Gorn was cold. Gorn was tired. And Gorn smelled like wet horse.
He had been pushing his wooden cart through the muddy border roads of Aldoria for three weeks. His boots were soaked. His back ached. He had exactly three silver stags and a handful of copper pennies to his name. All he wanted was a bowl of warm, gray gruel and a dry patch of dirt to sleep on.
He pulled his cart into the courtyard of Ravenhold Keep. He knew this place. Lord Elaric Voss was a famously miserable bastard, and the Keep was usually just a pile of wet rocks and angry guards.
But today, something was different.
The courtyard was cleared of chicken shit. Long, clean wooden tables were set up in rows. And there was a massive crowd of merchants standing around, completely silent, staring.
Gorn tied his horse to a post. He dragged his muddy boots over to an empty bench and sat down with a heavy groan. He put his head on the table.
"Welcome to Raven's Rest," a soft, breathless voice said.
Gorn opened one eye. He looked up.
His medieval brain completely stopped working.
Standing over him was a woman. But she was not wearing a normal, thick winter dress. Her dress was chopped off at the knees. Gorn could see her bare, thick thighs. Her sleeves were gone, showing off incredibly toned, sweaty shoulders. And the collar of her dress was sliced right down the middle, held together by a single thread.
It was Bess. She was carrying a wooden tray, breathing heavily from running around the courtyard, and she smelled like heavy lye soap and warm woman.
Gorn's mouth fell open. He had never seen a woman's knees before. In his entire thirty-five years of life, he had never seen so much exposed skin in the middle of winter.
"Here is the menu," Bess said nervously, trying to remember the weird rules the crazy Lord had taught her. She placed a flat piece of wood on the table.
Gorn stared at the wood. There were crude charcoal scratches on it. Gorn could not read. He didn't even know what a 'menu' was. He just stared at Bess's massive chest, completely hypnotized.
"I... uh..." Gorn stammered. He forgot his own name. He forgot his horse. He forgot the cold.
Bess remembered Rule Number Three. The Upcharge.
She took a deep breath, rolled her strong shoulders back, and leaned entirely over the table. The deep 'V' of her dress gaped open. She looked Gorn right in the eyes and gave him a bright, sweaty smile.
"Would you like the Premium Ravenhold Artisanal Sour for two extra coppers?" Bess asked sweetly.
Gorn did not know what an 'Artisanal Sour' was. He did not care if it was a cup of poisoned mud. A beautiful, half-naked woman was smiling at him and making direct eye contact.
Gorn reached into his heavy leather pouch. His hands were shaking. He pulled out an entire silver stag—a massive amount of money that could buy a whole pig—and slammed it onto the table.
"Yes," Gorn squeaked.
Bess's eyes went wide. She grabbed the silver stag, dropped two copper pennies back on the table, and ran toward the Keep's cellar.
A moment later, she returned. She placed a large, heavy clay cup in front of Gorn. She leaned over one more time to wipe the table with a rag, giving him a perfect, plunging view of her cleavage.
"Thank you, good merchant," Bess smiled. Then she noticed the two copper pennies still sitting there. She remembered the Lord's other weird rule. "Are those... a tip?"
Gorn nodded aggressively. He pushed the pennies toward her. "For you. Good lady. Tip."
Bess beamed, pocketed the coins, and walked away to the next table. Gorn watched her go, his heart pounding against his ribs. He felt incredibly warm. He felt alive.
He looked down at the clay cup.
He picked it up and took a massive gulp.
The liquid hit the back of his throat like a burning pitchfork. It was violently sour. It tasted like rotten honey, wet bread, and vinegar. It made his eyes water and his lips pucker so hard his teeth hurt.
Gorn lowered the cup, gasping for air.
He looked over at the Keep doors. Lord Elaric was standing there, leaning against the wood, counting a massive sack of silver and laughing like a madman.
Gorn looked back at Bess. She was currently leaning over another merchant's table, asking if he wanted the bigger cup. That merchant was currently sobbing with joy and emptying his pockets.
Gorn looked back down at his sour, spoiled drink.
This is the greatest tavern in the Kingdom, Gorn thought, wiping a tear from his eye. I am going to tell everyone on the border road.
He took another agonizing, sour sip, completely broke and happier than he had ever been in his life.