks in his hands. Barely coming up to the waist of most patrons meant you could easily be overlooked, or stepped on. Welby had learned to be agile and moved through the crowds like a dancer. His family’s tavern, The Pint and Pony was flooded with patrons. A table of already fairly drunk travellers gave out a cheer.

“Half the year’s through! May the sun rain down and light the remainder!”

Other cheers sprang up around the pub. The clangs and clinks of glasses and steins mixed in the air with boisterous cheers and pounding of fists in the heavy wooden tables. Every summer for a week Wellspring filled with people for everything the town had to offer. Another round of cheers broke out.

“Past all hardships we stay strong!”

The whole week kept Welby busier than any other time of the year. Running drinks and food not only to the usual townsfolk but also to every caravan driver, traveling merchant, and strange passerby that came through Wellspring made downtime virtually nonexistent. He could not recall half of any of the customer’s names by this point. Keeping track of them by distinctive features was a much simpler task for him. Varying accents, dialects and languages bombarded his ears daily, ending most of his nights with a slight headache. Almost none of them would be seen in town again after the festival ended tomorrow night. Welby didn’t care for the yearly chaos but being the only pub in town had its definite advantages.

“Travelers are only good for gold,” his father used to tell him.

There was a man who showed up one afternoon from the road and never left, Rezon. Rezon arrived about five years ago claiming to be traveling and looking for work to pay for the continuation of his journey. He had come to the Pint and Pony hoping to needed in some capacity but Welby’s family didn’t trust outsiders. The story should focus on the mc, not on the distant narration.

He did eventually find work with farmer Baeric. Again expositio. That should be showed not telle. Baeric was farmer that had been in Wellspring for as long as Welby could remember. He had a grain farm just out of town. Welby’s family, being brewmasters, saw him regularly. Rezon would deliver their weekly shipments of grain to the Pin and Pony’s cellar. For whatever the reason he decided never to move on. He was now a regular fixture in the town. The longer he was there the more his family warmed up to him also.

Welby dodged around customers walking around and chairs suddenly jolting out in front of him. He reached a table of four dwarves, not knowing any of them. He didn’t know any dwarves actually.

Dwarves were not a common site in the area. Wellspring wasn’t overly close to any mountains other than Montatite, which was more like a large hill. What little Welby understood about dwarves mostly boiled down to the fact they lived in mountainous areas.

Welby didn’t know much about the world outside of Wellspring, having lived here his 20 years. What he did know was only slight and came from local sources. He spoke with Rezon, the man that delivered the pub’s grain, about dwarves one day, but that was the extent of things.

“Stay to themselves mostly, you run into them as armorers and blacksmiths most of the time,” Rezon had told him. “They make homes in mountains, they love cutting stone.”

This was just one of many chats Welby had with Rezon on delivery days. Rezon seemed to be a fountain of knowledge. He always seemed a little hesitant to share what he knew though. Welby had onced asked him how he knew everything he did, Rezon gave him an answer that did not quite satisfy.

“You learn a lot as a traveler,” Rezon had told him with a tone of finality that Welby did not dare question.

Welby approached the table of dwarves with a cautiously. They were speaking emphatically with each other but in a language he didn’t know. They seemed in good spirits though, one of them slapped another on the back and the table broke out in laughter.

“Your drinks gentlemen.” squeaked out Welby. The group looked over at the obviously nervous halfling, suddenly silent. Welby tentatively began to place four mugs of his family’s Sun Splashed Ale on their table, it was a specialty they always brewed during the summer. The dwarf closest to Welby slapped a few coins down on the table. The sound of the dwarf’s heavy hand hitting the thick wooden table was stunningly loud and could be heard through the rest of the tavern despite the boisterous constant chatter from the rest of the customers. The sound noticeably startled Welby and the dwarves let out a laugh seeing the little man jump. Good

“Don’t worry boy we won’t bring any harm to you!” the dwarf that put down the coins said to Welby, a little mockingly he felt.

“Never crossed my mind good sirs,” Welby spout out. At this the table broke into another bout of laughter.

Welby scooped up the coins on the table and sheepishly, with haste though, got himself back into the kitchen. He quickly found a place to put his tray down and take a breath.

His mother, Lysanor, was hurriedly moving about the kitchen preparing food for the numerous hungry customers. Pots and pans steamed, sizzled, and bubbled all around her. In her 30 years since her and his father, Joran, opened The Pint and Pint she had cooked for family and client alike. She’d become an expert at handling no fewer than three meals at a time. It was magical and a little tiring watching her work the kitchen. She directed her kitchen staff, two brothers that she hired on a need to basis when things were busy.

With beads of sweat building up on her forehead Lysanor moved deftly around her kitchen, tasting dishes, checking doneness and barking orders at her help.

