Chapter 21: The Innkeeper
The giant doors of the Adventurer's Guild shut behind me with a low, heavy thunk that seemed to echo down the marble street, as if warning the whole damn city "fresh meat has arrived." I sighed, stepping into the afternoon sun and pulling my coat tighter around me. It wasn't even cold, I just needed something familiar to cling to.
But first things first: damage control.
I ducked into the shadow of a stone archway and pulled out what little remained of my worldly fortune. Two golden coins, heavy and warm against my palm and seventeen lonely copper clinkers that looked like they belonged in an arcade back home.
"Okay," I muttered, crouching and doing the math like some medieval accountant.
Gold: 2 x 1000 = 2,000 Pele
Copper: 17 x 1 = 17 Pele
Total: 2,017 Pele
"That damn ID orb better have been worth it."
Tucking the coins away with care, I turned toward the northside of the city, following Gwen's directions. Past the smithies and bakeries, past merchant carts that somehow managed to stay intact despite the chaos of foot traffic, and through an alley that stank of fish and wet dog.
Eventually, I saw it.
The Mikaelson Inn & Tavern.
It was a tall, narrow stone building with a wide wooden sign hanging above the entrance, swaying gently in the breeze. The words "Mikaelson Inn" were written in elaborate golden script, and underneath, in smaller text: Hot meals. Hot baths. No refunds.
Charming.
I stepped inside, and immediately the scent of roasted meat, old whiskey, and damp timber hit me in the face. The interior was surprisingly cozy for a building that looked like it had once housed plague rats. Warm lighting, thick oak beams, and a big hearth crackling in the far wall. A handful of travelers lounged at circular tables, some playing cards, some nursing tankards, and one passed out facedown in his stew.
Behind the long counter stood the innkeeper.
And good God, he was tall.
At least eight feet, if not more, skeletal thin, dressed in a black and purple vest with golden buttons that looked like they were clinging to life. His face was pale and bony, eyes sunken yet sharp like they'd seen one too many bar fights.
Then he opened his mouth.
"Welcome... to Mikaelson's," he said in a high-pitched squeak that did not match his Slender Man frame in the slightest.
I blinked. "...You're Mikaelson?"
He nodded proudly, his long neck craning slightly forward. "Indeed, it is my family name. Proprietor, host, chef, and sometimes therapist." He folded his hands together like a villain in a children's cartoon. "How may I assist you today, young adventurer?"
"Uh... Gwen from the Guild recommended this place. Said it was clean and had good food and a proper bath."
"Ohhh, yes. Gwen! Lovely girl. Bit snarky, but so professional. You'll find no fleas here, my friend. Not unless you bring them in yourself!" He let out a wheezy giggle.
"Right…" I rubbed my temples. "I need a room. Preferably one where I won't get murdered in my sleep."
"*One hundred Pele per night. Includes dinner, breakfast, and a steaming bath. Towels provided. Rules are simple: no fighting, no bleeding, and no necromancy on the premises." He slid a dusty ledger onto the counter.
"No necro, yeah, sure. Whatever."
I handed over one gold coin and watched as he popped it into an ancient-looking register that clicked like a haunted typewriter. He handed me a rusted key with a number tag dangling from it. Room 2B.
"I'll have your bath drawn in ten minutes. Dinner's roast venison tonight. Wine is optional but encouraged."
"Thanks," I said, then stopped. "...Hey, real question, do you see many elves around here?"
The innkeeper blinked those deep-socketed eyes. "Elves? Not in Torak, dear boy. Haven't had one in my inn for nearly a year. Nasty business with the Empire and border treaties. They mostly stick to the capital now. Suspicious folk, always staring like they know something we don't."
I nodded, filing that away. "Got it. No elves, lots of humans and demi-humans in chains."
He giggled again. "Oh, you'll do just fine here, I can tell."
With that, I turned and started toward the creaky stairs, the key jangling in my hand. I could already hear the bathwater starting upstairs. Maybe, just maybe, I'd get to soak for five full minutes before this world tried to kill me again.
