A.K.’s Advent 2025 – Day 5

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A Party Walks Into A Tavern
Part 5
Another Alliterative Appellation for Annihilation
AKA The End

“Korthak?” The paladin leaned over the bar, and a green hand rose just into view. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

Fiorella knelt on her stool and gripped the bartop’s edge so she could hang her head over the other side. Korthak had his knees tucked into his massive chest, and his whole body squashed under the bar. How he fit, she didn’t know, but it looked rather uncomfortable with his head bent and his bulky arms squeezing his shins.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said miserably, and there was nothing menacing about the tusks jutting out of his trembling bottom lip. “But that was so…sad.”

“Oh, no, it’s all right,” Fiorella offered the orc her linen as he began to sob. He took it and blew his nose, and she supposed it didn’t really matter that she hadn’t disclosed what the smears on it already were. “Can I get you anything? A piece of black plum pie maybe? It’s got creepy runes all over the crust, but it only gave me a little tummy ache, and I’m pretty sure that was because I ate half of it in one sitting and not because the magic in the oven hexed the filling.”

“That sounds marvelous, sweetheart,” came a voice from across the room, and Drex and Sylvir sauntered in, both looking much more pleased than anyone else. “The basement door is serviceable again even if the basement itself is perhaps not.” The crow cawed in agreement.

Despite that she was unsure how marvelous it might be, pie did sound rather good, so Fiorella hurried off into the kitchen. She dug up five forks and some clean linens as well because the place was already a mess and there was no need to make it worse. When she returned with everything piled on a serving tray, she once again came upon the four of them trading heated whispers as they stood in a tight circle at the end of the bar.

“I just think we should be honest if this is the road we’re choosing to take,” the paladin said all paladiny.

“Well, here’s your chance,” said Drex, arms crossed over his chest and lip twisted in annoyance.

Valen turned, blue eyes wide and almost the exact color of the lily on his blood-spattered surcoat. “Madam.”

“Please,” she said, placing the serving tray on the bar. “It’s Fiorella.”

“Fiorella,” he repeated, and she was tickled to find she liked hearing him say her name even more than the polite designation. “We have a proposition to make, but first we must be forthright with you. We are not your average party of traveling warriors.”

As established, Fiorella was not the most discerning woman, but she had gathered as much even though the four were actually designed to be as classically average as possible.

“Not so long ago, we traveled the realm, we investigated aberrations and defeated monsters—actual monsters, the kind that don’t reason and thrive on death and destruction. We collected rewards but only after jobs well done from those who could truly spare the coin, and—”

“And then we were fucking cursed.” Drex already looked bored by the idea, but Fiorella sucked in a sharp gasp, climbing up onto the nearest stool to listen.

Valen swallowed, tenting his fingers. “Yes, that is accurate—each of us were saddled with our own twisted gift. Korthak was cursed with a deep and unrelenting fear of…basically everything, quite the contrast to the barbarous warrior who would lead us into any battle with jubilation.”

The orc had crept out from under the bar, but he was still making himself small—or as small as a seven foot, green-skinned man could. Half hidden behind Valen, he kept his head down and worried the fox pelt that hung from his belt.

Fiorella made a sad sound and pushed the pie toward the orc with an encouraging nod.

“Drex’s feathered fiend is his personal curse.”

The crow squawked, and Drex glared at it. “Yes, he means you, fucker.”

Fiorella covered her mouth. “That’s not a very nice way to talk to your pet.”

“Pet?” Drex punched over his shoulder and his fist went right through the bird. “This thing is a spectral menace. I haven’t had a moment of peace since it was manifested.”

Valen rubbed his forehead as if he’d long suffered bickering between the two. “Drex was our stealthiest, most nimble member, but now the crow won’t allow him to go anywhere unseen, and it’s taken a particular shine to Drex’s tools.”

“Where do all my lockpicks go?” the man said, scowling at the bird. “You steal them and swallow them, but you never shit them back out!”

“Consider that a blessing,” Valen mumbled, then took a breath. “And compared to Sylvir, a bit more tolerable. Our elven friend’s knowledge, magical and otherwise, was almost completely wiped from his memory. He was one of the most gifted mages I’ve ever met, but now he struggles with his own writings, which unfortunately he had the habit of recording in a language only he knew.”

Drex snorted. “He only remembers his name now because we repeated it to him hourly for a fortnight.”

