The Tin Whistle Tavern

Luminous rays of red-orange sunlight pierced through the old glass windows granting the entire taproom of the Tin Whistle Tavern a cheery evening glow. Ashford Hogle stood proudly behind the bar as he had every night for the past three decades, serving food and drink to the various commoners and adventurers that found themselves in the middling town of Gray Briar. He had long ago accepted that there was higher quality ale to be found in the city, as well as finer food. However, the fare he served and the establishment that served it was his, and that was enough. It had to be. Due to its size and general location, not much coin flowed through Gray Briar. Ashford had done well enough for himself in the past thirty years that he was able to keep the Whistle open and in good enough condition to continue housing and feeding its visitors. He could not, however, afford a home for himself or spare any money to order from the finer suppliers in town. As such, he had claimed a modest room for himself at the tavern and existed there off of its fare and protection for most of his life. Over the years he had found it easy to befriend the patrons, and they had quickly grown to respect him. He kept his prices consistent, and always aimed to provide services at the highest possible quality. People took notice of this, and he eventually became a town favorite. Ashford was not without his critics, however. One of his regulars, a man by the name of Davin Highshare had been not the first, but certainly the most vocal about the status of the menu. 

"How long have I known you, Ash?" He asked. Ashford tilted his head slightly at the question before positing one of his own. 

"City watch spotted that red drake what, six months ago?"

"Roundabouts." Davin replied. 

"Well you showed up about a week before that." 

"And what have I said nearly every damn day since?" Ashford rolled his eyes and let out a small but frustrated sigh. 

"The food’s good..." 

"But it could be better." Davin finished for him. "Please just let me get you a sample of some of the food my suppliers offer. Some of it comes from the farms around Gray Briar, but a lot of it is brought in from neighboring kingdoms. It would real-"

"Really put the Whistle on the map, I know, Davin you say it every time." Ashford cut him off. "I just can't afford it. Besides, the people love what I serve. There's no reason to change it."

"These people deserve better. " Davin countered. "If coin is the only thing stopping you, then let me help there too. I'll talk to my supplier and get you a deal. Trust me," he smiled. "If this goes well - and it will - you'll have more gold than you know what to do with." Ashford grew tired of the conversation, and made no effort to hide it from Davin. 

"You know what, fine. One sample. One." He said. "Meats and cheeses, and some wine." Davin was beaming. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got customers to tend to." Davin simply bowed his head but said nothing more. With that, Ashford put the trader out of his mind and grumbled off to salvage what remained of his night.

A week passed before Davin returned to the Tin Whistle, though this time he arrived early in the morning. He approached the tavern on horseback, towing a small wagon with a single crate behind him and the beast. Dismounting, Davin walked to the back of the wagon, that beaming grin still upon his face. Ashford still had his doubts about changing the way he did things after so long, but he tried his best to dismiss the feeling of unease that was creeping up on him. 

"We're going to be very wealthy men, Hogle." He said, slapping the lid of the crate. Davin then lifted the top off and motioned for Ashford to approach. The innkeeper did so, and peered wearily into the crate. Several stacks of meat sat stacked neatly on top of one another, expertly wrapped in parchment paper. Along with those were a few baskets filled to the brim with white and yellow cheeses, both wheels and wedges alike. Finally he saw eight bottles of deep emerald green glass - the wine he had requested. 

"What are we looking at here?" Ashford asked quietly. 

"Gryphon steaks, assorted aged goat and cow’s milk cheeses, and Mistberry wine, a decade old. Brought over from Trilvert last night." Ashford couldn't believe it. These were the types of food only nobles ate. 

"This must have cost a small fortune," he mused. 

"It's been taken care of, don't stress yourself out." 

"You covered the entire cost? You didn't have to do that. I have some gold stashed away."

"We both know that's not true, Ashford. I said not to worry about it. I insist." Davin clapped Ashford on the back and gave a soft chuckle. "Now help me haul this thing inside." Once the crate had been brought in, unloaded, inventoried and priced, Ashford drew up several leaflets to be paired with the existing menus; simple slips of parchment emphasizing the exotic nature of the cuts of meat and the wine. With any luck, that would be enough to get the patrons interested in trying something new. As the day progressed, much to Ashford’s surprise, the stock began to dwindle. Most people wanted the meat left in a lean slab cooked directly over the fire. Some requested it ground up and mixed into a stew. Others asked for it seared and sliced thin to be served with bread and the colorful new cheese. The wine was wildly popular as well. His regular customers and new faces alike emptied their purses and pockets with little hesitation, and all it took was the aroma of the cooked meat and seeing other customers enjoying their drinks. Once the tavern had been emptied and closed down for the night, Ashford finally managed to count his earnings for the day. 

