There was a significantly dwindling number of respectable locations in which Eustace felt…comfortable. His home had too many memories woven throughout its walls. The presence of these heavy memories was holding him in continual reflection. As such, he would often set out to find someplace to tarry. Even with all of the intention in the world it still proved to be an inconsistent venture outside of his home. Eustace would roam the city, finding ideas and inspiration for yet another story at every passing moment. Whenever a spot was found to sit and begin translating his imagination to a script, he would pause. The ideas flowed, but his mind fought him for how to present it to the page. He would sit and stare at the open page. Few words managed to become written, and many more had remained stuck within his mind. Many places where he could sit often ran him off, his distracted manner often filling space without participation, whether it be purchasing amenities or having reason to remain. Several locations would not let him even cast a shadow on their doorway if they caught him with his notebook in hand. Even if he did request service, he seldom remembered to carry coinage with him, and few extended an offer for him to hold an honorable account to pay later.
Today Eustace walked on past the shops and cafes, the bars and restaurants. He had outlived many of them, watched new names of businesses come and go, watched many change owners, and several shifts in theme. His human blood gave meaning to the hustle, the motion of these earnings as each struggled to eventually adapt and thrive or fade and vanish. It was his elven blood that kept him distant, watching this uncertain toil for self-purpose run its course around him. He loved living in a city with such life and energy, but he had now outlived much of what he had originally known. With the rise and placement of the Tellas family, the new order which had been decreed caused many to question what would come next. Eustace saw it as just another chapter. This was not the first change of power in his lifetime, though he wondered if it might be the last. The book grew heavy in his arms, and it was time to find somewhere to sit. He placed the spine of his book atop a window sill as he looked around at what this street offered. There had been changes since he had last rotated through this part of town. The small bakery which was using local honey looked to be doing well, the building had been freshly painted and new large signs placed. His interest faded as he noticed a closed sign in the window. Besides that shop, nothing else looked to be of promise. Eustace decided to rest a bit longer before turning back to go home. As he watched the daily patterns of pedestrians and carts flow by in their currents of movement he saw one figure who stood out from the majority. This fellow was large and broad and had appeared from an alley with a large display in hand. He fussed with it and took time to place it for the passing crowds to view. Eustace hefted the pages again, crossing through the people on the street to arrive at the sign. The large man now sat fully on the ground holding a small piece of chalk as best as his large fingers would manage, attempting to replicate the letters which had been partially erased under his grip. It seemed an easy fix, Eustace not noting anything on the board to be very difficult to assume and fill in, but this large man seemed held back in sorting out what to do. Eustace stepped forward, bowing his head of grey and silver-streaked hair towards the big fellow.
“Is this a description of a new shop in town?” He politely inquired. The large man didn’t seem to hear him and had begun rocking gently back and forth, one shoulder rising up to his head to cover his ear. Eustace could see that he was beginning to become distraught towards fixing the sign, and did not look as though he might succeed. Eustace watched as the chalk fell, the hand which held it closing off his other ear from the mixed noise of the street. The half-elf writer was at a loss of understanding, but it was a simple correction. He stepped lightly, took the chalk and filled in the missing lines. As the chalk traced over the final word of lounge, Eustace raised his head at the direction of the arrow on the board, wondering what he might find. The angles of the alley blocked its destination from sight, but it was a well-kept passage that held a welcome invitation. Reaching down Eustace placed the chalk into the large man’s hand, gaining a flinch in response. After a quick glance at the sign and the chalk, the big man stood, immediately smiling wide. Eustace pointed at the sign and back at the alley, which prompted energetic waves of a large hand as the big man began a lopping kind of skip down the path. Eustace followed, the idea of someplace to sit briefly was pleasing to his knees.
The door at the end of the way was still open, the large man speaking animatedly to a smaller man in a vest who stood ready to greet. They exchanged a few more phrases as Eustace finished his timely approach, his knees giving further protest. The greeter waited for him to enter before speaking.
“Name?” he inquired.
The half-elf gave a light bow which prompted his lower back to join in the assault of giving him grief. With a bit of strain in his voice he replied.
“Eustace Raleigh, writer, and storyteller.”
The man gave him a nod of acknowledgment as the quill leaped across the page with his name. Eustace watched it, then glanced at his own mundane writing quill. When he looked back the greeter was now behind the bar, pointing at the location of things for the bigger man to take note of. More than just a greeter, and more than just a common barkeeper. Eustace’s mind flew into motion, his imagination chasing trails of possibilities and ideas. He stumbled over to a large armchair in front of the fireplace, a table with the markings of a chessboard in its surface stood between an opposing matching chair. He sat, ignoring the crackle of his joints as he opened to his marked page. Drawing out his pen he set it on the paper, the ideas on his head running.
And he waited. He scratched out a word. He pursed his lips thinking of another wording. He sighed loudly.
After fifteen minutes he dropped the quill and leaned back in the chair defeated. He wondered if he should just go back home and give up on this futile endeavor. He could still speak of stories, which earned him bits of coin from time to time, but those stories would likely be gone with him. He wondered what good it would do anyone for him to just sit and stare at the page for another day. He leaned forward, deciding to prepare his knees for the idea of walking home. As he reset his posture to sit up properly, he found the barkeeper beside his chair. Eustace gave a motion of explanation.
“Oh, I’m sorry sir I’m only leaving shorty, sorry to come and go without buying anything.”
The man was quite still but had a steady smile.
“No need of apology, I merely wondered if you would be interested in using my pen.”
Eustace shrugged, though the idea of being casually offered the use of an enchanted item was quite thrilling. He had seen his share of enchantments and imbued items over the years, but few had ever been within the possibility for him to touch, let alone control.
“I wouldn’t mind giving it a try, though I have had trouble writing anything useful today.”
The man gave a nod. “Would you mind collecting names of those who enter? While you wait you may use the pen as you wish, it has a never-ending supply of ink from that well.”
Eustace knew this chance of opportunity was something He shouldn’t pass on.
“Yes, I…Yes, I’ll give that a try.”
The barkeep whispered, and Eustace appeared at the door, still seated in the chair. The lecturn holding the guest book stood beside him, the quill twitching in its well beside the writer’s own notebook on the also relocated chess table.
Eustace sat wide-eyed at the pen, noting that it seemed alive. He reached forward and his fingers brushed its feathered end. It tickled his fingertips and mind all at once. His story thoughts piled forward again, threatening to overwhelm his focus and become knotted and blocked as usual, but then, as his notebook was flung open, the pen raced forward accepting the challenge, dancing across the page to plot the thoughts of the creative author.
The barkeeper stood back behind the counter watching the half-elf. He nodded his approval at the scene, still hoping the man would remember to note the names of newcomers. Turning away he appeared elsewhere, continuing to check on his other patrons.