Dark Whisperer

The Golden Keg stood to the north of Halrest, a beacon of warmth and life, the rhythmic hum of voices and clinking mugs, mingling with the crisp night air. The tavern was a testament to the strength and spirit of the town, and at its helm stood Finnian—the enigmatic tavern master with a smile for every patron.

Finnian, the tavern master, moved through the room with a steady pace, his stocky build spoke of a man accustomed to the heavy labour of moving kegs and barrels, yet his skin had a sickly, feverish pallor, as if he were battling a chill. He was bald, his head smooth and gleaming under the warm light, drawing attention to his deep blue eyes—the colour of the lake's depths, dark and cold, with pupils that sometimes seemed to vanish, leaving only the blue to pierce through.

His face was unremarkable, almost forgettable. He wore a typical barkeep's apron over a simple white tunic, brown trousers, and sturdy boots, his attire neat but practical. Hanging from his belt was a small, silver flask, hinting at private indulgences.

Inside, the Golden Keg was a warm, bustling haven where the day's burdens faded in the glow of laughter and ale. Long wooden tables, scarred from countless gatherings, filled the main hall, while a massive stone hearth crackled to one side, its fire casting a cozy warmth and filling the air with the rich aroma of simmering stew.

The tavern was built from dark oak worn smooth by time; its entrance framed by heavy beams etched with fading carvings. The sign above the door, depicting a golden keg entwined with roots, swayed gently, welcoming all inside.

At the far end, beneath a low archway, stood the bar—a polished counter lined with tankards, behind which shelves held kegs of Blackroot Stout, Spring Cider, and the prized Bitterlake Reserve. Behind the bar, prominently displayed, was an altar to the gods of the lake—a rare and unusual sight, as such altars were usually hidden and personal.

Finnian strolled over to the first table where Old Callen, Harlan, Nola, and Elra sat, their voices overlapping in cheerful banter as they played a spirited game of dice. Old Callen’s voice carried above the rest, telling yet another tale of his younger days out on the lake.

“Can you remember when the nets used to come back so heavy you’d think we’d caught the lake itself?” Old Callen said, his hands gesturing as if he were still hauling in a massive catch. “Now, you’re lucky if you pull up anything more than a couple of slippery eels.”

Nola, shuffling the dice in her hands, smirked. “Maybe the fish just got tired of your face, Callen. Thought they’d spare themselves the torment of your stories.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Harlan slapped the old fisherman on the back. “She’s got you there, old man. Face like yours would scare off a school of sharks. Probably why the lake’s been so quiet lately!”

Old Callen waved them off with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, but you youngsters wouldn’t know the first thing about a proper catch. I could still out-fish the lot of you, even now.”

Nola leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and shot Callen a playful grin. “Youngsters, he says. Callen, if you’re a day over sixty, then so am I. And we both know I’m spry than you’ll ever be.”

“Spry, she says!” Harlan snorted, shaking his head. “Nola, you’re about as spry as a tree stump. If you’re not older than Callen, then I’m the King of the Isles.”

Nola’s eyes flashed with mock indignation, but there was a twinkle in them. “It’s just the cold, Harlan. It makes my bones creak and my hair gray, but you mark my words—when the spring comes, I’ll be as plucky as a new hen. You’ll be the one hobbling around here, whining for someone to fetch you a warm blanket.”

This set the table off again, laughter bubbling up from each of them, filling the air with a warmth that seemed to stretch out and embrace the entire room. Elra, who had been quietly observing, couldn’t help but chime in.

“Nola, you and Callen’ll be out there in the spring, arm in arm, trying to catch minnows with your bare hands. Callen’ll swear he’s landed a monster, and you’ll just be trying not to laugh too hard.”

Old Callen slapped his knee. “Ah, there’s a sight! Me, with a fish as big as Harlan’s head, and Nola dragging it in, scolding it like she would a wayward child.”

Nola shook her head, still grinning. “Better than you dragging it in, you’d probably trip over your own boots and scare it right back into the water.”

“And what a sight that’d be,” Harlan said, grinning widely. “Callen sprawled out on the dock, wrestling a fish that doesn’t want him anywhere near it, while Nola stands there, hands on her hips, giving them both a talking-to.”

“I’ll have you know, I was the best fisherman this town has ever seen,” Callen said, puffing his chest out theatrically. “You could ask anyone from here to the coast—my name was known.”

Elra let out a playful groan. “And there it is, folks, the legend of Callen begins again! Next he’ll tell us he caught a sea serpent with nothing but a twig and a piece of string.”

“Sea serpent? I’ve heard him call a minnow a sea serpent before,” Harlan joked, earning another round of laughs. “That’s just Callen for you—every fish he catches gets bigger the next time he tells the story.”

“You sure about that, Callen?” Finnian’s voice cut in smoothly as he approached, a grin spreading wide across his face. “I’ve seen you struggle to reel in a full pint some nights.”

Harlan glanced up at Finnian, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Look who decided to join us. You better not be here to give Callen any more of those winning tips. We’re still trying to figure out how he managed to roll double sixes three times in a row.”

Finnian chuckled, leaning in close, resting a hand on the back of an empty chair. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering. Just making sure you all have what you need,” he said, glancing at their half-empty mugs. “More drinks, perhaps? Or are you still trying to win back your coin, Harlan?”

