Stories from the Inn at the Edge of the World

“Bah,” the blacksmith said, looking up from his furnace. He was easily two meters tall with a broad, muscular body forged by his craft. He went by the name Smit, but that wasn’t his real name. That was his secret, like many others that escaped to End Town. His irritation came from spotting a golden armored man on horseback entering the town.

The man had the air of a paladin. His polished golden armor glistened in the morning sun. The man didn’t look to be as tall as Smit or as muscular. Smit didn’t like him; not only was he a paladin that Smit disliked more than anything, he looked rich, which made Smit nauseous. Rich paladins were trouble and a huge irritation to Smit and many of the other residents for the town.

The smithery was one of the first buildings at the small town entrance, which gave Smit the first view of many of the travelers that entered. This out-of-the-way town received many travelers, mostly adventurers. The townsfolk were happy to sell goods to those that traveled through the last town before the forest.

The town wasn’t at the edge of the world per se; it was at the edge of a vast unexplored forest. This forest held many caverns, dungeons, monsters, and various nasty things that these adventurers wanted to kill or explore. These adventures brought in good money for the town and always trouble in some fashion.

The most important aspect inside the forest was the portal. It was at the farthest end of the forest. As far as anyone knew, it was indeed the end of the world. Legend said that all creatures in the world came from the portal, even humans. But that was legends, and everyone knew legends have some truth to them.

Smit set down his tools, stretched his sore muscles, ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair, and walked out to look at the golden armored man. His first look of the stranger was a paladin of one of the holy orders of something or other. Smit never paid much attention to the titles and whatnot. He decided he needed a drink and to give the inn-keeper, Mance, a heads up on the visitor. He knew the paladin would end up there; everyone ended up at the Tavern at the Edge of the World. Smit hated the name.

The paladin swung his leg over this horse and dismounted with some difficulty. He led his great white stead into the barn across from the smithery. Smit could hear the golden man shout for the boy that tended the stable. The boy was smart and could take care of himself, so Smit began his walk across town to the inn.

The inn was the last building leaving the town, making it the last building everyone saw when leaving. The wall circling the city protected it from various creatures that sometimes crept out of the forest. They didn’t get many attacks, but it was not uncommon. Creatures mostly stayed away from the town; the usual visitors were the sentient creatures of the forest, a few undead and some spirits or two.

“Morning, Mance,” Smit said, entering the inn. Mance looked up and grunted at his friend. “We got a visitor in town. Has the look of a holy paladin of some sort.” Mance grunted twice and began preparing for the visit he knew he would get. Smit sat at the bar and found his usual drink before him. He smiled and took a sip.

Mance wasn’t as tall as Smit, under two meters. He was average build compared to the muscular blacksmith. Mance walked with the grace and ease of someone who had trained to move quickly and quietly. He could have been a dancer in another life. His green eyes missed nothing and saw the golden armor through the door as the paladin marched his way to the inn. Mance scratched his head, messing up his close-cut black hair. He didn’t want to give a good impression to his visitor.

“Attention, good townsfolk!” A booming voice came from the door. Mance and Smit shuddered. “I am Valerian of the fifth holy order of…” Everyone in the inn stopped listening. Paladins were always from some holy order with a number and weird names that didn’t matter to anyone that didn’t know where it was. The paladin did his part, giving the usual speech of righteousness and goodwill as he made his way to Mance.

“What can I getcha?” Mance asked as he cleaned a glass with his mostly clean towel. He already didn’t like the paladin.

The paladin was shorter than Mance by almost a half meter. Mance could tell the paladin’s walk had taken a toll on the man. The paladin dabbed his forehead with a white cloth and was breathing heavily. It was apparent to everyone that the man was not used to walking in his armor.

“I’ll have a room, your finest meal, and your finest wine.” Valerian, the paladin, said he giving the inn-keeper his brightest smile showing off his straight white teeth.

“All the finest, of course, my lord,” Mance said with a little sarcasm that was missed by the paladin. Paladins complained the most about the room, the food, and the drink. They were almost as bad as nobles and royalty.

The paladin sat at the table to the left and behind Smit, who looked over at the newcomer. They never failed to show up at least a few times a month. Many never return from the forest, and the few that do, never return as holy paladins. This one looked to be no different.

Mance, for his part, had pulled his least fine wine from under the counter. He always sold the paladins the rough stuff because most didn’t drink much or didn’t know what a good drink was. As far as the food, it was the stew that had been cooking all day. He took the glass and the stew over to the paladin’s table.

