The Roadhouse

She looked at the imposing walls a few minutes longer before cursing under her breath and heading off towards the roadhouse. As she approached, she could hear the sound of laughter growing stronger.

It was loud and raucous. Not unusual for a roadside tavern like this, but she did think it odd that it was still going on so late. As she opened the door, she had to move her head away from the light spilling out of the building. It wasn't too bright, but it was enough to temporarily blind someone who eyes had by this time had fully adapted to the dark evening. She was also nearly bowled over by the wave of sound that hit her.

After giving herself a moment for her eyes and ears to adjust, she stepped through the doorway and took a look around. It was pretty much what she expected. There were about a dozen tables spread throughout a large open dining area. The primary source of light was a well-kept and roaring fire in a decently sized hearth against one wall. the rest came from a combination of oil lamps and candles spread out on wall sconces and on tables. On the opposite wall from the fireplace was a long, well-maintained, bar with about eight simple stools in front of it.

Standing behind the bar was a large, bearded man that she assumed was the owner. He had an exasperated look on his face, and as she followed the direction of his gaze, she could see why. Sitting at the largest of the tables against the far wall, was a group of about a dozen dwarves. This was the source of the noise. They were all yelling, singing, laughing, and banging their fist on table. The large collection of empty mugs at their table and their overall rowdy behavior made it quite apparent that they were all drunk.

'Just what I need,' Amrea thought, before walking up to the bar.

As she approached, the bartender turned his attention away from the crowd of drunken dwarves and looked at her. Though his smile was warm, she could see that his eyes were tired.

"Welcome to Rosie's," he said, really trying to sound enthusiastic. "What can I get you?"

"I just need some help," she replied, before looking back at the crowd. "It feels a little late for a party," she said while cocking her head toward the group and letting a half smile dance across her face. The bartender smiled and chuckled.

"You're not wrong. I was supposed to be closed almost 2 hours ago, but they just won't leave," he said gesturing with his thumb toward the dwarves. "I've probably asked them to leave a few dozen times already, but they won't budge." he sighed, "You know how stubborn the hill folk can be."

She personally hadn't had a lot of experience with dwarves, at least not the kind that called the surface home, but she knew their reputation. "I'm sorry about your long night," she said sympathetically.

"It comes with the job," he replied warmly. "I'm Sam by the way. Owner and operator."

"My name is Amrea, sorcerer and Traveler," she replied, returning the smile. This made the bartender chuckle again.

"So, what is it you need help with?" He asked

"The guards on the wall said that the gentleman who runs the gatehouse would probably be over here. I was hoping to find him and get him to let me into the village."

"Oh," Sam replied, "you're talking about Harris. He's here all right, but I don't think he'll be letting anyone in anywhere." He then gestured over to a table close to the fireplace. Slumped over it was an old man in a worn guard's uniform.

"He's been out for a while. That generous bunch over there are apparently on their way back from a mining expedition," he said, nodding again toward the group of dwarves. "And apparently, it went very well. In their generosity, not only did they order dozens of rounds for themselves, but they said that Harris could have as many drinks as he wanted." Sam grinned again. She liked that grin, she decided.

"As it turns out the number of drinks he wanted and the number of drinks he could handle were way off. You can go try to wake him up if you want, but I don't think he's going anywhere."

This statement soured the good mood that talking with Sam had put her in. With a sigh, she looked at the old man and said, "All right then." As she turned and began to walk away from the bar, Sam tapped her gently on the shoulder. "You know, we have a couple of rooms here for rent."

"I wouldn't want to impose," she said, "I also had my heart set on getting into the village tonight. No offense," she said sheepishly. Sam only grinned again in response. "Besides, I can't imagine you have much room left with them staying here," she replied, looking over at the dwarves.

"Oh, they're not staying here," Sam said his voice turning serious. "That's where I would draw the line. Besides, they have some big steam and magic powered cart thing they traveled here in. It's parked by the stables out back. They apparently sleep in that."

Upon hearing this, she bit her lip in concentration, trying to weigh her options. She wasn't concentrating too hard not to notice that Sam was watching her and grinning again. Finally, she turned to him and said "Let me see if I have any luck with Mr. Gatehouse over there. But from the looks of it, I'll probably have to take you up on that offer."

"Just let me know," Sam replied before his attention with suddenly drawn back to the crowd at the big table as one of them let out a loud belch and fell out of his chair. The rest of his party found this hilarious and began to laugh uproariously again.

She walked through the small maze of tables before coming to rest next to the old man. A sour beer smell emanating off of him and the loud snores coming from his mouth informed her that she would probably not have any luck, but she had come this far and figured she should try.

As she reach out of hand to try and shake him awake, a loud and gruff voice suddenly shouted across the bar "Oi, who let the knife-ear in here!?"