Arodus 24, 4719

Citadel Altaerein

Night

I went back to the Pickled Ear yesterday to see Roxie. Not because I expected us to become friends overnight, but because I wanted to repair some of the damage we’d done.

Looking back, I think we put her in an impossible position. All she really did was mind her own business. And, at the time, there was nothing to find. The worst Voz was doing at that time was entering the ossuary of an abandoned citadel and speaking with the dead. Suspicious? Yes. Criminal? Not as far as I know.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we scared Roxie when we confronted her, we certainly put her on edge. Tossing around the involvement of the Town Council didn’t help, and it surely didn’t do us any favors. As I said, we met with her afterwards and made sure she knew we weren’t throwing her to the wolves, but I didn’t feel like it was enough.

I wanted to reset our relationship with her and hopefully earn her trust.

Once we got the awkwardness out of the way, she and I started talking shop. The Pickled Ear is, as I’ve said before, the kind of tavern I try to avoid because it’s a little seedy and a lot rough. But Roxie doesn’t just like that reputation; she cultivates it. It’s a place for “regular folk,” as she puts it. The problem is, “rough” can get out of hand, and lately it’s been getting worse. People need to be able to go in with the reasonable expectation of not being stabbed.

Roxie sees this as a clientele problem. And, yeah, it’s a self-feeding cycle. The people who aren’t bothered by the atmosphere are the ones who make the atmosphere worse. She knows she needs to attract new clients, or at least bring back the ones who stopped coming. What she needed help with was getting her ideas past the idea stage.

“If people only come to fight, then we need to give them another reason to come,” I said.

“I was thinkin’ about a contest of some sort. Just don’t know how to make it happen.”

It was a brilliant idea, actually, and I latched on to it. 

“Why not host a darts tournament?” I said. I have yet to see a tavern that didn’t have dart boards. “Even people who’d never thrown one might be willing to try.”

From there, I got a little carried away. Qualifying rounds. Multiple divisions. Sponsorship for a prize worth competing for—not just prize money. Food specials. Music between rounds to keep spectators from wandering off. The Drake used to do this sort of thing.

Somewhere around my description of non-elimination tournament formats, I realized Roxie had stopped asking for advice and started assigning me responsibilities. I walked in expecting to repair a friendship, and walked out with a gig.

 

Offering music between rounds suddenly meant I needed musicians. Fortunately, I knew exactly where to start.

I’d been meaning to visit Shelyn’s Smile, the local artisan guild and temple to Shelyn, since I first arrived in Breachill, but too many things kept getting in the way. Being burned alive in the town hall. Getting nearly eaten by grauladons. Unlocking the secrets of ancient elf gates. You know, stuff like that.

I brought Iskaryn along. While Shelynites aren’t generally preoccupied with appearances, there are times when you need to make a good first impression. Iskaryn excels at first impressions. Aside from her striking coloration, we’ve been practicing our duets. She enjoys performing every bit as much as I do. 

And while Shelynites aren’t generally vain, they do appreciate beauty. Bringing Iskaryn into their temple almost felt like cheating.

It worked.

Tarindlara greeted us with all the poise I would expect from the head of an artisan guild and a prominent Shelynite. She was so immaculate that she made standing still look graceful. In Druma, I saw no shortage of people who mistook ostentation for class. Tarindlara wasn’t one of them.

She asked if Iskaryn and I would play something. We obliged. Then one piece became two, and by the end, people had stopped what they were doing to listen.

She invited us into the music hall, and the afternoon quickly turned into an exchange of songs. They wanted to hear the music I’d collected during my travels. In return, they taught me some of their own.

I also found the musicians I was looking for.

Arodus 31, 4719

Breachill

Afternoon

This tournament will be the end of me.

It starts in three days, and I still don’t have the first prize dart sets. They are beautiful, or would be if they existed, and wonderfully balanced according to people who know more about this than I do. Great. Crink swears to me that they will be ready tomorrow. Which sounds fantastic, except that’s what he said yesterday. And the day before. But don’t worry: they’ll really be done tomorrow. Apparently, when we set this up, I forgot to ask for the adverb service.

On top of that, I’m supposed to have a basket of preserves and smoked meats. But someone messed up the order, and two days ago, I got nothing but preserves. I pointed out the mistake. The next day? A basket of cured meats.

Fuck it. I combined them, and we now have two prize baskets with both. I somehow forgot to tell them they accidentally doubled the order.