Elra’s laugh was bright and sharp. “He’ll need more than luck for that. You know he’s terrible at dice,” she said, shaking her head as she tossed the dice onto the table, watching them roll with a practiced eye. “Last time, he lost his boots in a game. Had to walk home barefoot.”

“Not my finest hour,” Harlan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I still made it home, didn’t I? That counts for something.”

“You’d have better luck betting on the sun to rise in the west,” Nola teased, nudging Harlan with her elbow. “At least then you wouldn’t be giving away your clothes.”

“I keep telling him he should stick to chopping wood,” said Old Callen, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You could never gamble your axe, could you Harlan?”

“Definitely not, he loves that rusty tool more then his wife!” Elra shot back, and the table dissolved into laughter once more.

Finnian savoured the sound, letting it wash over him. This was the heart of Halrest—the easy camaraderie, the teasing that came from years of knowing each other’s stories, each other’s faults. It was a dance he’d seen countless times, a rhythm he knew how to keep steady.

He glanced at the dice on the table, then at the players, each one a fixture in the Golden Keg. “Tell you what,” he said, his voice low, drawing them in. “How about a round on the house for whoever rolls the highest? But you’ll have to earn it. I want to hear the best tale you’ve got. Something to beat Callen’s yarns about fish and ghosts.”

The challenge sparked something in their eyes and instantly the dice game was forgotten, replaced by a lively contest of tall tales, each story more outlandish than the last.

“Alright, alright,” Harlan said, holding up his hands. “I’ll give it a shot. So, there I was, up in the woods, right? Chopping down a pine that looked sturdy enough to make beams for Daithi’s new shed. And out of nowhere, this cat—bright as fire—comes trotting up, sits down, and just stares at me. Like it was waiting for me to say something.”

“Oh, aye?” Elra said, leaning forward, clearly sceptical. “And what did you do? Offer it a drink?”

“I tried to shoo it off, but it wouldn’t budge!” Harlan protested. “Had to give it the rest of my lunch to get it to leave me alone. That cat was smarter than most of the folks I deal with!”

“Maybe it just wanted to see if you were as good at chopping wood as you are at chopping up stories,” Nola teased, earning a round of chuckles from the table.

“I’m telling you, it’s true!” Harlan insisted, though a smile tugged at his lips. “The thing even had the audacity to sniff at my sandwich first, like it was deciding whether my lunch was good enough.”

Old Callen slapped the table, shaking his head. “And what did you have, Harlan? If it was anything like those pies from the market stall, I’d say that cat had good reason to be picky!”

“Oi, it was a fine bit of salted pork, Callen,” Harlan shot back, his eyes narrowing in mock offense. “And if it had been your lunch, the cat would’ve run off faster than a hare. Can’t blame it for having standards.”

Elra grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Sounds to me like you’ve got yourself a forest friend, Harlan. Better watch out or it’ll be following you home next time.”

“Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to follow him home,” Nola added, raising an eyebrow. “Remember that time with the goat?”

Harlan groaned, throwing his hands up. “Can we not bring up the goat? I was doing old Gretta a favour, and one misstep—one—and suddenly it’s the talk of the town for a month!”

“Misstep?” Nola repeated, laughing. “More like a mis-tie! That goat dragged half the market through the streets. I heard it broke two stalls before you caught it.”

The group roared with laughter, and even Harlan couldn’t keep from grinning. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. But at least I caught it. If it had been any of you lot, we’d still be chasing it.”

Finnian laughed along with the others, but his mind ticked over the details. Talk of the woods, the lake, even the odd tales—they were more than just stories. They were threads, weaving together the town’s lore, its fears, and its secrets.

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a new drinking buddy, Harlan,” he said. “Just hope it is a cat the next time you lose your boots.”

Elra’s eyes gleamed as she leaned in. “Oh, but I’ve got a story that’ll put Harlan’s cat to shame. Last autumn, I was walking past the old mill, right? And I heard this strange, low humming. Thought it was the wind at first, but then it got louder. Like it was coming from inside the mill.”

Nola nodded eagerly. “I heard that too! Thought it was just a broken wheel.”

“Well, I went in to check,” Elra continued, dropping her voice, “and there was nothing. Just an empty, dark mill. But that humming didn’t stop. It was like the walls were singing, or whispering, almost. Gave me chills, it did.”

Old Callen’s smile faded slightly, his eyes sharpening. “You’re not the only one who’s heard things near the mill. Couple of lads said they saw shadows moving inside, even when the doors were bolted shut.”

The air around the table grew a touch more serious, the laughter ebbing slightly, but Finnian seized the moment to steer it back. “Sounds like you’ve all been into the Reserve a bit early, if you ask me. Humming mills, ghostly cats… next, someone’ll say they’ve seen the lake sprout legs and walk off.”

“Could happen!” Nola said with a grin. “If you can have a cat with a taste for salted pork, why not a lake with legs? Maybe it’s tired of sitting there all day, just like the rest of us.”

Finnian's eyes twinkled as he leaned over to refill their mugs, his tone light, but his gaze thoughtful. “Well, let’s hope it stays put for tonight, eh? Otherwise, we’ll have to chase it down and bring it back with a net. But I’m serious about that round—tallest tale wins, so who’s next?”

