60th of Summer, 512 AV It was still early evening in the fortress city. Many people still worked at this hour, so the Stallion was relatively quiet. Still, a low hum of activity prevailed in the tavern and enough of the patrons had lit their pipes to fill the room with its trademark aroma. Carmen and Brucila, the serving girls, took advantage of the slow business to chatter with one or two of the patrons that took their fancy. Meanwhile Roald, wearing a common cotton outfit covered by a white bartender's apron, leaned lazily against the bar and surveyed the premises while his mind wandered. He actually found himself wondering where the Rearing Stallion's ale came from. Who brewed it, and what techniques did they have? He was interested in what recipes were used to achieve that popular flavour, perhaps in the hopes of replicating or improving upon it. He daydreamed about opening his own tavern one day; Brewing and selling such a variety that even the Rearing Stallion would struggle to compete. His tavern might even draw in one or two White Swan regulars. He pictured the building in his minds eye, slowly growing as he made additions with his profits, turning a tavern into an inn with its own brewery. It was all fairly unrealistic, wishful thinking. The amount of miza he would require to establish the business he dreamed of would be incredible. It would take a huge length of time to accrue that sort of money, even after which there was no guarantee the venture would generate good business. A wistful sigh escaped the barkeeper as reality persistently dragged him out of dreamland and forced him to pay attention to the tavern that he was supposed to be monitoring. Roald stood up straight again as he wiped down the bar unnecessarily, keeping himself busy in case the owner or a new customer walked in. |