Inlander

Sad Memories

The three of them made their way through the winding streets of Eastend Town, the scent of spiced meats and freshly baked bread drifting from market stalls that were now closing for the night. The sky had deepened into a velvety indigo, and lanterns flickered to life, their golden glow casting long shadows on the cobbled roads.

Gristie led Jim and Jill through the bustling town centre to a modest establishment nestled between two larger buildings. A wooden sign swung gently above the entrance, its letters carved in bold script: Raca-Rac Bar & Inn.

At first glance, the bar appeared unassuming, its exterior worn by years of wind and rain. But the moment they stepped inside, the space opened up into a surprisingly vast hall filled with laughter, the clinking of tankards, and the rich aroma of roasted meat. Long wooden tables stretched across the floor, occupied by traders, mercenaries, and townsfolk alike, all indulging in food, drink, and lively conversation. A stage near the back housed a bard strumming a lute, his melody weaving through the thick, ale-scented air.

Gristie guided them to a small table near the entrance, positioning herself between Jill and Jim. Before long, a young woman approached—a slender figure with chestnut hair neatly tied back, her round glasses glinting in the warm candlelight. She wore the classic maid’s uniform of the inn, her movements brisk yet graceful.

“Welcome back, Gristie,” the woman greeted with a cheerful lilt. “Been a while since you brought company. What’ll it be tonight?”

“Drienne,” Gristie grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Bring us tonight’s special, and see to it that my guests get two rooms.”

Drienne’s curious gaze flickered towards Jim and Jill. “Ah, travellers from afar, are they?”

“They’re my special guests tonight,” Gristie replied with an air of importance. “So, make sure they get the best service.”

At once, Drienne straightened, crossing a hand over her chest in the traditional Gatelain greeting. “An honour, then. Welcome to the Raca-Rac Bar. I’m Drienne, your hostess.”

Jim and Jill exchanged glances before standing in unison, mirroring her greeting with a slight bow.

“A pleasure,” Jim said, his voice steady. “I’m Jim Slavn.”

“And I’m Jill Slavn,” his sister added with a polite nod.

“Well met, both of you.” Drienne’s lips curled into a smile. “I’ll fetch your meals. Tonight’s special is crispy duck with Eastend Ale—our finest brew.”

Jim merely nodded, while Jill, eyes bright with curiosity, turned to him. “We should try the ale, shouldn’t we?”

Jim frowned. “Don’t drink too much,” he warned.

Jill huffed, folding her arms. “I’m not a child, Jim. I can handle a little ale.”

“You say that now,” Jim muttered, shaking his head.

Gristie chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Relax, Jim. The Eastend Ale isn’t strong. It’s brewed light—more for flavour than for folly. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Jim sighed. “Alright, then.”

As they waited for their meal, the conversation turned, Gristie’s expression sobering. She leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly. “So, tell me—what happened in Byre? The rumours are spreading fast, but I want to hear the truth.”

A heavy silence fell over the table. Jill lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sleeve, while Jim inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself.

Gristie frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

Jim exhaled, shaking his head. “No… It’s just not something I like to think about.”

Gristie hesitated, torn between curiosity and respect. But before she could change the subject, Jim spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

And so, he did.

He spoke of the invasion at Gorgon Harbour, of the Neiter Nation’s brutality, the desperate struggle in Byre Town, and the devastation left in its wake. He recounted the battles, the countless lives lost—including his own parents.

By the time he finished, Gristie’s eyes had darkened, her hands clenched into fists upon the table. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said softly. “For your parents. For all of it.”

Jim nodded, but said nothing.

Just then, Drienne arrived, balancing a tray laden with plates of steaming duck, roasted to a golden crisp, garnished with fragrant herbs and served alongside fresh bread and a tankard of ale for each of them.

“Tara! Dinner’s here!” she announced with a cheerful flourish, breaking the sombre mood.

Jim and Jill instinctively straightened, grateful for the distraction.

“Enjoy,” Drienne said with a wink before vanishing into the sea of patrons once more.

The three of them ate in relative silence at first, the weight of past horrors still lingering. But as the warmth of the meal spread through them, the mood gradually lifted.

After they had finished, Gristie leaned back in her chair, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “So,” she said, her tone lighter now. “What’s next for you?”

Jim drained the last of his ale before answering. “We head to Centrical City.”

Gristie arched a brow. “Oh? And what business have you there?”

“A mission,” Jim replied. “I have a letter from Captain Klax to deliver to General Hoderven.”

Gristie’s expression shifted, her interest piqued. “A letter from Klax, eh? Must be important.”

Jim nodded.

Gristie smirked, stretching her arms above her head. “Well then, you two should get some rest. You’ve got a long road ahead of you.” She rose from her seat, tossing a few coins onto the table. “I’ll cover the bill. Consider it a treat.”

Jim frowned. “Are you sure? We can—”

“Ah, ah, none of that,” Gristie cut him off, wagging a finger. “You’re my guests. End of discussion.” She flashed them a grin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the bar.

Jim and Jill stood as well, watching her go.

“She’s really kind,” Jill murmured.

Jim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s always been like that.”

After settling their affairs, they followed Drienne to the inn’s upper floor. The corridors were dimly lit, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath their feet. Drienne handed them each a key.

“Jim, you’re in room nine. Jill, room ten, right next door.”

Jim nodded. “Thanks, Drienne.”

She smiled. “If you need anything, just call for me.”

“Will do,” Jill said.

With a final nod, Drienne turned and disappeared down the hall.

Jim turned to his sister. “Get some rest. We leave early.”

Jill nodded. “Goodnight, Jim.”

“Goodnight.”

With that, they entered their respective rooms. Jim shut the door behind him, exhaling as he leaned against it. The day had been long, and tomorrow promised to be even longer.

He just hoped he was ready.