“Sylvir Ia’olas,” the elf began, and the rest of them joined in, “of the Malagate Thicket Starweavers.”

“At least when Quorinax took his memory, he left some basic abilities like how to speak and wipe his own ass.” Drex’s dark eyes went round then, and his already pallid features went paler. “Wait, we never checked: you do know how to wipe your own ass, don’t you?”

The elf reached over and grabbed Drex’s chin. “With my hand. And I’m not supposed to wash it, right?”

Drex smacked his hand away, warmer color coming into his cheeks. “Apparently he’s recovering his sense of humor too.”

“Recovering?” Fiorella straightened. “You mean he’s getting better? You can all get better?”

Valen shrugged. “Drex says Sylvir cast a spell out of his tome to reassemble the door, and he didn’t start a fire or turn anyone into a toad.”

“You were actually a frog that one time.” Sylvir grinned and the tips of his pointed ears wiggled. “And only for half an hour.”

“Might be this place,” Drex said off handedly. “Or it’s the Whispering Woods, but this inn is as close as we can get without being offed by the things that lurk deeper within. Things we wouldn’t have had trouble with a few months ago.”

Fiorella nibbled her lip, the sorry looks on each of their faces weighing heavily on her heart. The inn even creaked with something like sympathy. “What about you, Valen?”

The paladin touched his chest, throat bobbing. “I cannot use my gods-blessed magic without succumbing to grave danger.”

She squinted at him. “That’s why Drex punched you yesterday?” It didn’t seem entirely right.

“It’s the most proficient way to knock me back into my own mind,” the paladin said, then he cleared his throat. “We’re useless on the road now, but we came to the Whispering Woods because we were told our collective cure might be found within. We aren’t strong enough yet to go searching, but this place could be the perfect base from which to start.”

“I like it here too,” said Korthak around a mouthful of black plum pie. The others shot him a bewildered look, and the orc shrugged his great big shoulders. “She’s nice.”

Fiorella preened a bit at that then quickly composed herself. Nice was good, but humble was better.

“We would offer our services in trade for room and board,” Valen offered quickly as if trying to convince her away from the no he expected. “You said yourself you need staff, and I can tell you that Korthak never made a meal on the road that the lot of us didn’t inhale, and he can chop vegetables as good as he used to chop off heads. There are stables outside as well, and while Sylvir lost his magic, he’s still got all his innate elven abilities.”

“Animals love me.” Sylvir spread his fingers wide, and the crow chomped down on the nearest digit. “Except that one, but he’s not real, so I don’t think it counts.”

“And Drex and I can clean, we can serve, we can carry heavy things, and if anyone ever dared bother you out here in the woods all alone, it might be helpful to have multiple armed men on standby.”

Fiorella hadn’t thought of what might happen if someone arrived at the inn who meant her harm. In fact, she had sort of forgotten that was a thing. What with all the other magical problems she’d been dealing with, the very human problem of men had slipped her mind.

“You want to work here?” she said, simplifying the idea to one that made more sense. “And live here too?”

The four gave slightly conflicting reactions, ranging from Korthak’s vigorous nod to Drex’s ambivalent shrug. But none of them corrected her.

Fiorella gave the tavern a good look then, and she saw past the emptiness to a time long ago. How much of it was a memory and how much a dream, she wasn’t sure, but she could hear the din of voices and smell the meals and feel the warmth and even a little of the magic too. Not chaotic magic but magic she connected with that night she’d been placed in front of the fire. Magic that reminded her of her mother.

“Yes, that would be wonderful!” she said, meeting their eyes again and grinning ear to ear. Sure, they were a mess, but what were a few more curses hanging around the place? “Welcome to the Fitzwright Inn.”

“Oh, Fitzwright Inn,” said Sylvir, nudging Drex with his elbow. “I get it!”

The others groaned, but Fiorella giggled, and there was a telltale creak up in the rafters that told her the inn found it absolutely hilarious too.

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Download the entirety of “A Party Walks Into A Tavern” here!

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Thank you for joining me, Dear Reader, for this silly idea I had. I hope it brought you a little joy at the end of a hectic year.

I’ve got more Innkeepers & Imbeciles stories inside me, but I don’t have a schedule to let them out. This project has always been meant to be for funsies, and I intend to keep it just that way, so Fiorella and her hapless helpmates will see you when they see you!