The door gave a slight protest as it swung open with the first customer of the evening. The lock had not been left unlatched for more than a few moments before someone had come looking for a place to linger. There was a low murmur from the patron as he took a long look around the tavern. The aged building had a mismatched style of architecture as if the entire structure had been constructed by different builders who each started in a different corner with their own ideas, but had managed to all successfully merge together. The central area had no natural light directly illuminating the space but instead glowed under the ambient flickering of hundreds of candles of assorted shapes, sizes, and hues of flame. One of the candles was perched atop a pedestal set to the right side of the entrance, its flame dancing against a large teal quill which leaned steeply out of the inkwell. Magical flames were expensive but gave a pleasant and safe lighting source to which the hectic interior of such a space as this deemed a requirement. Further inspection would only discover the candles tucked into narrow spaces on bookcases, among the tables, and on a multitude of closely nested nooks in which a real flame would escape in a moment. The man was palming at his short stubbed beard under an uneasy grimace. There was a mental argument likely forming between whether to continue further inside or to back out into the tangled dead-end alley that had ended up here. With a quick grunt, he let the door swing shut and took a step forward. His hesitant progress prevented him from completely falling down as he stepped onto the stiff toe of a mud-caked, snakeskin boot. He managed to stop his tumble with a firm grip on the closest table and turned to see the problem. The boot had fallen from a bench on which piled a collection of footwear. Boots, slippers, shoes, moccasins, sandals and even a few socks had been stacked in an unstable mess. Among them only a few pairs could be seen, some tied or near their mate, but the majority of items seemed to be solitary. Shaking his head the man turned back and gave a start at the sudden presence of the barkeep who now stood across the room behind the bar. No sound had announced this man’s arrival, and he stood rather statuesque as he regarded his first customer. His face beamed with a wide stretched smile and bright wide eyes. There was hesitation once more as the man at the door squeezed his chin, a quiet but gritty scraping sound as he harassed the short hairs while thinking over the concerns of continuing into the strange and uncertain location. This time, before moving, he squared his shoulders, to make known to the barkeep, if not himself, that he was not only taller but broader than the quiet man behind the bar. He approached the bar in calm but defined steps, letting his sword and satchel give audible jingles as the buckles and clasps shifted around. With a confident nod and smile, he pulled out a stool in front of the barkeep.
“Sign outside mentioned you had…”
The barkeep’s smile twitched once and he vanished.
The traveler’s smile fell as he stared in shock at the now empty space he had spoken towards. Now there was only the overburdened shelves that displayed bright liquors and novelty trinkets behind the bar. The man pushed off the bar with a strong shove to gain momentum towards the door. It made it all the harder to stop himself when he realized the barkeep now stood at the pedestal holding the teal feathered quill.
“Name?” The barkeep asked in a charming and eager tone.
Unable to prevent himself from barreling straight into the cheerful barkeep on his own, the traveler grasped onto the back of one of the stout chairs and locked his arms as he leaned his weight in letting his boots and the chair legs skid together to halt his movement with an abrasive grating noise. The harsh and heavy slide left rough skid marks across the polished wooden floor. His right hand twitched for his belt as he stood facing the barkeep. The barkeep was motionless with his smile still wide, hand on the large quill, but his eyes now intently focused on the damaged floor. The larger man straightened slightly, letting his hand grip the hilt of his sword firmly, as his other hand released the chair back and extended in a fluttering open hand to signal for peace.
“Look I don’t want any trouble, I just…”
The barkeep’s dark brown eyes darted back up meeting the traveler’s own panicked steely blues.
“Name?” He asked again, in an identical voice as before, though his expression seemed to have subtly shifted. Though he had not drawn his sword the traveler was beginning to look more desperate. He looked between the door and the barman, judging the risks of just bolting past the smaller man. Reaching a conclusion he gave the chair a shove to send it between the two men while he lunged for the door. As his hand touched the metal, the lock snapped into place of its own accord, as well as what sounded like half a dozen unseen mechanisms. Unable to make a direct escape, he spun away from the pedestal and drew his blade. The barkeep was gone. Sword extended, the man leaned back against the door, frantically looking in all directions for sign of the strange tavern owner. He gave a choked gasp as the voice echoed around the room.
“Patrons may not leave until they have settled a means in which to pay their owed dues.”
“I DIDN’T DRINK ANYTHING!” The man shouted back into the room.
“Patrons are responsible for any damages to the premises.” The voice droned out as if reciting a line off of a written rule list posted nearby. The traveler hastily shoved his hand into the front of his satchel grasping at coins inside without taking time to even consider their value. He threw a fist full out into the room.
“There. Now let me out!” He said jerking once more on the handle to test its hold.
“Your amount given totals to 527 Tellas. 2073 short of your current bill. How do you wish to continue payment?”
The man ignored the calculated and eerily calm voice of the barkeep and paced away from the sealed entrance to search for another exit. A few thousand Tellas was a ridiculous amount to just hand out to some sociopath at the end of an alley. He would be more likely to hand that over to bandit with a bigger sword; if he had that kind of money with him that is. As it was, he just wanted to leave and let the blinking trickster make do with the pocket change. He rounded a corner to a side hall that had one of the few windows along the front side of the building. There were no chairs along this space but benches that surrounded a table all nestled into the alcove of the large window. The man slid into the space, pushing the table aside as he began looking for a latch to open the window.
“Service will be required if payment is refused.” droned the voice of the barkeeper.
The man spun to find the barkeep standing behind him in the hall. The smile had gone but he had no noticeable weapon. The traveler was expecting magic at this point, but he figured no back alley magician should cause much worry. He sneered back towards the barkeep.
“Like hell I’d stay around this freak show any longer.” He turned, deciding to shoulder straight through the glass and escape his situation. He heard echoing voices from behind him, more than just from the man who stood behind him, in a language he didn’t know. He threw himself towards the window bracing to burst through. Instead of the impact and scrapping of frame and glass, he felt a tingling and his vision swirled. He fell down, the air painful as it whooshed past his face. The world spun as he fell, and he could no longer tell what direction the window was in. He tried to scream but his voice was gone, he had no breath to even scream. Then he crashed into an engulfing sensation that welcomed him. He tried to understand what was happening, Why was he unable to focus on his surroundings? What was this haze, this distortion?
The barkeep appeared back at the bar.
“Service it is.”