The Flim and Flam

Nestled along a narrow side street in one of Quillmore’s less respectable neighborhoods, the spectacle that was the Flim and Flam played itself out each night against the captivating backdrop of the bustling metropolis. The cozy tavern threw open her rickety doors to all comers, be they Magic or Gear, nobleman or beggar, human or Suwari. Turning a blind eye to discretion had served the tiny bar well throughout her lengthy history, allowing her to remain in business long after similar, more finicky, establishments had gone under. True, this great confluence of various races, cultures and beliefs had led to the outbreak of numerous altercations, untold legal actions, and not a few untimely deaths, but this only served to enhance the mystique surrounding the tavern.

On this particular night, the small pub was overflowing with all manner of revelers, all quite well behaved thus far, intent more on drinking than breaking the peace. Behind the counter, Slir Dyndar, the proprietor, surveyed his many customers as he counted out the proceeds from the evening. The night was progressing well, and he rubbed his hands greedily as he tallied each coin. The years had not been terribly kind to Slir; his once thick head of hair had fled during his early teens, leaving him with a shiny, if somewhat uneven, cranium. Additionally, he was only nominally acquainted with personal hygiene, resulting in his having more gold in his mouth than in his heart, and he drank at least as much as his customers. Secretly, he longed to save enough to one day quit himself of this town and retire to a more suitable climes, free of the dreariness of physical labor, though somehow the end of the week always found him poorer than he had been at its start.

Dorna, the tavern’s buxom barmaid was making her rounds. Unmistakable with her freckled, beaming countenance and her fiery curls, she flashed her sparkling emerald eyes at Slir as she passed, causing him to marvel once again at her remarkable beauty. She fairly danced around the bar as she hopped from one table to the next, taking orders and delivering tall flagons of ale to the motley assortment of clientele. Each time she neared one particularly rowdy table of dangerous looking rogues, Slir would wince, certain the bunch of good-for-nothings would take to harassing the poor lass. Sighing with relief when she had safely passed them without incident, Slir turned to serve another customer, wondering how the remainder of the evening would proceed.
You have a gift, my friend. You should be writing a novel. If not, at least do continue your story here. So far, it is most entertaining. :)


Sadius continued walking. His master was expecting him and he had no time to dawdle.
"Have you news of importance?" he asked curtly.