“How much longer on those veggies? I need them with for chicken,” she called out without looking up.

“30 seconds!” Shouted back one of her assistants.

In the midst of dashing between dishes Lysanor’s always mindful eyes caught the image of her son now propped up against the wall. She peeled off her apron and approached him. His closed eyes and shallow breathing gave him away. He shuddered slightly when her hand caressed his cheek. It warmed her hand and was the color of rare meat.

“How are we doing out there Welby?”, she knew how to broach a subject without being too direct with her son.

Welby looked up at her and she threw him a friendly wink, as if to reassure that she was looking out for him. Her face was warm and comforting. A small sigh passed through his lungs and a little weight lifted off his chest. He normally wasn’t so easily shaken by patrons, he’s dealt with rowdier groups than anyone here before. Something about today shortened his breathes and quickened his heart.

“It’s going fine mom,” Welby replied, not sure if he was telling the truth, “busier than ever though. Do you think I can get a minute?”

Lysanor understood that Welby needed to walk away. She knew him better than he did, but that was no surprise. Lysanor saw when her son was becoming overwhelmed. It happened more than Welby would admit or understand.

“Of course dear, be back in 15 would you though?” Lysanor shot a glance at one of her workers, “Ezra, get out there and take some orders and move some plates!” Ezra, the only non-Goodbarrel that worked here stopped chopping whatever vegetable he was working with, picked up Welby’s things and ambled into the main part of the tavern.

He fished a small flask out of his pocket. The silvery metal container still felt cool in his hand despite the summer heat. The sloshing liquid vibrated through its thin walls. A few quick spins of the lid and it was open, slightly sour and smokey scents wafted into Welby’s nose.

He had filled his flask earlier that morning with his first solo attempt at brewing. The Goodbarrel line was a proud one when it came to crafting fine beverages that help people forget.

“Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy,” his grandfather always used to tell him.

With such pride taken in making these types of things, Welby wanted to take the initiative and impress his father. He knew the basics of how to brew, having watched an expert do it for the last 20 years. He took it on himself to expand upon the basic recipe and craft something he could call his own.

He threw back the flask and took a great gulp. The cool liquid spilled over his tongue. Bitter acidic terribleness filled his mouth.

“OH GOD!” Welby managed to get out through a swarm of hacks and coughs.

He pounded his chest and let out a mighty belch that tasted only slightly worse than what he had just ingested.

“Ok, never again,” Welby aloud to himself. “Next time I’m asking for guidance.”

Welby grumbled his way back to the overrun tavern, spitting occasionally in an attempt to rid his mouth of that smoky sour mess. Joran, his fathered pounced upon him the instant he came through the door.

“Break’s over Welby, we have orders going out.” Joran shouted, without looking back to his son. “I’m on it dad,” Welby replied, downtrodden. “You better have more energy than that boy, we have full tray ready to out for you.” His dad looked back down his nose at Welby.

Welby tied up his apron and spied the tray with four meals of mutton and potatoes ready and steaming on top. He sighed to himself as he picked up the unwieldy thing and headed into the lobby.

“Table 13!,” his father bellowed to him. The dwarves.

Welby lazily hauled the four meals to the table filled with the bearded men. He hoped they would just let him leave the food and be gone this time. He was sure they wouldn’t. As he

approached he could hear them speaking in the unknowable language from before. When he was nearly upon the table though he suddenly understood what they were saying. He was sure they were still speaking the same language, he could hear it, but Welby could pick up on what they were talking about this time. It seemed to be some kind of war story.

“A spear as thick as my arm flew passed my head, took a little hair with it!” the dwarf with bright red hair gestured with his hands as if something was careening past his head.

“Too bad it didn’t graze you, maybe you’d be more handsome!” A dwarf with a great bulbous nose interrupted the story. A great bout of laughter erupted from the table.

Welby, a bit stunned by this new revelation laughed along at this while he set down their plates. Now it was the dwarves turn to be slightly stunned. They gave a quizzical look at Welby and their story stopped. Welby, realizing that he had revealed his new talent thanked the dwarves and without looking up at them returned to the kitchen trying to avoid any more attention.

Once the group had left he went to clear their table, there were only a few tables with patrons left. Welby gathered their plates and things when he spied a small folded scrap of paper. Welby opened it and discovered a note, or at least he thought it was a note, he couldn’t read any of it. Did they leave it for him to find? He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it, before deciding to pocket it. He would ask the one person that might know about these sort of things if they could help him understand it.

As Welby continued clearing the tables of its contents throughout the tavern he felt a pair of eyes following him around the room.

"Have you tried it yet?" The voice of his father called out to him.

"What’s that now?" Welby continued clearing the current table without looking up.

