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?
|Everfull Flagon Journal|
|Everfull Flagon Journal, Page 2|