Entry I - The Life and the Tellings of Everard the Tavern Keeper

Written by Chris Jorgensen

My name Is Everard, and I run the tavern here in Springdale. I really am not sure what to write in this journal, but my neighbors told me it might help me get over, well, life. Perhaps that is for another time. To say the least, they think this will help. So here I am, writing out the day's events in a book that no one will ever read but me. Still, it can’t be all bad, right? Things could always be worse.

For now, thankfully, I was able to get a hold of a decent sized blank book to write in without having to go into the city or use the merchant carts. As much as Randall wants to say how careful he is in his dealing in the city, one can never trust the roads. Bandits and such. There hasn’t been any kind of bandit activity since my father's days, but you can never be too careful. Anyway, I got lucky this time, it just so happened that an old peddler was traveling through here with a couple loaded mules full of crazy things. He had potions, trinkets, elixirs, jewelry, books, all sorts of things. No one really talked to him much, but he talked all night here while he was staying for a few days.

He liked wine, red, and once he had two cups, he was suddenly an open book that would read to you. Talked about some adventures he had working for the royal courts off in Brightwater. Of different dealings he had across the sea, and down south where only the bravest of merchant travelers go for spices and silks. He had all kinds of stories and some of them far beyond even fantastical belief. Well, they were entertaining. When I was able to get a few words in on the third night he was here I mentioned needing a book to write in. “As it just so happens, I have a book that might do the trick,” he told me. He was about six cups of wine in at this point, but he went stumbling to his room anyway. He came back down with this book and gave it to me for only the cost of his drinks for the night. Well, I did need the book after all, so I agreed. When morning came, he was so addled from his drinking that he nearly forgot one of his pack mules when he left. Didn’t say anything about the book, he must have forgotten our agreement. I let it slide, better to not bring his attention to it and lose the cost of the wine I let go to get it.

So, here I am, writing in it. Granted, that was about a week ago. I couldn’t really bring myself to write in it until now I guess. I’m not entirely sure what brought me to it even tonight, but I’ve started it, now I should at least continue it. I do fear that this could just become a null quest. What do I have to say in a day other than: “regular night folks came in, bought drinks, left happy,” or, “another slow day, waiting for a few travelers perhaps to help pad the coffers.” Of everyone in town, I of all people would never have anything interesting to write down for people to remember.

I’ll still try. I do meet a few interesting people from time to time when we have people coming in from Brightwater, or once in a while, we get some diplomat or crier from Halvershen. They at least bring about news of things that are going on in the kingdom. Wars, marriages, movements of the nobility that they think we need to know to go about our daily lives. Lousy nobility. They really do believe they are the center of the world at times. We had a crier come by once that tried to get everyone enthusiastic about some lord or other being made a baron. He wasn’t a baron over us or our town, so what did it matter to us? Poor guy was disappointed when no one else seemed to really pay it much mind. Excepting perhaps a few town council members and some kids who wanted to hear stories of the city. Bah, worthless if you ask me, All we need to make our own lives function is for the sun to rise and set, and work to be done. With that, we make our way just fine. I always thought such news or events were rubbish, and Eleanor would be the one to…

Well, that’s for another time perhaps…

Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. If anything ever happens in this town, perhaps I’ll write again. If anything, I’ll try for her sake.