The table buzzed with excitement, everyone talking over each other to stake their claim. Nola leaned back in her chair, rolling the dice in her hand with a smirk. “I think it’s my turn. And if any of you think you can beat a story about the chicken that terrorized my backyard, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“You mean the one that chased you clear down the road?” Harlan said, his eyes wide with mock surprise. “I still don’t believe a chicken could run that fast.”

“Believe it,” Nola said, wagging a finger at him. “Meanest thing I ever saw. I barely made it inside without it pecking at my heels. It was like it had a grudge!”

“Sounds like a chicken with some fight,” Elra said. “Maybe we should put it in charge of watching over the mill, keep those shadows in check.”

The table chuckled, and Finnian caught sight of movement near the entrance. Petra had arrived, her cheeks flushed from the chill outside, a basket of fresh bread balanced on her hip. He raised a hand, excusing himself from the group. “Looks like I’ve got a delivery to tend to. Don’t let Callen trick you into betting your boots, Harlan.”

“Too late for that,” Harlan called after him, grinning. “Just make sure you save us some of that bread, Finnian. Can’t have a proper drink without it.”

Finnian waved over his shoulder, a warm smile still on his lips as he approached Petra. She stood just inside the doorway, brushing flour off her apron, her eyes bright with the satisfaction of a morning’s work well done. “Right on time, Petra,” he greeted her, his voice smooth and welcoming. “You always know how to make the place smell like home.”

Petra beamed, setting the basket down on a nearby table. “Well, I try, Finnian. Couldn’t have folks saying The Golden Keg doesn’t have the best bread in Halrest, could we?” She glanced around the bustling tavern, her eyes softening. “Looks like a good crowd tonight.”

Finnian nodded, lifting the basket as he gestured for her to follow. “Always is, when we’ve got your bread on the tables. Come on, let’s get these to the back. I’ll give you a hand.”

The two of them made their way through the tavern, weaving between tables and patrons, exchanging nods and smiles. The walkway to the kitchen was lined with warm, flickering lanterns, casting a soft glow that felt like a gentle embrace. Finnian held the door open for Petra, and she slipped inside, still talking as they headed towards the storeroom.

“You know, Old Gretta was asking after you,” Petra said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Said she hadn’t seen you by the bakery in a while. Thought you might be sneaking your bread from somewhere else.”

Finnian chuckled, shaking his head. “Heavens, no. Wouldn’t dare. Just been busy, that’s all. But I’ll make a point to stop by and reassure her soon. Can’t have anyone thinking I’m straying from tradition.”

“Well, you’d better,” Petra said with a mock sternness. “She’s got a whole loaf set aside just for you. Said it’s a special one, too, with honey and dried fruits. It’s her way of thanking you for always making her feel welcome here.”

Finnian’s smile softened as he carefully placed the loaves on the shelves. “She’s always welcome. Everyone is. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Petra’s eyes sparkled as she nodded, setting down the last of the bread. “That’s why we all keep coming back, Finnian. You make it feel like we belong.” She dusted her hands off and adjusted her apron. “Well, I should get going before they miss me at the bakery. Save me a seat near the fire next time I stop by, will you?”

“Of course,” Finnian said, opening the door for her again. “And I’ll make sure there’s a slice of that honey loaf waiting for you.” He watched as Petra made her way back through the crowd, offering a few waves and smiles to familiar faces before she disappeared out the door.

Finnian stood for a moment, letting the warmth and sound of the tavern wash over him. The room felt alive, every voice, every laugh adding to the hum that made The Golden Keg what it was. He could see Old Callen’s table still engaged in animated conversation, the dice long forgotten. Harlan was gesturing wildly, re-enacting some story while Nola and Elra laughed. The air was thick with the mingled scents of roasting meat, bread, and ale, and the faint melody of Kieran’s lute danced lightly through it all.

He moved back towards the main hall, scanning the room as he went. It was a habit, really—keeping an eye on everything, making sure everyone had what they needed, that the mood stayed light and easy. Every group, every table, felt like a thread in the complex tapestry of The Golden Keg, woven together to create a place of comfort and refuge.

Finnian’s gaze drifted towards the far side of the room where Gregor and Idra were seated. They were a bit further from the lively dice players, sharing a quiet conversation over their drinks, their faces set in stern, thoughtful expressions. He could see the flicker of concern in Idra’s eyes, the way Gregor’s brow furrowed as he spoke. Finnian made his way over, moving smoothly through the crowd, his expression softening as he approached.

Gregor looked up and nodded as Finnian neared, lifting his mug in greeting. “Evening, Finnian.”

“Evening, Gregor, Idra,” Finnian said, refilling their mugs without being asked. “You two look like you’re discussing something serious. Council business, or just trying to figure out who owes who next round?”

Gregor’s lips twitched into a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bit of both, maybe,” he said, his tone careful. “It’s been a strange few weeks, you know. Folks are starting to ask questions.”

Idra glanced at Finnian, her gaze lingering a moment too long, as if searching for something. “It’s nothing that can’t wait until the next council meeting,” she said, a touch too lightly. “We’re just... catching up.”