We’re also short two dart boards, which is kind of important since it will take twice as long for this thing to run with only half the boards. They are supposed to arrive from Elidir…lessee…yesterday. So, sure, we’ll add that to the list.

On the upside, the notices have been posted. I’m fortunate to live in a town where most people are literate, so I didn’t have to hire someone from Shelyn’s Smile to decorate them with little pictures.

As for the—

 

I just realized I wrote that I live here.

Rova 3, 4719

Castle Altaerein

Night

All in all, the tournament went pretty well.

The start was admittedly rough. I announce I’ll be tallying scores and posting the pairings after each round, and there’s two guys just staring at me. So I ask, “What?” And I’m trying to keep my voice cool and level because I’ve been getting questions and weird looks all morning, as it seems like nobody is reading anything.

The first guy says, “Why not just rotate boards? Go counter-clockwise.” 

And I just stare at him because, um, yeah. Why not just go counter-clockwise?

Then the other guy interjects and says, “No! Use the Old Brewery format.” And I’m thinking, What in the Nine Hells is the ‘Old Brewery’ format?

But it’s obvious I am missing something here, because a bunch of people are nodding their heads enthusiastically, so I just say, “Explain it.”

“Four to a board. Everyone throws everyone. Board winners advance.”

The name apparently comes from this tavern a couple of miles west of town that does regular dart tournaments. And I look down at my sheets and realize, yeah, that is way better than what I was doing. And it occurs to me that these people have actually been in dart tournaments before and I haven’t, so of course they know this stuff.

“OK!” I say. “We’ll do the ‘Old Brewery’ format!” and a couple of people cheer and lots more look relieved, and I am just grateful no one is looking at me like I’m an idiot anymore.

And the format is pretty efficient, which is probably why that other tavern uses it. On top of that, it exposes a pair of sandbaggers right away. One woman in the “Apprentice” division and one man in “Journeyman” just dominate their matches, and lots of people notice they have suspiciously good form. And it’s really easy to spot with the matches arranged like they are. 

I hear, “Oh, they are one of those assholes” when the woman is in her third match. She’s just claiming she hasn’t played in years, but no one buys it. Someone commented that she’s trying to hide it but occasionally slipping up, throwing darts without really studying the board. Another sees her keeping score on her fingers while waiting. That settles it for the regulars, so she’s disqualified, and we go to the standby list.

The other guy is worse. He is recognized. Someone says, “Didn’t you win the Iswell last summer?” And, again, I’m thinking to myself, What in Magdh’s name is the ‘Iswell’? But I don’t need to know that, because four other people do, and Roxie’s bouncer has to get involved before a fight breaks out. He’s tossed, and again, we go to the standby list.

There are other bumps. People ask me the same five questions dozens of times. And the Masters division gets way more spectators than I’d planned on, and Roxie actually has to rearrange tables to fit everyone inside. In fact, everyone doesn’t fit inside. But that’s fine, because at least no one is punching anyone, which is kind of a first for the Pickled Ear when it’s even half this crowded. She shoves a table aside, and she and her bouncer overturn another to stack them on top of one another. I catch her eye, and she winks at me, showing a big grin as more people flood in to fill the space.

When it was all over, Roxie said she grossed about 50gp, though net was just shy of 15 after expenses. Many of those were one-time, though, and she figured she could get another 10, maybe more, next time. The real win was having a packed house with no fights, a few more people coming back, and maybe some opportunities for some live music.

Sitting in her office, she said, “Fair is fair,” and passed 3gp over to me. A pretty good sum for a few days’ work that was mostly organizing. “You seem to have a bigger dose of ‘street smarts’ than you look like you ought to”, she added with a bit of a lingering look.

I shrugged. “I spent plenty of time on them.”

“You sure don’t look it, but ain’t my business, I guess.”

I don’t know what to make of that. By the time I got back to the citadel, I’d mostly stopped trying.

The place is clean, and the outer walls are patched. Work has shifted to rebuilding the stairs down to the basement, and digging out the rubble. It’s starting to feel like a home. A big, spacious, drafty home with some complicated history, but home.

And I’m tired.

On the way back, I commented to Iskaryn, “We haven’t been arguing much lately.”

She flitted to a branch, looked at me, and said, “You haven’t asked me to.” Then she took off and disappeared into the woods.

I am too tired to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.