His father came next to him. "Have you tried it yet?" He spoke warmly, his gaze never leaving his son.

Welby suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Tried what dad?" He felt his face grow flush.

"I think you know exactly what I’m getting at," Joran sat down with a knowing but inviting smile. "How did you know? I didn’t tell anyone." Welby was taken back that his well kept secret was not as well kept as he thought. "Well it doesn’t matter, it was awful." With that Welby slumped into the chair next to his father.

"Tell me about it, what did you make?" Joran did his best to coax his son to keep talking.

"Well I started basic recipe for our Sun Kissed Ale and added a few extras in an attempt to make something for Autumn. But it was just terrible." Welby threw his head back in a final death throe.

Joran’s heart both beamed and sank for his son. "You need to empty that cask of swill tonight then. We’re closed tomorrow so we’ll have plenty of time before the final celebration to brew a new batch, together." Joran stood up and began to return to the back of the tavern.

Welby sat up and watched as his father walked away, his eyes filled with love. "Thanks dad," this he said so only he could hear.

After another hour or so the last of the tavern’s patrons finished up and vacated. Welby went about his usual business clearing and cleaning tables, sweeping the floors and taking care of the other nightly tasks. Before he was finished for the day though he had to wait for the grain delivery, Normally it would arrive the next day but seeing how that would be the last day of the festival The Pint and Pony would be closed. Everyone would be at the town square where merchants, performers and all sorts of others would be entertaining, feeding and selling to the masses.Even the Goodbarrel family was bringing two massive, festival worthy barrels of their finest brews for all to enjoy. A loud pounding came to the back door, Rezon assuredly. Sure enough the weathered middle aged man stood behind the door when Welby opened it.

Rezon was a handsome man by most accounts, in his late 30’s Welby presumed. Although the areas around his eyes insisted of a greater age. He wore a dark leather vest and his skin tone nearly matched it, darkened from working the fields. He kept his hair short and close to the scalp, black with grey sprinkled sporadically through it. His beard matched, tight and clean. "Good evening young master. I have some grain for you," Rezon smiled warmly as he looked down at the young halfling,

"Thank you Rezon, come on I’ll unlock the grain cellar," Welby exited and locked the door behind him. He led Rezon to the cellar entrance, a fully loaded hand cart being pulled behind him. "How has this day treated you and your family Welby?" Rezon trudged the cart behind himself. He liked the Goodbarrels, even if they were a little cold to him starting out. Luckily it didn’t take very long them to come around to him. He especially liked Welby, his curious mind was refreshing to Rezon. A mind such as his was an oddity in Wellspring. Welby led the way to a small set of double doors that seemingly dropped below the tavern.

"Today treated us well," Welby replied. "Busier than ever I’ve seen before."

They reached the cellar doors and Welby carelessly swung them open. They were greeted with a high pitched loud squeal of the hinges and a mighty crash of the doors to the ground announcing to everyone in earshot the current happenings at The Pint and Pony. The sound made Welby cringe both externally and internally, his organs winced from the sound.

"I forgot they did that," Welby said, recovering from the embarrassingly loud blunder. "It’s been a long day."

As the light began to fade Welby and Rezon worked to store the grain bag by bag in the cellar. They talked and laughed, mostly about some of the absurdities they had witnessed throughout the week. Welby then mentioned the dwarves.

"They put you off a little did they?" Rezon asked.

"I don’t know what it was, I just wasn’t ready for them," he begrudgingly replied.

"Few rarely are!" Rezon let out a snort and a short laugh. "Don’t let it trouble you."

"They spoke in their native tongue I assume," Welby told him. "I’ve never heard anything like it before. It was even stranger when I began to understand what they were saying."

"What do you mean you understood them? You don’t speak dwarven." Rezon stared at Welby as if he was suddenly growing an extra limb.

"I was surprised by it too. At first all I heard was their language then, after my break, I returned to their table and understood quite clearly of what they spoke, and it was definitely not the common tongue."

"And what could have happened on this break that suddenly you comprehended other languages?" Rezon pressed.

Welby explained to Rezon about his quick break and his disastrous drink. With this Rezon stopped him and questioned him, of all things, about the beer.

"It was just a simple yet powerfully disgusting attempt at alcohol," Welby told him.

"I believe there was more to that drink than you realize. It is late now though, we can discuss it tomorrow. Was there anything else odd?" Rezon spoke with an uncomfortable quickness.

Welby fished the note out of his pocket.

"They left this behind on the table. I can’t read it though."

Rezon snatched it from Welby’s hand and started to leave with the hand cart. Before Welby could protest Rezon was out of reach and moving quickly.

"We’ll discuss this tomorrow as well." Rezon was gone.