Finnian nodded, reading between the lines. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just thought I’d see if you needed anything.” He lingered for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch, then gave them a reassuring smile. “If you do, you know where to find me.”

He left them to their quiet conversation, his mind already moving on to the next table. Across the room, Leena—a familiar, solitary figure—sat alone, her hands wrapped around a glass of wine. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, her posture almost protective, as if she was trying to shield herself from the world. Finnian’s eyes softened as he approached, shifting gears, adjusting his posture, his pace. He knew Leena’s story, as did most of the town. The loss of her husband had left her adrift, and she found herself here, night after night, nursing a drink as if it could somehow fill the emptiness.

When he reached her, he slid into the chair opposite her, leaning forward slightly, as if to block out the noise of the room around them, creating a small, private space just for the two of them.

“Leena,” he said gently, his voice low and warm, catching her attention. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders tonight.”

She blinked, slowly raising her gaze to meet his, as if she were surfacing from deep waters. “Oh, Finnian… it’s nothing. Just… thinking, I suppose.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and there was a fragility to it that made her seem even smaller.

He tilted his head slightly, offering a sympathetic smile. “Thinking’s dangerous business, especially when you’re alone. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To share the burden a little?” He let the words hang for a moment, then leaned back, as if giving her space to respond.

Leena managed a faint, sad smile, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “You’re always so kind, Finnian. I don’t know how you manage to make everyone feel… seen.”

Finnian’s smile grew a touch softer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sincerity and something more elusive. “It’s easy when you care, Leena. And I do. You know, I was just thinking—perhaps you’d like to try a glass of the Reserve tonight? On the house. It’s got a way of lifting the spirits, and I think you could use a little warmth tonight.”

She hesitated, her gaze drifting back down to her nearly empty glass, as if she were weighing the suggestion. “I don’t know… I’ve had enough, really.”

“Not at all,” Finnian said, his tone gentle but persuasive. “A glass of the Reserve isn’t just a drink—it’s a comfort. It’s a little bit of warmth that wraps around you, makes everything feel a bit easier to bear. And you deserve that, don’t you?”

Leena’s lips twitched, as though she wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the will. “I suppose… it might help.”

“Of course it will,” he said, leaning in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And you know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile. A real smile, I mean. Maybe tonight’s the night for that.”

She looked up at him, and there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—hope, or maybe just a desire to escape her sadness, even for a little while. “Thank you, Finnian,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the room’s din. “That sounds... nice.”

Finnian returned her smile, though his eyes flickered with something unreadable for a moment, a glint that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I’ll have it brought right over,” he said softly, as if it were a promise. “And you take your time with it. Let the warmth do its work.”

He rose from the chair, giving her a final nod before turning back to scan the room, the ever-watchful host, the one who knew every story, every secret, and every face. As he moved away, he glanced towards Eamon behind the bar, catching his eye with a subtle nod. Moments later, a fresh glass of the Reserve was prepared, its dark, rich liquid swirling gently as Eamon set it aside, ready for Selene to deliver.

Finnian’s smile returned, but there was a calculating edge to it now, a satisfaction in knowing he had set another piece in place. The Golden Keg was his domain, and within its walls, he was both the comforter and the one who quietly steered the evening’s course. He took one last look back at Leena, who was already cradling her new drink, staring into its depths as if searching for something she couldn’t quite name.

“Good,” he murmured under his breath, the words lost beneath the tavern’s chatter. “Just let it all go.”

Selene moved swiftly between the tables, her tray balanced expertly on one hand, her eyes always scanning, always observing. She was a natural at this, gliding through the chaos of the tavern with a grace that made it seem effortless. Her dark, wavy hair was tied back, and a few loose strands framed her face, which always seemed to carry a knowing, playful smile. She loved the Golden Keg—the warmth, the noise, the way the room thrummed with life. But more than anything, she loved the role she played in it. She could flirt, tease, scold, and soothe, all within the span of a few heartbeats, and she took a quiet pride in knowing she helped keep the place running smoothly.

As she turned, she caught sight of Eamon behind the bar, lifting a tankard in one hand and raising his eyebrows at her. She nodded, signalling she’d seen him, and made her way over. “What’s up?” she asked, slipping behind the bar for a moment to grab the waiting order.

“Two pints of Blackroot for Farley and Renn,” Eamon said, sliding the drinks onto her tray. “Good luck with those two”

Selene smirked, picking up the tray.

She headed across the room, weaving between chairs and sidestepping a pair of children who darted past her legs, giggling as they chased each other. She reached Farley and Renn’s table just as they burst into laughter, nearly tipping over the drinks they already had. “Here you go, boys,” she said, placing the mugs down with a wink. “What’s new?”

“Selene!” Farley said, beaming up at her. “You’re just in time. We were just talking about the time Renn here managed to get himself stuck up a tree trying to impress Rissa from the apothecary.”

Renn groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again.”

“Oh, but it’s too good a story to forget,” Farley teased, nudging his friend. “Especially the part where Rissa had to climb up there herself to help you down. You were redder than a beet!”

Selene chuckled, shaking her head. “Sounds like a lot of fun.” “Where do you get the time when there’s work?”

“We make time,” Renn said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, someone has to keep things interesting around here.”

