My-re of the Health Alteration Squad strolled down the main road into Willow Beach reading Galen Shanmarrik spy column in last turn’s arena newsletter perusing it for warriors to challenge. The afternoon sun shone bright, puffy, white clouds drifted by lazily and in no particular hurry to go anywhere, and the smell of baked goods filled the air.
She purchased an oversized blueberry muffin and quickly devouring it after taking her first bite. The pastry, covered with a slathering of butter, melted in her mouth. Licking her fingers to make sure she took in every last bit, she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her being overwhelmed by such a yummy opponent.
Brushing her hands clean, she continued on her way when she heard a snippet of conversation pass by.
“…that Rirorni general opened the new bar.”
“Yup, but I’d be surprised if anyone frequents it. Have you seen the inside? Besides, no one can understand what he’s saying.”
“Yeah, the Rirorni language is so harsh, I can’t tell if he’s greeting you or insulting you.”
“It’ll be out of business within…”
My-re wondered if that’s what General Pol’s been up to. She hadn’t seen him in two weeks and while she didn’t miss him frequenting the stable, her curiosity was peeked. She changed direction to the newest part of Willow Beach. Anyway, she was a little thirsty after the rich muffin and could use something to drink.
The streets were crowded, but fortunately, at 6’ she saw over most of the other warriors’ heads. All the shops were very busy with patrons with one exception. A newly constructed building had its doors wide open, but no one was entering or leaving. She wasn’t sure herself if it was open for business, but a sign above the door read. The Khan’s Retreat. Open for drinks!
Open for drinks? That seems an unusual thing to put on a sign.
My-re entered the tavern and her eyes widened by the décor. The assault of bright red, orange, and yellow colors of the interior and rounded theme was a stark contract to the rectangular design of most Alastarian architecture. Knee-high rounded tables littered the room with a multitude of fur pillows and rugs for patrons to sit on the floor. Woven Rirorni tapestries lined the room. A center hearth held spent embers that drifted towards an open ceiling with a pulled back awning.
There wasn’t a traditional bar to sit at, but a massive shelving system that held every conceivable bottle of liquor. General Pol of the Skull Squadron stable sat on an oversized fur covered stool with his elbows resting on his knees. He balanced a broken scimitar between his feet, but perked up when he saw her enter.
General Pol said, in a heavily accented and broken Alastarian dialect, “Hello into the Khan’s Retreat. My service is to get you drinks for this day.”
My-re snorted in amusement at what seemed to be a horrible translation. The sign ‘Open for drinks’ now made more sense.
“Oh, it’s you,” General Pol snorted in the Rirorni native language of Rathiri.
“That greeting was terrible, what were you trying to say?” My-re asked in Rathiri.
“Not that it matters, but I was trying to say, ‘Welcome to the Khan’s Retreat. It would be my honor to serve you today. How off was it?’” Pol replied, continuing in Rathiri.
“Way.”
Pol huffed in resignation. “Do you want a drink?”
“You’re offering me a free drink?”
“You’re the only person who made it this far into my tavern before turning around and leaving. I’ve paid for everything. Might as well not go to waste,” Pol replied and poured two drinks.
My-re took the glass Pol offered. The beverage was light, but not thick, and tasted sweet, not dry, with a slight aftertaste of apples. “Honey mead?”
“Yes, the honey was harvested by bees solely pollinating apple blossoms,” Pol said and took a drink.
“It’s good,” My-re said.
“Of course it is. It’s ambrosia from the gods own nectar, but it doesn’t make any difference if I don’t have any customers,” Pol said.
My-re took another drink and looked around the Rirorni themed tavern. She cringed slightly at the bright colors and furniture.
“Why did you name it the Khan’s Retreat? It still might be too soon since the Rirorni War.”
“That the brilliant part. It was designed to be like a ‘spoil of war’ from the Rirorni invasion where the Alastarian Lord Protectors could sit in a room that the Great Khan Ze’Frax himself would find right at home. Furthermore, the name also symbolize the Great Khan’s horde’s retreat from Alastari upon his assassination,” Pol said.
“I see…”
“The name is perfect, but I don’t understand what’s wrong?” Pol asked.
“Well, it’s like a joke. If you have to explain it, it isn’t very good. I have a feeling the title will be lost on people,” My-re said.
“What do I do? I sold my quarters at the Skull Squadron stable to open this tavern, if it fails, I’ll be the only homeless Lord Protector on this cursed isle,” Pol said.
“What a minute? You sold your quarters? To who?”
“That doesn’t matter now. I need your help. You are the only other person I know that speaks the Khan’s tongue,” Pol said.
My-re rolled her eyes, tightened her jaw, and breathed out heavily.
“I implore you,” Pol added.
My-re looked around, shook her head, and gestured to the furniture. “All of it has to go.”
“All of it?”
“All.”
“Done, what then?” Pol asked.
“You need someone to review your tavern with influence on the Isle of the Eye that warriors will listen to.”
“I know Sheila Greywand,” Pol said.
“Really? I said someone who would be willing to give you a review,” My-re snapped. She flipped a few pages of the newsletter she was carrying and pointed. “Galen Shanmarrik the arena’s spy reporter. I know Lord Garlor, the governor of Valamantis and patriarch of Clan Shanmarrik. I’m sure they are related and if I dropped his name, he might mention it next turn.”
“Excellent. The way he wordsmiths his reports, the passion he employs when covering the fights, he actually take precious time to write it, the way—“
My-re interrupted him. “Ease up. You’re putting it on a little thick. We’re just looking for a little nod in the newsletter.”
“Okay, then what?”
“You need a gimmick.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something to draw in the customers,” My-re said then noted the broken scimitar on the floor at General Pol’s feet. “What’s that?”
“Nothing, it’s the weapon from my first opponent I beat on the Isle of the Eye. I broke Pink Streaker of the Deceivers sword during our match. It wasn’t in any usable condition, so I picked it up as a souvenir of my victory,” Pol explained.
“That’s it. There’s your gimmick.”
“What? A broken sword?”
“Yes, you offer a free drink to any Lord Protector that had a weapon broken in the arena last turn. You can then display them all along the interior of the tavern. The warriors can even post it in the personal ads about adding it to the wall. Maybe even mention what drink they like,” My-re said.
“You want me to give away free drinks?”
“You gave one to me, so you’re already open to it.”
“Alright, point taken. Done.”
“Then what?” Pol asked.
“If your honey mead is half as good as your others, you’ll won’t need to worry about business. Besides, when has a warrior only ordered one drink on a night after a turn in the arena?” My-re asked rhetorically.
“Yes, my drinks are pretty refined. I’m currently working on a mead based from mushrooms,” Pol said with pride.
My-re cringed. She couldn’t imagine consuming a drink concocted from fungus. “Let’s just stay with what you have at the moment. Now, there is just one last change…the tavern’s name.”
General Pol snorted, “That’s the part I liked best…okay, I’m desperate. What should it be changed to?”
“I can’t think of a better name than, the Broken Sword Tavern.”