“Three coppers for the drink and food. Ten coppers for a room.” Mance said, not impressed with the golden armor or the man within it.

“Fine.” The man said, dropping the coins on the table. Mance picked them up and returned to his spot behind the counter and in front of Smit.

Valerian began to eat and drink but had difficulty hiding how he wasn’t enjoying the meal. This was not like the food at his father’s manor or the monastery that his father donated heavily too. This was commoner’s food, and he wasn’t happy that this would be his last meal before his grand adventure.

“Does anyone know of a tracker or guide that can take me into the forest,” Valerian announced to the room. No one said anything. The men playing cards chuckled, and the others never broke from their conversations. Valerian was annoyed that he was ignored.

“You won’t find one here,” Smit said over his shoulder.

Valerian hadn’t noticed Smit but was now looking him over. “You look to be a strong man, I will allow you to travel with me on my adventures, and you can have part of the bounty.” Valerian’s long golden hair (yes it was gold too) swished as he spoke.

“No,” Smit said blankly, downing the rest of his drink.

“What? How dare you refuse me. I am…” Valerian wasn’t able to finish his sentence as Smit rose from his stool, looked down at the shorter man, and left. Valerian blinked a few times. He didn’t like men to be rude to him. He decided that he was going to have some words with the mayor before he left. A few lashes can bring out manners in men.

“You, inn-keeper, where might I find me a good blacksmith. I want my horseshoes changed before the marrow.” Valerian gave the man his best smile showing all his white teeth. Mance considered how many would be missing if the man returned.

“He just left,” Mance said, pointing out the door with his cleanest cloth.

“The rude one?” Valerian was shocked. Blacksmiths were never rude to him at his father’s stables.

“That’s him.” Mance turned his back on the man hoping that would end the conversation. It didn’t work.

“About that guide,” Valerian asked again. He didn’t want to sound like he was begging for someone to pay attention to him; it wasn’t working.

“You won’t find any here. We all stay away from the forest as best we can. The best you can do is one of the sisters that collect herbs and plants in the forest.” Mance knew what was going to happen next. Some things never changed.

“Sisters? Like women? How dare you say I would take a woman with me on my adventure. Women should cook and take care of children.” Valerian was appalled, and Mance was not shocked. Valerian looked around the small tavern and saw that no one paid attention to him. He didn’t like it. “Fine, I’ll return soon after I speak with the blacksmith.”

Mance grunted with satisfaction that the man was leaving. He smiled, knowing the paladin’s visit with Smit wouldn’t be pleasant. He didn’t know why, but Smit had a particular dislike for paladins.

Valerian walked across the town to the blacksmith. He inspected the small town and recognized some of the shops he passed. One was filled with various plants and herbs. Another appeared to be a bookstore. He was surprised that anyone there could read. He found the blacksmith and entered.

“You, smith, I need my horseshoes changed before the marrow. I’d also like my sword sharpened.” Valerian stood looking at the muscular man working the forge.

The ringing from the hammer hitting the metal hurt the paladin’s ears. The heat from the forge made the man sweat more with his second walk across the town. He dabbed his forehead, but he couldn’t hide how out of breath he was.

“Leave the sword by the door, and I’ll get to the horse later,” Smit said coldly, not looking up. “It’ll be five silver for the horse and five coppers for the sword.” Another strike from the hammer rang through the workshop.

“This is a family heirloom, I’ll not leave it by the door.” The paladin said, appalled at the idea. These peasants didn’t understand the value of a good sword.

“Fine, leave it on the table.” Smit didn’t look up. He hit the metal harder, attempting to relieve some of his frustration. It didn’t work.

Valerian laid the sword on the table and dropped the coins next to it. He wasn’t happy about the service he was getting. He would have words with the mayor as he leaves. He went back to the inn to find everyone exactly the way they were when he left.

“My room, good inn-keeper.” The paladin said with some irritation in his voice.

“Yes, my lord.” Mance gave him a key, “Room three upstairs. Have a good night.”

Valerian made his way up to the room to find his bags weren’t there. He went back downstairs to demand a servant to be sent to fetch his bags. He saw everyone had left. The entire inn was empty.

He looked about, but no one was to be found. “Hello?” He shouted into the back of the inn. “The servants forget my bags.” No one answered. The townspeople were used to paladins and their ways.

Valerian angrily stomped his way back across town to the stable to find no one there as well. The stable boy knew to make himself scarce, or he would be fetching bags. He grabbed his bags from his great stead and went back to his room. The mayor was going to get an ear full, but first, he needed a long rest. All the walking had made him very tired.

Revised: 20200801a