“Well, try not to get stuck anywhere else tonight, hmm?” she said, moving on before they could drag her into their banter. But her smile lingered as she left, feeling the warmth of their laughter still echoing in her ears. That was the magic of this place—the way it could turn even the most embarrassing memories into something to laugh about over a pint.

From there, she drifted towards the makeshift stage near the corner, where Mara, Eris, and Teagan were huddled close, their heads bent together in a conspiratorial whisper. The three women glanced up as she approached, their conversation pausing mid-sentence.

“What can I get you, ladies?” Selene asked, leaning down with a bright smile, her presence warm and welcoming. She was curious—gossip always flowed freely at their table, and she could never resist eavesdropping just a little.

Mara, the more serious of the two twins, glanced over at her sister before answering. “Oh, just some wine for me, and a cider for Eris. And Teagan, what was it you wanted?”

Teagan, her sharp eyes twinkling, leaned back with a sly smile. “Rum, dear. Something strong to keep me warm while I listen to these two speculate about who’s sweet on whom.”

“You mean who’s sweet on you, more like,” Eris said, nudging Teagan playfully. “I saw the way Darrin was looking at you earlier. Practically drooling.”

“Oh, hush,” Teagan said, but she didn’t sound displeased. “Man’s been trying to court me since last spring. If he hasn’t figured it out by now, I’m not going to make it easy for him.”

Mara sighed, rolling her eyes. “Well, speaking of sneaking around, did you hear about Maddie’s husband last night? Slipped out after dark and wasn’t back until sunrise. And it wasn’t the first time, either.”

Selene’s eyebrows shot up, feigning shock. “Not Maddie’s husband! He always seemed so... proper.”

“Oh, but he’s got his secrets,” Eris said, her grin widening as she leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Saw him myself, slipping out of the back gate like a cat trying to avoid getting wet. If Maddie finds out, there’ll be hell, mark my words.”

Teagan chuckled, shaking her head. “She doesn’t need to find out—half the market knows already. Maddie gave him an earful last time he pulled a stunt like that, but you know men... They never learn.” She sipped her drink, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Personally, I think he’s been spending too much time down by the docks. Nothing good ever comes from that.”

The group burst into laughter, and Selene joined in, the sound infectious and bright. She loved these little snippets of gossip—the way they stitched together the town’s stories, making the mundane feel like an endless, lively tapestry.

“Well, I hope he’s got his excuses ready,” she said, shaking her head. “Maddie’s got a temper, and I don’t see her letting this one go easily.”

“Temper?” Eris snickered. “She nearly threw a pot at him last time! If he’s smart, he’ll steer clear for a while... or at least bring her some of that sweet honey from Old Corrin’s farm.”

The chatter quieted for a moment, and Selene sensed an opportunity to shift the conversation. She leaned in slightly, her tone more casual but her eyes curious. “Speaking of honey... what about the upcoming council meeting? Any buzz there?”

The women exchanged glances, their expressions shifting as the topic turned more serious. “Oh, there’s always something brewing,” Teagan said, her voice lowering to a hushed tone. “Especially now, with the lake acting up and the storehouses running low.”

Selene’s smile didn’t falter, but she leaned in closer, as if to catch every word. “The lake, huh? Heard the nets have been coming up empty more often than not...”

“They have,” Mara said quietly, her usually light-hearted expression darkening. “And it’s not just that. You hear things, don’t you? Strange noises, people talking about shadows moving where there shouldn’t be any... something isn’t right.” She glanced around, as if afraid to say more. “You can bet that’ll be brought up at the meeting.”

Eris nodded, swirling her drink absently. “I’ve heard it’s bad, worse than they’re letting on. Some say there’s talk of rationing, but you know how that will go down...”

Teagan’s sharp eyes flicked toward Finnian, who was moving smoothly through the crowd on the other side of the room, always with that easy, confident stride. “If you want to know what’s really going on, you should ask him. He’s on the council now, isn’t he?” she said, her voice laced with curiosity. “He’s got a way of... knowing things. More than most.”

“Oh, that was a strange pick, if you ask me,” Eris interjected, her tone sceptical. “Finnian’s charming, sure, but a council member? What’s he got to do with making decisions about the town’s problems?”

“I think it’s a good pick,” Mara replied firmly, shooting her sister a look. “He’s got a way of calming people down, bringing folks together. That’s what we need right now, isn’t it? Someone who can make people listen, especially when there’s so much... uncertainty.”

“Oh, here we go,” Eris sighed, rolling her eyes. “Always defending people, Mara. You think everyone has good intentions.”

“I just think it makes sense,” Mara shot back. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting with stable boys and more time paying attention, you’d see that.”

Teagan, who had been watching the back-and-forth with a bemused expression, finally rolled her eyes. “Will you two ever stop bickering? If Finnian’s on the council, then he’s on the council. Doesn’t mean he’s single-handedly running the place.”

Selene’s smile remained, but inside she felt a twinge of unease. The talk about Finnian brought a sense of caution, a reminder of just how well he seemed to have positioned himself within the town. She had seen more of him than most, observed the way he guided conversations, always leaving people feeling like he was on their side. Yet, there was a sharpness beneath that smile, a sense of control that made her wary.

“I suppose he does, doesn’t he?” she said lightly, as if brushing off the comment. “Well, I’ll let him handle the serious stuff. For now, I’ll just make sure your glasses stay full.”

