especially since the man in question, Duke Ferwan, was well liked by nearly everyone in Vantok from the most influential noble to the lowliest peasant.
For Warburm, the declaration of a festival day was a nightmare. Since he couldn’t compel any of his employees to work, he was forced to pay double or triple wages. Annie, the most popular of his barmaids by far, was getting four times her usual pay. The issue was complicated when it came to his most reliable stableboy, Sorial. Since Sorial didn’t receive wages, Warburm was forced to negotiate an alternative agreement, and the boy, delighting in his first taste of power, drove a hard bargain. The innkeeper had to promise two full days off - Marktetday and Restday. At age 13, Sorial had discovered his criticality to the inn’s commerce. It wouldn’t be long before he started looking elsewhere and Warburm would have to find someone new to train. That, or offer a strong enough incentive to keep him.
Sorial spent the festival day as he spent most days - greeting customers, caring for their mounts, and observing the goings-on around the inn. Since the stable was nearly full, there was little time for breaks or moments to himself. Mucking the stalls, feeding and watering the horses, and brushing the elegant breeds kept him busy. He missed being part of the celebration, however. It seemed that everyone in the city was having fun except him. His friend Rexall had been horrified upon learning that Sorial agreed to work. His admonishment highlighted what Sorial was missing: “Whores are giving it out for free! Trapped in that stable, you’ll never get any!”
The atmosphere around Vantok was, as expected, jubilant. Since being at its darkest during the early days of the previous Winter when unsavory rumors and religious unrest were at their height, there had been steady improvements. Crime was down and the citizens were less skittish. The weather had been favorable for Planting and the Temple had become zealous in pointing out answered prayers and apparent miracles. Yet there remained an undercurrent of unease. On the surface, things appeared to be as usual, but something wasn’t right . No one else noticed or, if they did, they brushed it aside. But Sorial felt it nearly every day. Customers, especially strangers, weren’t as open as they once had been. He watched everyone who entered the stable cautiously, always mindful of the attack that nearly ended his life. He wouldn’t be taken unawares again.
The inn’s reception of unusual visitors continued. The Wayfarer’s Comfort was a low-class establishment where laborers could grab a pint or a lass after finishing a hard day’s work and itinerant merchants could spend a night with a roof over their heads. Yet, over the past two seasons, Warburm had entertained priests, high class merchants, knights, and nobles. This was not the clientele Sorial had become used to serving during his previous years. Something was going on, but he didn’t know what.
He confided his confusion to Annie. Often, Warburm would seclude himself behind locked doors with his guests and occasional shouts of anger could be heard from within. But Annie didn’t know any more about the specifics than Sorial and even the nosiest and most gossipy of her co-workers were unsure. Whatever Warburm was up to, it was being kept secret. Sorial considered discussing this with his watchmen friends but he didn’t want to get Warburm in trouble. After all, he owed his life to the innkeeper. His physical wounds were healed but he hadn’t forgotten his debt.
Festivities ran late into the night, and Sorial was still hard at work an hour before sunup. Outside, the normally quiet pre-dawn streets of Vantok buzzed with the traffic of inebriated celebrators. It would take at least a day for things to get back to normal, especially with so many revelers needing to sleep off hangovers. Sorial had never been drunk but he had seen enough people so afflicted to realize it
For Warburm, the declaration of a festival day was a nightmare. Since he couldn’t compel any of his employees to work, he was forced to pay double or triple wages. Annie, the most popular of his barmaids by far, was getting four times her usual pay. The issue was complicated when it came to his most reliable stableboy, Sorial. Since Sorial didn’t receive wages, Warburm was forced to negotiate an alternative agreement, and the boy, delighting in his first taste of power, drove a hard bargain. The innkeeper had to promise two full days off - Marktetday and Restday. At age 13, Sorial had discovered his criticality to the inn’s commerce. It wouldn’t be long before he started looking elsewhere and Warburm would have to find someone new to train. That, or offer a strong enough incentive to keep him.
Sorial spent the festival day as he spent most days - greeting customers, caring for their mounts, and observing the goings-on around the inn. Since the stable was nearly full, there was little time for breaks or moments to himself. Mucking the stalls, feeding and watering the horses, and brushing the elegant breeds kept him busy. He missed being part of the celebration, however. It seemed that everyone in the city was having fun except him. His friend Rexall had been horrified upon learning that Sorial agreed to work. His admonishment highlighted what Sorial was missing: “Whores are giving it out for free! Trapped in that stable, you’ll never get any!”
The atmosphere around Vantok was, as expected, jubilant. Since being at its darkest during the early days of the previous Winter when unsavory rumors and religious unrest were at their height, there had been steady improvements. Crime was down and the citizens were less skittish. The weather had been favorable for Planting and the Temple had become zealous in pointing out answered prayers and apparent miracles. Yet there remained an undercurrent of unease. On the surface, things appeared to be as usual, but something wasn’t right . No one else noticed or, if they did, they brushed it aside. But Sorial felt it nearly every day. Customers, especially strangers, weren’t as open as they once had been. He watched everyone who entered the stable cautiously, always mindful of the attack that nearly ended his life. He wouldn’t be taken unawares again.
The inn’s reception of unusual visitors continued. The Wayfarer’s Comfort was a low-class establishment where laborers could grab a pint or a lass after finishing a hard day’s work and itinerant merchants could spend a night with a roof over their heads. Yet, over the past two seasons, Warburm had entertained priests, high class merchants, knights, and nobles. This was not the clientele Sorial had become used to serving during his previous years. Something was going on, but he didn’t know what.
He confided his confusion to Annie. Often, Warburm would seclude himself behind locked doors with his guests and occasional shouts of anger could be heard from within. But Annie didn’t know any more about the specifics than Sorial and even the nosiest and most gossipy of her co-workers were unsure. Whatever Warburm was up to, it was being kept secret. Sorial considered discussing this with his watchmen friends but he didn’t want to get Warburm in trouble. After all, he owed his life to the innkeeper. His physical wounds were healed but he hadn’t forgotten his debt.
Festivities ran late into the night, and Sorial was still hard at work an hour before sunup. Outside, the normally quiet pre-dawn streets of Vantok buzzed with the traffic of inebriated celebrators. It would take at least a day for things to get back to normal, especially with so many revelers needing to sleep off hangovers. Sorial had never been drunk but he had seen enough people so afflicted to realize it
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