Jacques Alutris brushed the dirt from the road off his shoulders, sighing in relief as he pulled open the door to the Bounding Tankard. The early morning sun behind him highlighted the swirls of dust and the shine of the bartop.
“Ah, home sweet home†He muttered to nobody in particular, running his hands along the counter, feeling the gouges and rough spots in the wood.
The bartender, back in his native environment, smiled. He tromped up the stairs and set down his pack, producing a couple new pint glasses and tankards from it. He carried them back down to the bar area, and made himself busy with the process of cleaning them and drying them before racking them up above the counter to wait for their use later that day. Nodding in satisfaction, he moved to the kitchen, pulling ingredients from sacks and boxes to make a stew. The sound of a sharpening steel rasped through air as Jacque sharpened his knife before getting to work. His hands flew as he hummed a cheery tune, ingredients plopping into the stock that’d been prepared a few hours earlier. He snapped his fingers, flicking a spark of flame into the woodpile, the magics igniting a blaze under the pot holding the soon-to-be food. The flames danced beneath the heavy iron apparatus, their heat rolling away from the alcove in which they burned in waves. Jacques nodded and moved on to the next item on his expansive list. The culinary exploits continued for several hours, roasts and chickens being thrust into ovens, soups being put to boil, breads set to rise and bake. The kitchen filled with the intoxicating scent of delicious food, and the cheerful sounds of a man who loves his work.
Finally, as the bells tolled two, Jacques stepped back from the counters, smiling as his eyes roamed over the prepared food for the nights to come. He wiped his hands on his apron then raised a finger and levitated a bottle of whiskey and a glass to his hands. A dull blue glow surrounded him as his magic worked and the drink floated through the air to his hands. He poured himself
“Jacques! You about?†A voice shouted. Jacques poked his head out the door to the common room and chuckled as he saw the owner of the voice, a short and somewhat rotund man by the name of Johnson.
“Ah! Johnson! In to pick up your things?†Jacques asked, chuckling as he hung his apron on a peg. The man reddened before laughing, a warm and welcoming sound. Jacques grabbed a paper-wrapped bundle from the shelf above him and placed it on the bar before him.
“Yes, yes. That lass got me by the loins and I had no mind to remember the things I brought with me.†Johnson said, taking the package. He tossed a coin on the counter. “For not trashing it like the last bar I got… occupied in, did.†He smiled and walked out.
“Of course. You have a good day, I’ll be seeing you tonight!†Jacques called as the man made his way out. He once more nodded to himself and then went to work arranging the common room for the night’s patrons. Tables slid into place and chairs began to fill the spaces. Spills and stains got wiped up. The musky scent of burning wood and cooking food filled the space over time as Jacques worked.
“Well, I’ll call that good†Jacques muttered as he pushed the final chairs into place. The common room laid before him, a smattering of tables, chairs, and benches, arranged haphazardly in something vaguely resembling rows. The raised stage in the back, with its two iron braziers and smattering of stools, was ready for what bards and musicians chose to take it up. The shadows, soon to be banished as the lanterns hanging from the rafters were lit by sparks of magic. The bar sparkled, the varnish wiped to a sheen and the stools arranged neatly in front of it. Jacques grinned and glanced at the clock as the bells began tolling their distant dirge.
“Ah, four o’ clock. Right on schedule.†He said, flipping a painted wood slat to “open†in the window. Fetching his apron, he tied it on and stood behind the bar, flipping through a book as he waited for patrons to show.