"You are free to choose,"
Saun 18, 719
Soren woke early, as he always did, eyes straight upward at the rafters of his room. He had not deviated from waking at this hour since his childhood. Back then, it was his responsibility to help his dad take the animals for their morning water and feed. And so, at the fifth bell, he was awake and alert. He slipped to the edge of the bed, sitting there, letting the hot Saun air wash over his naked skin.
He looked down at his hands, feeling the mild pains of age creeping into the joints of his fingers. They were long fingers, calloused and scarred from years on the road, from building this tavern and working everything from the taps to the pen. On his left wrist, a leather cord with a series of complex knotted engravings brought back old memories. Memories that made the man smile softly, a smile that was paired with soft, sad eyes.
A deep sigh and a slap on the thighs, and Soren was up. And so, his routine continued. He looked out the window, seeing that the suns were giving off enough light. He parted the curtains and let the warm glow flood in. He moved over to his mirrored basin, and began. He washed his face, trimmed and shaved his beard, trimmed his hair. He then washed his skin, scrapping it with a sharp stone to get any leftover grind, oil, and old skin off. He washed his teeth and trimmed his nails and went through the entire remaining process.
He dressed simply, appropriate to the heat, a white billowy shirt and a loose pair of trousers. He moved from his bedroom out into his common room. There, just inside the door, was the ledger from last night, as well as the chest of coins. It was left there by the closing bartender, as it was every night. He carried both across to another door, slipping inside his office. He sat down at the desk, and began recording last night's take into his own, separate ledger. He counted the coins that had been claimed and was pleased that everything added up, like it always did. He had hand picked every single employee and only picked those he could trust. It helped that he didn't sweat them over the food and drank they took while on shift. It helped to keep them happy.
Once the day's take was recorded, he split the coins into various pouches. He stashed them in various hidden areas of his quarters. It was never wise to keep all of your coin in one place. Two pouches came with him, one tied to his belt and resting in his pocket, and the other wrapped tight and hidden in a special compartment in the boots he was pulling on at the door. He grabbed his key and locked his door on his way out and down the steps to the kitchens.
It was quiet down here, as it always was. This first hour of the day was his hour. The opening staff would be here at the sixth bell, and not one minute before, or after, with the first customers shortly behind them. Soren went to the side door, unlocking it, finding the day's delivery of eggs and milk waiting there. He carried the crates of both inside and put them away. He poured a bowl of mixed grains and dried fruits and poured milk over the lot.
Carrying his bowl in one hand and snagging a spoon with another, he moved through the doors to the front room and sat upon the only stool at the bar that was left empty every night, right at the very end of the bar, out of the way and not much desired. His spot. He ate there, enjoying the silence and the sweetness of the fruits planning his day out.
Drip. Tap.
Between bites, he'd heard it. He swallowed and stopped moving, listening closely.
Drip. Tap.
He sighed, then chuckled. Another leaky tap. Must be a new leak, the bartenders would've taken care of it if they'd noticed it. He finished up his grains, then took the bowl back into the kitchen and washed them in the basin. He grabbed one of the leather aprons there and pulled it on, tying it snugly. He rolled up his sleeves and moved to the bar. Six large barrels rested there on their sides, and the fourth one over was the leaking culprit. The mead. The more expensive than the other barrels mead.
He crouched down next to it, inspecting it closely. The drop was coming directly off of the tap, not the barrel's lip. He felt around the corked end, finding it dry there. So the seal was intact. That meant it was the tap itself. He grabbed an empty flagon, holding it beneath the tap. He opened the tap, filling the flagon halfway, and then shutting it fully. Then waited.
Drip. Plop.
Well, it wasn't a loose handle then. He guessed that there was a crack in the tap somewhere. He filled the flagon up the rest of the way and set it upon the bar. He then opened one of the cabinets behind the bar, pulling out a mallet, spare tap, and small, flat basin. He placed the basin beneath the tap. Then he took the spare tap in his right hand, and grabbed the leaky one with his right. One deep breath. There was a sharp twist and pulled, and golden mead was dumping down into the basin for a moment before the next corked tap was jammed into place. Soren twisted and pushed until it was snug.
He grabbed a rag and dried the leaky tap, setting it upon the bar next to his flagon. He picked up the basin, pouring it into the day's Slop Barrel. That barrel always made him smile, even more so that there were customers who actually preferred it despite being able to afford proper drinks. He wiped down the barrel, tap and floor until there was no indication that anything had occurred. He ran the empty basin back to the kitchen and washed it.
He grabbed his flagon and took one long swig, enjoying the sweetness. Waste not, want not. Plus, a little honey in the morning was good for the soul. Then he heard the door to the kitchen open and heard his opening employees chatting among themselves. And so, another day began.
After a quick meeting, where the employees told him about their previous shifts and various thoughts, issues, and such on work, they set to it. Moments later, the Ox's Bellow was opened to the public. Not long after, customers renting rooms began trickling down for breakfast. Soren moved about, managing his team and gladhanding customers, smiling and making conversation. As the day reached the eighth bell, he hung up his apron, turning to one of his bartenders.
"I'll be back after a bit. Heading to the smith to get that tap looked at."
Billiam just nodded at the boss and continued his work, which was taking inventory of the booze, as he only had one person sitting at the bar, a man nursing a hangover with a little hair of the dog. Soren grabbed the tap and made his way out into the street. It was already hot and humid out, but Soren was more than used to that. He didn't dawdle, making a quick path toward the smithy he preferred to use. The man had a large workshop, hiring temporary and traveling smiths often.
Soren pushed through the door into the shopfront, and waited.
"But you are not free from the consequences."