“Oh, please do,” Teagan said, her sly smile returning. “I’m sure we’ll need it when the council gets around to making decisions. Nothing like a bit of liquid courage, eh?”

Selene chuckled, gathering their empty glasses onto her tray, her hands moving a little faster than before. “You’ll have it, don’t worry. Just keep an ear out for any more juicy details for me, alright?”

The women laughed, and Selene’s smile flickered wider, but as she moved away, she found herself glancing back toward Finnian. There was a familiarity in the room’s noise, the clinking of mugs, and the hum of chatter, but beneath it, there was something else—a quiet tension, a thread pulled just a little too tight.

Her mind was buzzing with the snatches of gossip she’d picked up. Rumours, whispers, hints of trouble... and in the middle of it all, Finnian, smiling as if nothing was wrong. Selene wondered just how much he really knew, and how much he was letting on.

She reached the bar and with a quick practiced motion, she set down the empty tray and glanced at Eamon, signalling that she was ready for the next round. She noticed Orin, a well-dressed man with sharp eyes and a slick smile, leaning across the counter, trying to catch Eamon’s attention.

“Listen, friend,” Orin said, his voice smooth and practiced, like a merchant who’d sold the same pitch a hundred times. “I’ve got a shipment coming in next week—fine spices from the south. You won’t find anything like it around here. Rich, warm scents, colors you’ve never seen before, and a flavor that will make your stews sing.”

Eamon glanced up briefly, more focused on pouring a drink than on Orin’s sales pitch. “Spices, eh?” he said, not quite looking up. “Sounds nice, but most folk here are fine with salt and pepper. Plain, simple, does the job.”

Orin’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes flickered with a hint of frustration. “Ah, but that’s just it, isn’t it? Why settle for simple when you can have extraordinary? I’ve been through the markets in Medria—the Grand City, you’ve heard of it, surely? Spices from the eastern ports, teas that bloom in water like flowers... It’s a new world out there, and I’m bringing a taste of it to Halrest.”

Eamon’s brow lifted, and he finally looked up, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Medria, you say? Can’t say I’ve heard much, but sounds like you’re from far off. Most here aren’t too fussed about all that, though. Simple suits us fine.” He nodded toward the tavern, where laughter and chatter echoed, as if to emphasize his point. “We’re not looking to complicate things.”

Orin’s smile grew tighter, but he nodded, adjusting his coat. “That’s the thing about small towns, isn’t it? Everyone’s comfortable, but you miss out on so much. I’ve seen places... empires, really, where they’re not afraid to reach for something new. Expanding, conquering—growing. There’s opportunity, friend, and it’s just waiting to be seized.”

Eamon’s expression didn’t change, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Opportunity, sure,” he said, his tone even. “But Halrest isn’t Medria, and we like it that way. If you’ve got something worth buying, you’d best talk to Finnian.” He nodded down the bar where Finnian had just finished up with Leena and was making his way back, his presence smooth and assured, like a captain strolling the deck of his ship. “He’s the one who decides what’s needed around here.”

Orin’s expression shifted—just for a moment, a flicker of something before he smoothed it over. “Of course,” he said, his tone still amiable. “I’d be happy to speak with him.”

As Finnian approached, Orin straightened up, putting on his best smile. “Finnian, is it? Pleasure to meet you. I’ve been telling your man here about the fine wares I’ll be bringing in—spices, teas, things that could make this place stand out. Imagine offering a taste of the exotic, right here in Halrest.” Finnian moved behind the bar, creating a physical boundary between them.

Finnian’s smile was polite, but there was no warmth in his eyes as he glanced at Orin. “Exotic, you say?” he echoed, his tone measured. “Sounds interesting, but we’re a simple place. People come here for what they know, not to be surprised. I’ve found that’s the best way to keep them happy.”

Orin’s smile wavered, but he pressed on. “And that’s exactly it, Finnian. Imagine giving them just a hint, a taste of something beyond their usual. It would set this place apart—make it unforgettable.”

Finnian’s eyes didn’t leave Orin’s, and for a moment, the genial mask slipped, replaced by a cool, almost dismissive stare. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, his tone icy. “But I’m not in the business of surprises. I’m in the business of keeping things steady. Predictable. Safe.” He paused, letting the words settle. “And I like to know exactly where everything comes from.”

Orin blinked, and the silence stretched just long enough to feel uncomfortable. “I see,” he said finally, forcing a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure there’s room for discussion...”

“There isn’t,” Finnian said, still smiling, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But thank you, Orin. Enjoy your drink, and best of luck with your trade.”

Orin hesitated, then nodded, his smile fading as he gathered his coat around him. “Of course,” he said, the smoothness gone from his voice. “Good evening, then.” He glanced at Eamon, who simply gave a small shrug, as if to say, ‘What did you expect?’

As Orin slipped out of the tavern, Daveth entered, taking a quick look around before sliding into the seat Orin had vacated. He ordered a drink, his movements calm and deliberate, the way a hunter might ease into a clearing, alert but at ease. Eamon nodded to him, pouring his usual without a word.