            “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Five hundred and fifty gold…in profit? There has to be a mistake." In his entire time as the proprietor of the tavern he had never made more than twenty gold in profit at the end of any given day.

            "There's no mistake, that's just what happens when you serve quality fare." Davin assured him. "If you'd like, I can take a cut and reorder more supplies, and we can begin making the real money." 

            "Of course," Ashford said, his voice beginning to tremble slightly. He nearly pushed the stacks of glinting coins to his friend in excitement. "I want it all." 

A week had passed, and Ashford couldn't believe his fortune. He had come into enough gold that he had begun to consider expanding the menu and hiring some staff to help run the place. Business had become almost too much for him to handle alone. He would have to find some way to thank Davin for everything he had done. As he was sweeping the taproom, a broad smile on his face, and a jaunty tune humming from his lips, two of the city guards entered the taproom. Looking up, Ashford greeted them. 

“Grisham, Everet, great to see you both! The usual I presume?” He made to venture behind the bar and stow the broom when Grisham spoke.

“Ashford, sir, that won’t be necessary. We’ve come on business.” His voice was soft, hesitant.

“Oh? That’s odd, what can I do for you?” Ashford’s own voice nearly escaped him. Grisham looked to Everet, who merely nodded. 

“Several of the townsfolk have reported to the healers within the past week, you see.” He began. “Far more than usual.” Ashford’s stomach jumped into his throat.

“I-i-is everyone, um, alright?”

“Nearly everyone.” Grisham cleared his throat. “Ashford, a young man has succumbed to an illness that the healers have informed us has only ever been seen near Trilvert, to the east.” 

Ashfords hands fell limply to his side. Trilvert. Where the crate had come from.    

“Seen where near Trilvert?” he asked weakly. Grisham’s eyes lowered to the floor for a moment before returning to meet Ashford’s gaze.  

“In the plains surrounding the capital…specifically in Gryphons.”

“Is he going to…make it? The young man.”

“He passed away this morning, Ashford.” Grisham nearly whispered. Ashford’s head began to spin. His food had gotten the townsfolk sick. Had killed a man. He had so many questions but suddenly found that he had no voice with which to posit them. The guards saw his reaction and approached him. 

“We have to take you in, I’m afraid.” Everet said with only a little sadness. “Your inn will be temporarily closed and investigated before a decision can be made, but we will need to hold you in the keep and present you to the council to determine what will come of this all.” Ashford was too numb to resist, still was unable to protest. They clamped irons to his wrists, and led him to a small cell in the keep; his new temporary home. 

It was later discovered by a team of healers, arcanists and detectives that the crate Davin had been supplied with contained a batch of meat that came from a tainted Gryphon who had not shown any signs of disease. As such, the magical preservation spells that were standard in food services were not strong enough to resist such a sickness. The leader of the council told Ashford all of this at his trial, that it was all an unavoidable accident, though he heard little of what was said. What he did hear, however, was that the family of the deceased  young man wanted only one thing: The Tin Whistle Tavern. The council informed Ashford that if he surrendered his establishment, the family would relent on all other charges and he would walk free from all of this. Everything he had worked for, everything he had ever known was suddenly and so unfairly snatched from beneath him. Full of sadness, remorse, sickness and frustration, Ashford had agreed to the terms. What choice did he have? He would find a way to go on, somehow. 

Several days after his release, Ashford found himself wandering towards the Whistle.To his horror and surprise, the entire building was alight in a red-orange inferno. 

‘That was why the family wanted it,’ he mused, as he found a bench to collapse upon. As he sat, watching his entire life burn to the ground, he barely registered footsteps approaching, a figure standing near him. 

“I am so sorry, Ashford.” Davin said with as much sincerity as he could muster, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough. 

Even if it had been, all Ashford Hogle could hear was the crackling of the flames.