“What’s there to eat in this fine establish, my fine good innkeep?” the man down at the end of the counter asked in a polite sort of tone reserved for those who hadn’t yet earned anything harsher. Mid-morning. Standard clientele.

Blom took a moment to refill another guest’s tankard of Heemee’s Tasty Cider before answering. “Aye yer welcome, lad.” He turned to the inquirer of the foods. “For breakfast this week we’re offering a pile of fried roasted meat and a bucket o’ toasted apple paste straight from the source. Various bales of shredded oats and green shoots o’ wheat blend. Take yer pick of Gilba Gilba’s finest crop. Breakfast only. 50 dracoins for the full course, 30 dracoins for individual selections.” His bad hip flared up again and he suppressed a wince as he finished the dumb speech. He gestured with his cane to the posted notice next to the guest’s head. “Course, you could always read the MENU for that information.”

“Aye, I could, I could, and thank ya, innkeep.” The guest reached down into his bag o’ pockets and fished out a couple dracoins, a handful of shining things the color of burnt silver and the size of fleeper eggs. Dracoins always had that worn-out look here in the Outlands. It had been some time indeed since anyone flashed forth a shiny new coin this far from the Crown. Anyone who did so had business in these parts… the wise always blended in. Anyway, back to the scene. “Gimme a pint o’ the ol’ apple paste, roasted on the top and scorched to black on the bottom if it do please ya.”

“And here ya go, ready to eat,” Blom answered, pulling that very dish out from behind the counter. “30 dracoins.” He took the money and shoved it away. “Where you be comin’ in from, by the noose?” Blom may dislike small talk but he did like to learn about newcomers. The Ragged Maiden had a reputation that likely extended past Gilba Gilba’s town lines and a smart innkeep knows his customers’ business insofar as he can glean it.

“Need some shorter paragraphs, to start with,” the man answered in an educated way. Blom agreed in embarrassed silence. These were getting too long. “Me, I hail from Blumberdan, west o’ the River.”

“Aye, I know the place,” Blom replied. He looked around for Gack but he wasn’t in today. Usually he was smokin’ his smokin’ pipe in the corner of the common room at this hour.

“Most folk do, I reckon. Got me some family in Gilba Gilba and I’m payin’ a visit. Ain’t no more ya need to know, innkeep.”

Thunder rumbled outside.