Daveth’s eyes scanned the room, noting the easy camaraderie, the hum of voices. He caught Finnian’s eye and gave a nod, acknowledging the man who seemed to see everything, hear everything, without ever appearing to try. Finnian returned the nod, his smile back to its usual, relaxed warmth, as if the brief chill with Orin had never happened.

Bran appeared; his sturdy frame silhouetted for a moment before he stepped inside. He glanced around, taking in the room, and just as he did, a cheer erupted from Old Callen’s table, followed by a chorus of grumbles.

“Ah, there he is!” Old Callen’s voice carried across the room, and he waved Bran over. “Just in time to see me clean these whelps out. Come join us, Bran, before they start crying!”

“Whelp?” Nola exclaimed, “I’ll give you a whelp you old coot!”

Bran hesitated, his serious demeanour momentarily softening as he was drawn toward the table. The dice players welcomed him with open arms, and he slid into a seat, chuckling as he joined their game.

As Finnian stood behind the bar, his eyes briefly following the path where Orin had departed, his smile tightened, just a fraction. The room buzzed on, warm and welcoming, but he knew exactly how to keep it that way. No surprises, no disruptions. That was how you maintained control, and Finnian intended to keep it that way.

He glanced at Eamon, who was tidying up the counter.

“Before the evening’s rush begins, is there anything we need?” Finnian’s tone was sharp, each word precise, carrying the weight of an order rather than a question.

Eamon glanced up, momentarily startled. “I don’t think so. We’re stocked on all the popular stuff, and I think the new ales you’ve got for tonight will be a hit…” His voice trailed off, as if unsure whether he had said enough.

Finnian’s eyes narrowed slightly, the hint of a smile curling at the edge of his lips. “Good,” he said, the word clipped, leaving no room for doubt. “I’ll be around for a while before I head over to see Daithi. Make sure everything runs smoothly.”

Eamon dipped his head, a nervous acknowledgment, and Finnian turned away, his attention already shifting. As he refilled his jug, his gaze swept across the room, assessing the faces, the mood, the subtle shifts in energy. Everything was as it should be, except for a table in the corner, where a group of hunters sat, their usual cheer replaced by a quiet, subdued gloom.

Finnian drifted toward them, moving with a casual, effortless grace, his eyes catching the flicker of their glances. He could see the weariness in their slumped shoulders, the faint shadows beneath their eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was low, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret.

“Come now, lads,” he began, sliding into the space at their table, his smile widening into a playful grin. “The woods can’t be giving you trouble, can they?” He glanced around at them.

The hunters shifted, their gloom lifting just a touch. One of the younger men, a wiry fellow with a jagged scar along his jaw, managed a lopsided grin. “It’s this damned leg of mine. The pain flared up, slowed me down.”

The other’s faces remained clouded, their voices low and gravelly, mingling with the quiet creak of the tavern’s beams. “Aye, it’s been rough,” said an older hunter, his thick beard bristling as he spoke. “The game’s scarce, more than usual. Snow’s deep, and the tracks disappear before we can follow them. Feels like the woods are turning against us, making it harder every day.”

Another hunter, a stout man with a fur-lined cap pulled low, added, “We’ve been setting snares, checking traps, but it’s like they’re emptying themselves. Even the hares have gone to ground. It’s not just the leg, lad,” he said, giving the younger man a sympathetic glance. “We’re all struggling.”

Finnian listened, his expression thoughtful, as if weighing their words carefully. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make them feel heard, then leaned in, his eyes twinkling, his voice brightening. “Scarce or not, you’ve still got to eat. And drink, of course.” He lifted his jug, pouring a generous splash into their mugs. “The trick, lads, is to take a bit of the Reserve before you head out. Cures aches, pains, broken hearts... and who knows, maybe it’ll help you bring in even a beast or two.”

The older hunter, a burly man with calloused hands, slapped the younger one on the back, his laugh booming through the room. “You hear that, lad? Finnian’s got your medicine right here! Next time your leg acts up, just down a pint and see if you can’t snag something!”

The younger hunter laughed, but there was a hint of relief in his smile, as if he’d been waiting for someone to break the gloom. “If it’s as strong as you say, maybe I’ll outrun the whole damn forest. Might even catch one of those elusive stags we keep hearing about.”

The rest of the group joined in, their voices rising. Another hunter, a tall, lanky man with a red scarf, raised his mug. “To the stags, then. And to not letting a bit of snow get the better of us.”

Finnian’s smile deepened, and he raised his own mug, tilting it toward them. “To the hunt, then. And to the tales you’ll bring back when you’ve shown the woods who’s boss. Don’t let a bit of winter scare you off—think of it as a challenge, eh? Prove you’re tougher than the cold.”

“Cheers!” they called, clinking their mugs together, the sound echoing around the tavern. Finnian watched as they drank, their faces brightening, their spirits lifting with each sip. This was how it was supposed to be. Within these walls, the world outside didn’t matter. The chill, the scarcity, the pain—they all faded, replaced by the warmth of good company and the comfort of familiar routines.

One of the hunters wiped the foam from his beard, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at Finnian. “You know, you’re right. There’s no sense in moping about. Maybe we’ll head back out tomorrow, give it another shot. Might even try the northern trails—heard there’s a spot there where the deer have been passing through.”

