Business is dismal. Today I poured two mugs of mead. Just two. And one of the mugs was for me.
Why did I open a tavern in this tiny, lonely village? I thought that after a hard day's labor, people would want to drink and sing. But even the smith, who must work up a thirst, rarely comes in.
I would pray for a miracle, but who would listen to the prayers of a simple tavern owner who's down on his luck?
An interesting fellow stopped by today. A mage of some sort, I think. Sat in a corner, kept his hood drawn over his features. At first, he was grim and kept to himself. After a mead, however, he asked about the village and my tavern. I confess, it felt good to unburden myself.The fellow listened sympathetically and indicated there might be a way to improve my situation.
He said he might know how to turn things around. To get customers in the door and make them stay for a while. He said he would return after he thought about the problem and consulted his books.
I can't wait to hear what he comes up with. I'd give anything to make this tavern successful.
I made the bargain.
The Special Blend is as popular as promised.
Business is booming, but at what cost?
What have I done?