The stairs creaked under each footfall as I climbed, the innkeeper's squeaky voice fading behind me. I didn't even think about a coat—it didn't exist. Just me, my gear, and whatever I'd scavenged from caves.
At the top of a narrow corridor, I found Room 2B. The door swung open on its own weight, revealing a modest space bathed in late-afternoon light.
A single bed with a woolen blanket and firm straw-stuffed mattress. A small wooden dresser with three drawers. A short table and chair. A carpet, threadbare but comforting, underfoot. A narrow case by the window that likely served as a makeshift shelf.
I stepped inside, shut the door quietly, and sank onto the edge of the bed. Time to do the inventory.
I opened my pouch and laid everything out:
Orbs: red, blue, green, orange, four total.
Armor: a single set of battered goblin leather armor (patchwork, but intact). Weapons: two shabby bronze swords, plus the two better goblin-guard swords.
Coins: 2 gold, 17 copper.
I closed my eyes for a second and ran the numbers in my head:
I sat there, sword balanced across my knees, staring at the spread. Food and shelter weren't issues. I'd paid one gold for ten nights, ten nights of safety.
Tucking the coins and orbs away, I stood and opened the window. A breeze drifted in, carrying distant city sounds. Boots on cobbles, merchant shouts, steam whistles. It felt like the world was waking around me.
I didn't have to worry about dinner logistics, venison roast was already on the menu. But I did want to clean up and shift the gear out of sight.
A knock, quiet and polite.
"Room 2B? Bath's ready."
"Thanks," I called back. Dropping my gear, I grabbed the towel hanging on a peg by the door and stepped into the ensuite, no tub, but a sunken stone basin with a steady flow of hot water. Quiet. Warm. Blissful.
The water bit off the grime instantly. I soaked for ten minutes, then repeated the process. The steam filled the room, clouds of relief.
When I emerged, I felt lighter, like the aches in my back and calves had loosened, like I could hold my sword without the world weighing me down.
I returned to the main floor, dried and in clean clothes the innkeeper gave me. The tavern area had quieted a bit, not empty, but less rowdy. A single table sat free near the hearth. I claimed it.
Soon, they brought the roast venison, a generous portion, along with fresh bread, cheese, and a small wooden bowl of dark-brown stew. I poured a mug of warm ale that tasted like honey and gravel.
The innkeeper stood behind the bar, adjusting mugs in their rack. I caught his eye and nodded. He climbed up in his lanky way, towering over the counter like a tree next to a sapling.
"Better?" he rasped.
"World better," I said, glancing down at my clean hands. "Thanks."
He leaned forward, thin arms folded on the counter. "You seeing the bustle? It's a mess, but it's ours. Guild, merchants, steam, magic, run by any one of them and we'd be trading goats on the edge of a hole somewhere."
"You know the orbs and gear I brought in?" I asked, sipping ale. "Thinking of selling. Where should I go?"
He slapped the counter once, rattling glasses. "Grahn's Curio, south district, two blocks from the main square. Gizmos, relics, magical detritus, you got questions or need appraisal, that's the place."
"Guild Square's just five minutes that way," I said, pointing across the room at the Guild building through the window.
He nodded. "That's it. That's your pulse. Watch it. Don't let it blind you."
I chewed venison. "What's on everyone's mind?" I asked casually. "Town gossip?"
He snorted, tapping his nose. "City's full of talk. Ember riots up north. Beastkin protests in the market, word is they want rights. Guild's been getting muscle from private houses. Slavery's heating up. Nobles demanding increased quotas. You've seen the chains. Worst of all, the ever present threat of those bastards to the north."
I set down the mug, eyebrows raised.
"Everyone here has pitchforks in the ground. People on both sides. Next spark… could burn this place to ash."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're smart. Watch your flank."
I nodded slowly, letting it sink in.
Tone was upbeat, but my gut coiled tight. Fun town. Dangerous times.
He reached around and dropped two copper pieces on the counter, change from my ale. "Enjoy it. You earned it."
I smiled faintly. "I will."
The fire crackled nearby. The roast disappeared. The stew worked its warmth in.
And somewhere inside me, I realized that for the first time in felt like months, I was comfortable.