Finnian nodded, his expression encouraging. “That’s the spirit. The north’s tricky, but it’s not impossible. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. And if you catch anything, I expect to see it here first. I’ll make sure there’s a drink waiting for you when you get back, successful or not.”

The hunters roared with laughter, their mugs clinking together in a raucous cheer that reverberated through the tavern. But it wasn’t just the sound of their mirth that filled the space—it was the sense of ease, the feeling that no matter what hardships waited for them outside, within these walls they were safe, understood. This was where they could let their guards down, where the burdens of life outside melted away, if only for a few hours.

Finnian stood up and continued his roaming, satisfied he had smoothed over another bump in his perfect atmosphere. He glanced around the room, his eyes flicking from table to table, inspecting the scene with the practiced ease of a man who knew every corner, every story.

Around the bar, other small dramas unfolded—a young couple on a date, sharing a tankard and shy glances, their hands brushing as they passed it back and forth.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” the girl teased, her cheeks flushed as she leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. “You spill more than you drink.”

The boy grinned, his fingers lightly grazing hers as he steadied the tankard between them. “I’m just making sure you get the best part, that’s all.”

Further along, a group of fishermen nursed their drinks. Their conversation was low, filled with the weight of another disappointing season. Finnian’s gaze lingered on them, his brow furrowing slightly, a mental note to send them a round later to lift their spirits. He caught snippets of their low conversation, words like “empty nets” and “ice coming too soon” drifting through the air, mingling with the scent of ale and smoke.

And then there were the children—darting between tables, laughing and shrieking as they chased each other through the legs of stools and benches. One boy stumbled near the hunters, looking up at them with wide eyes.

Finnian returned near the hunters’ table, his movements deliberate but relaxed, his presence calming. “Careful there, lad,” he said gently, ruffling the boy’s hair, though a flash of irritation flickered in his gaze. His smile remained in place, fixed and patient, but his fingers tensed momentarily against the boy’s scalp. “If you knock over one of these fine hunters’ ales, they might just roast you over the fire.”

The boy grinned, his cheeks red with excitement, entirely missing the brief tightening of Finnian’s jaw. “Sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to—”

Finnian waved him off with a chuckle, his expression softening once more. “No harm done.” For a moment, he watched as the boy ran off, clutching the bread as if it were the most precious thing in the world. But as soon as the child was out of sight, Finnian’s smile vanished entirely, replaced by a look of thinly veiled distaste.

“Should’ve made this place adults-only,” Finnian muttered under his breath, brushing his hands off as if he could rid himself of the lingering touch. There was no room in it for wild, unchecked chaos.

A server approached from his side, balancing a tray laden with fresh bread and steaming bowls of stew. “More for the hearth crew?” she asked, her voice brisk and cheerful.

Finnian nodded absently, still scanning the crowd. “Aye, and take a bowl to the old shaman’s shack while you’re at it.”

The server blinked, startled. “Selis? But… isn’t he—”

“Just do it,” Finnian murmured, his tone still light, but with an edge of steel beneath the words. The warmth that had been in his eyes just a moment ago vanished, replaced by something colder, sharper. “We wouldn’t want the poor man starving, would we?”

The server hesitated, glancing down at the tray with a troubled expression. “If you say so, sir. But it’s a long way out there, and with the snow—”

“Get one of the street boys to do it,” Finnian said smoothly, waving a hand. “Tell him it’s for the good of the town. I’m sure he’ll be happy to earn a few coppers.”

The server bit her lip, casting a worried look at the door. Finnian’s smile widened again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Best not to keep Selis waiting. We all have our roles to play, don’t we?”

She nodded slowly, glancing around the bustling room one last time before turning and weaving through the crowd, the tray balanced carefully in her hands. She made her way to the hearth crew, serving the men tending the main fireplace, who greeted her warmly. After ensuring they were taken care of, she moved toward the entrance, slipping out into the cold night, the door closing softly behind her.

Finnian watched her go, his gaze lingering on the door long after it had swung shut. The laughter of the hunters, the shouts of the children, the murmur of conversation—it all flowed around him, filling the Golden Keg with life and warmth, a carefully maintained rhythm that he orchestrated.

He began to move toward the kitchen at the back, pausing only to call out to Eamon. “I’m leaving for a bit. You know what to do,” he said, the words expectant.

Eamon flinched slightly, his hands momentarily fumbling with a glass. “Y-yes, sir. I’ll keep things running smoothly.” He nodded, his smile strained, eyes darting nervously to Finnian’s.

Finnian’s gaze lingered on Eamon for a beat too long, then he turned and walked through the back, the kitchen door swinging shut behind him.

The moment hung in the air, like a shadow at the corner of one’s vision—flickering and gone before it could fully take shape. The front door creaked open again, but this time the room hardly seemed to notice.

A figure stepped inside, his movements slow, deliberate.

Selene approached him, her earlier cheer tempered, though still polite. “Evening, sir. What can I get for you?” she asked, her voice low, respectful.

Thorn’s gaze was steady, untroubled by the noise and warmth around him. “A room,” he said simply, his tone as soft and cool as the wind outside.

Selene nodded, offering a small, practiced smile. “Of course. Follow me.”

And just like that, the room carried on, the Golden Keg returning to its rhythm of laughter and chatter, unaware of the quiet shift Thorn’s arrival had brought.