The Shopkeeper's Tale

Cliff stepped into The Mountain Hearth, the cold of the streets seemed to melt away. It was the only inn at Reuben's Rise, and he expected to be small. But it turned out bigger than his store; wider and homely to look at, made of thick logs and stone, probably gathered from the mountain and wilds. The fire roared in the stone hearth, its orange light dancing across the wooden beams overhead. A thick haze of spiced ale and roasting meats clung to the air, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The low murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter, all felt cozy, alive.

He pulled off his gloves and looked around. A table of soldiers and adventurers, their thick arms bare despite the chill outside, clinked their tankards together, their laughter filling the space. Behind the long bar, a man built like a mountain himself set a mug down with a heavy clink. His grizzled hair hung in loose strands around his face, and the lines on his weathered skin were clear signs of long winters and harder years. The old, strong barkeep noticed Cliff as he sat down facing the bar.

"New face in town," the man observed, already pouring a warm mug of ale for Cliff. He set it down gently in front of the shopkeeper. "Name’s Farrow. I own this quaint inn. What brings you to Reuben's Rise?"

Cliff shifted, pulling his woolen cloak tighter around his shoulders, though the room was warm enough. "Cliff Ermes," he said, his voice steady but quiet. "Just opened a shop. The Cliffstone, down the road."

The tavern seemed to quiet, the noise of chairs scraping the floor and mugs clinking together slowing as people began to listen. Behind the counter, a young man with dark curls who looked around to be Cliff’s age stopped pouring drinks and looked up, an eyebrow arched in curiosity. A girl, standing just beside him, her hands wrapped around a tray of mugs, tilted her head slightly, listening too.

“Shop, eh?” the older man grunted, a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “What’re you selling?”

Cliff cleared his throat. “Potions, weapons. Enchanted gear mostly. Things adventurers might need.”

The grin widened into a full smile now. He called to the boy behind him. “You hear that, Kellan? You can stop your yapping about where to get your tools.” Farrow turned to Cliff. “My son’s been fancying to be an adventurer lately.”

Kellan, the young man at the bar, let out a sharp whistle, and the next thing Cliff knew, the room erupted. Soldiers pounded the heavy wooden table, others raised their mugs high, sloshing ale onto the floor. Cliff stared, his mouth parting at their reaction to the news of a shop opening. He knew there weren’t enough decent shops in this place, but he thought that the pop-up marketplace here had at least offered resource-hunting equipment. Tankards clinked together, and soon, everyone was laughing, their voices filling the tavern.

Cliff held up his own mug, smiling faintly, though the sudden attention had his pulse quickening. He activated his merchant’s eyes and appraised the armor, weapons, and inventory of the surrounding soldiers. All were mediocre, some were even fake. Huh. He hsould have activated his eyes as he walked aroudn earlier. But if he were to activate it all the time, he would be blinded by all the glitter around him. Cliff shook his head. He stared at his mug of ale and sighed. He did not want to contribute to this realm, but he could not just allow these adventurers to be harmed by such pathetic equipment, not with the rogue monsters in the mountain’s many caverns.

Farrow slapped him on the back with a hand that could’ve felled an oak. “A new shop and a handsome young lad running it? Aye, you’ll do just fine here, lad.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “With a face like yours, I’d be rich by now, selling my own goods."

Cliff, trying not to choke on his drink, felt his cheeks suddenly flush a deep red. He managed a smile, glancing at the floor, but the tavern was full of laughter now, and it wasn’t letting up.

Beside the bar, the girl with pale lilac hair blushed fiercely, her eyes darting away when Cliff’s gaze briefly met hers. Kellan caught the exchange and grinned wide, leaning toward Cliff with a nudge to his ribs. Cliff chuckled good-naturedly but shied away from the contact. He did not count on such friendly people on his first day here. He had made only a few friends back at the university. Back then, they were discouraged from forming meaningful friendships. Only partnerships. That is why most students talked only to those who had power and prestige and wealth, not those with small startups. And that was why he knew those who wanted to befriend him had ulterior motives. His name and his achievements and his money. He smirked. Some of those he shook hands with were probably shaking their heads ina stonishment of his decision or wiping their hands clean of his touch.

“Looks like Mila here might have a reason to visit your shop, eh, Cliff?” Kellan teased, his voice dripping with brotherly playfulness. Mila, bright red, smacked her brother’s arm with a light but swift slap, the tray of mugs shaking in her hands.

“Kellan!” she hissed, eyes narrowed at him, but her blush only deepened as Cliff looked away.

Trying to hide his own embarrassment, Cliff took another long sip from his mug, the warmth of the ale spreading through his chest. The heat from the hearth crackled louder, as if joining in on the laughter. He allowed himself to relax: his university days were far behind him. And though he would miss the few true friends he did make, he knew it would be better if they forgot about him. That was his plan, anyway. To live into old age as the lonely obscure man in a tiny shop.

Speaking of friends, though… Cliff did miss one very friendly person in his childhood before they went their separate ways. Kellan had reminded Cliff of him, with strong dreams of adventuring far away from their village. He wondered what happened to Finn. Cliff drank his ale and ordered a modest fish-and-barley stew, hoping that he was all right. Maybe... he could send a letter to him again, after stopping their correspondence abruptly. He swallowed. Would he be interested in him, still?

When he put copper coins on the bar, Old Farrow slid it back to him. “First meal’s free, young shopkeeper. You come back anytime and take care of my customers, yeah?”

Cliff blinked at him and smiled. Welp, Cliff thought as he made his way home. He had just met the innkeeper and his family, but he could not in good conscience not ensure the quality of all his merchandise now, not after he stared into their kind faces.