“Welcome to the Broken Sword Tavern,” My-re of the Health Alterations Squad said to General Pol of the Skull Squadron stable.
General Pol repeated the phrase, but struggled with a slow, heavy drawl.
“Say it quicker and lose the accent,” My-re replied in the Rirorni native language of Rathiri.
“You might as well ask me to lose my arm as well,” Pol responded back in Rathiri.
“Keep practicing in the Alastarian dialect,” My-re said then poured herself another Honey Mead.
Pol muttered to himself and paced around the bar repeating the welcoming phrase.
My-re breathed in deeply and marveled at her work in the reconstruction of the Khan’s Retreat into the new remodeled Broken Sword Tavern the past two weeks.
The tavern now had a traditional curved bar at the back with three tapped kegs behind it. Shelves behind the kegs held row after row of mugs and glasses. Next to the bar, and up three short steps was a small, separate area with a solid, ancient oak table and three high back chairs, with a fourth resembling a wooden throne, which could easily sit two people, facing the entrance. This area was reserved for the Tower Guardian where his or her special guess’ could sit and watch the patrons from an elevated position.
Rectangular tables with lit candles faced different directions with a miss-match of different chairs styled from the Andorian, Delarquan, Lirith Kai, and Free Blade nations. Pelts of large animals sporadically covered the stone floor. The tavern’s walls where covered with numerous small, medium, and large shields, with empty hooks designed to hold broken weapons. Two large, round chandeliers suspended from thick chains held six large candles each. A hearth in the middle of the room held three large chickens roasting over the center and the simmering soup of the day filled a large, black caldron. The aroma of the cooking meat permeated the tavern and wafted out the door.
General Pol walked back to My-re, clapped his hands, and said in Rathiri, “I think we are ready for our first customers.”
They both heard heavy footsteps and turned towards the entrance.
Three Shewish Giants ducked as they entered the doorway and sniffed the air. The leader, an older Shew rose fully eight feet in height. A thick, black brow loomed over undersized eyes. He folded his thick arms over a barrel chest. Two slightly smaller, but equally impressive Shews flank either side of him. Their presence made the room shrink and their massive size made My-re feel like a small kid in an adult world.
“I don’t think we are ready for our first customers,” My-re mumbled to Pol in Rathiri.
General Pol straightened his outfit, walked towards the Shewish Giants, and breathed in deeply to speak.
“What you want tiny human?” the older leader of the Shews looked down at the Rirorni. His two companions moved to flank Pol.
Not wanting the Rirorni to become the latest mugging victim on the Isle of the Eye, My-re hurriedly approached.
All the Shew’s eyes snapped to her and low growls emanated from their throats.
“Welcome to the Broken Sword Tavern. I’m My-re and this is General Pol, the owner of this fine establishment.”
The Shrew leader brushed past Pol, approached My-re, and stood over her. His body was easily twice her size and his massive hands could crush her head like a grape. His downward gaze made her feel like a child who had disobeyed her mother, but now the father was home from a hard day’s work, who would issue forth punishment, quickly and with impunity.
My-re swallowed hard, looked up, and met his gaze. “Have you heard of our free drink promotional?”
All three Shews’ ears perked up at the word ‘free’. The old Shew’s brows lifted in interest revealing his tiny black eyes.
“Gromp like free drinks,” Gromp, the old Shrew said. The other two Shewing Giants nodded in agreement.
“Yes, any gladiator that had a broken weapon in the arena is entitled to a free drink,” My-re said.
“Gromp no gladiator, and no have broken weapon,” Gromp said.
“I apologize, but the promotional is specific,” My-re replied and folder her arms.
Gromp’s displeasure rumbled in his throat. He strode out of the tavern. The other two Shewish Giants still flanking General Pol, watched Gromp leave and stood unsure what to do.
My-re then someone outside shout, “Hey!”
Gromp returned with a hatchet in his hands. He gripped its wooden handle and snapped it. Throwing it on a nearby table Gromp said, “Gromp take weapon from gladiator, Gromp now gladiator, and Gromp has broken weapon. Gromp want free drink...now.”
My-re retrieved the broken hatchet and turned towards the three Shewish Giant and General Pol. Examining the weapon, My-re said to Pol, “Get the gentleman his free drink.”
Gromp smiled and issued a hearty snort of satisfaction and the three Shews became the first patrons of the Broken Sword tavern.