Writing Prompt (short)

You’re a wizard trying to life a normal life in the city and have become know as the best bartender in town. Normal you only mix simples spells into drinks on the sly to keep a reputation, but one day one of your regulars tells you his child has been diagnosed with cancer.

The Virgins Flask began filling up as the sun began it’s daily sleep. A man was standing at the bar ready to whip out the hard alcohol to make an honest living in this godforsaken town. A man walked up to him, well should say a dwarf, he had wiry brown hair and a long well-groomed beard. He pulled out his coin purse and smirked as he popped it on the counter.

“Good evening Master Faron, have you been having a decent day?” He said as he pulled out a large stalk cigar and lit it up with a pack of matches.

“Bristleview, nice of you to join us this evening how is the blacksmithing?” Faron laughed as he walked to the kegs, “I am guessing you would love some of the Bard’s nectar?”

“Of course, you know me so well here!” Bristleview laughed.

Faron poured a tall glass of brown liquid and turned his back to the dwarf. Whipping out his wand he stirred a spell of recovery into the brew. Wiping the wand off and slipping it back into his coat. The dwarf would wake up and feel well rested and able to make his weapons faster the next day. Faron always took pride in his magic, but preferred to use it to better the villagers lives than to trick or sadden them. They all came here to deal with the sadness of the universe. It was a place to unwind and forget everything. Slapping it on the counter Faron happily collected the silver pieces on the counter.

“You sir make the best brew I have ever had!” Bristleview said as he gulped it down in one shot.

Slipping a bronze piece on the counter for a tip and a silver piece for another. Faron gladly poured him another, no spell this time, he didn’t want to overdue it. A human had stumbled in, his sword swaying at his hip as he ripped off his helmet. Two other followed behind him. The Hemsworth Royal Guard. I could sense the frowning faces of the many unkind encounters some of my patrons have had with the police force of Hemsworth’s kingdom.

“What shall I get you officers this evening?” Faron said while shining a glass.

“None of these Bard’s brew bullshit, thats for sure. Thats for half-men and convicts. I’ll have a triple spiked Altarian, in a flask,” the man ordered pulling a heavy coin purse from his bag.

Faron sighed, a show off, one with lots of money. He kept a handful of new flasks beneath his counter as peace offerings to travelers but the Royal Guard knew and would steal them whenever they have a couple extra coins. Almost as if travelers were frowned upon. The three men gathered at a table and began harassing some poor elf. Spewing bullshit on being with a “real man”. He finished their beverages and quickly stirred in a calming spell, they would be hungover in a matter of sips and asleep. Get them in, get them out, get on with our lives. He brought them to the guards as they drank heavily from the flask.

The doors swung open and a man with hood peered inside. Slipping in silently to the bar table.

“Good evening my good sir, I am looking for some hospitality,” the man said his head hung low with whispers.

“This is just the place to find that, this is the Virgin’s Flask, we have a couple rooms upstairs for hire. Two silver pieces a night, does that sound fair?” The bartender said as he wiped clean a couple dishes.

“More than reasonable good sir, may I have a key?” He requested.

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