The Broken Pick
The Enclave > Known Roads > Ura

By all the stone I've broken, this is good ale! A sight better than when I was younger, and this inn was called the Forge. Here's a tale for you and yours: the old Guildmaster found the barkeep sitting atop red iron and coin, and all who knew were lucky to escape with their skins. Guildmaster Ferth was an angry one, mind, and that was a winter in which I would have been glad to keep goats rather than swing a pick!

Not just strong arms, then - all that talking you do instead of helping me load stone is giving you the heart of a sage. You'll be moonfaced, chasing the stonefolk in high summer with quill and fancy words afore we know it. Of course that's why the barkeep takes coin from the Guild! The Guildmaster here may be all milk and cheese with his smiles and his manse, but the Guild talks with a pick behind its back - always has, always will. The smiths in Port, they're hard red iron, and their Natramun is hardest of all, mark my words.

Ferth paid good coin to the first new barkeep to come from Port; he's the one who built up the walls and gave it the look of a place on the Dockside Market. You'd half expect eels to come flopping out of the door alongside the ale. That first barkeep gave it the name, too, as soon as he saw the rusted pick stuck in the fruit tree out front. Now there's another tale...

[ Posted by Reason on August 10, 2005 ]