Chapter Text
Vinny’s family had owned this tavern since it was built four generations ago. When the town was barely a crossroad campsite for wandering traders and adventurers, Vinny’s great-great-great grandparents had arrived. They were nothing more than weary travelers at the time, and they were too tired to leave. So they settled down, built a hut, and started cooking for the travelers who passed through.
By the time Vinny was born, there was a small town at the crossroads, and the blue and white flags of the Empire were three generations old. Vinny grew up in the tavern, helping clean the inn and man the stables while he learned how to run the place that his ancestors had built. When he was old enough, he took over for his father in the kitchen, and eventually took his place at the front counter, as the true innkeep of the Crossroads.
During his time, he had seen people from all walks of life. Vinny knew every villager in the town, had met all of the regular traders, had even spoken to a few of the wandering mages and adventurers. The latter was the most volatile of guests. They would either be the nicest, most incredible guest Vinny had ever had or try to steal the shoes off a poor man’s feet if given the chance.
So, when the door opened on a particularly snowy night, revealing two shapes who were so heavily armed and armored that there was nothing else they could be, Vinny took a moment to prepare himself for the worst. It was already past sundown, and these visitors held evidence of it on their weapons, which dripped with the viscera of the undead. They had some decorum, at least, and wiped their weapons off at the door before ducking into the tavern. Or… one ducked and the other squished.
The first in the door was short, but wide. There were dark wings on their back. Their entire form was cloaked in dark green traveling robes, a wide brimmed hat that shielded their face, and a scarf was pulled high around their nose. They squished their wings in tight to fit in the doorway, and they took a moment to shudder snow from their feathers.
The second had to duck, he was so tall. He stood almost double the other’s height, had armor on his armor, and carried both a sword and a wicked looking battleaxe. He seemed partly furry, with wide-set tusks by his lower lip. Some sort of hybrid, but Vinny couldn’t quite place what sort, the man was so human. He also shook a thick layer of snow off as he ducked in the door, stomping his boots and at least looking a little guilty for the mess.
“Bruh, you dragged me all the way out here for a tavern?” the second grumbled, “Please tell me we’re not just here so you can get a drink.”
“Not just for a drink,” the first laughed, and it was a bright sound, like a bell. Vinny relaxed a bit at the sound. “No, no, no. This is– do you remember that stew I told you about?”
“Soup, it’s a soup. It doesn’t have broth as a base, it’s not a stew, Phil.”
“You do, good. Well, this is where the guy who made it ran off to!” The bird, Phil, took off his hat to shake more snow from it and loosened his scarf. “I reckon they still have the recipe, if we just… ah, hello!”
“Welcome to the Crossroads,” Vinny greeted the duo with a smile, “I reckon you’re here for some of our world famous vegetable soup?”
“Is that the new name for the Suspicious Stew?” Phil asked, his head cocking to one side curiously. “I’ve never heard it by any other name.”
“Ah, you must know it from Grandpa Viktor!” Vinny laughed. He turned to the pot simmering behind the counter, where it always sat. It was fairly untouched tonight, thanks to the blizzard outside. He talked as he ladled out two bowls of the bubbling soup, topping each with a half loaf of bread. “Grandpa Viktor called it Suspicious Stew as a joke, you see. It was dreamt up by my Gramma Lillith on their way from the mainland. They cooked it up with the random vegetables they had on the boat at the time, called it Suspicious Stew, and everyone loved it. This is the one place where you can get it made fresh every day!”
Vinny turned to the two men, placing a platter of soup in front of both, and smiled brightly. “It changes up every day or two, and may taste a bit different each time you try it. That’s the little hint of magic we spice it up with.”
Phil’s eyes were bright with excitement as he looked at the cheesy, steaming bowl. He punched his companion in the arm. “What did I tell you, Techno? Best stew you will ever have, Lilith was a genius.”
“Can I get you two anything to drink? We have a wide selection of ales and spirits, including a few exclusive off world ones. Purpurr wine, perhaps? Or maybe a crimson brew?” The taller man’s ears perked up at the last suggestion, and Vinny silently congratulated himself. He didn’t get hybrids in the Crossroads that often, but he kept a few more popular drinks prepared, just in case.
“You have Crimsonroot?” the hybrid–Techno, was it?-- asked hesitantly.
“Sure do! I grow the vines myself. Picky things, they are,” Vinny plucked the bottle from under the counter to show off. “They take a very particular environment to grow properly.”
“Nether plants are sensitive to cold,” Techno hummed. He picked up the bottle, inspecting the liquid inside. He even went so far as to uncork and sniff it, nodding approvingly as he did. “How do you get them to grow up here? Do you have a greenhouse? You have to, right? Is it someplace in town or–”
“Tech, don’t quiz the poor man this late in the evening,” Phil scolded. “Sorry about him, mate, he’s a bit excited about plants. We’ll take the bottle of Crimsonroot, how much do I owe you?”
“The soups are three apiece. With Crimsonroot being out of season, it should be almost a stack for the bottle, but–”
“Done.”
Vinny cut himself off as the bird dug through a purse, pulling out an entire stack of emerald blocks and tossing them on the counter. The sight made Vinny choke on air, and he immediately pushed the blocks back to Phil. “No, no, sir, not blocks. I cannot possibly take that many blocks from you, I meant singles, sir!”
Phil, who had already snatched up both bowls of soup, paused. Then, he shook his head. “Nah, mate, you keep em. Make a book for us and count that toward it, should last us at least a year. Especially now that he knows you’ve got Crimsonroot around!”
Vinny’s smile dropped for the first time all night as he stared at the massive pile of money in front of him. How that could only last a year was beyond him. He stuttered for a moment before shaking off his surprise and asking, “What name should I make the account under, sir?”
“Put it under Cr–” the adventurer stopped, hesitated, and seemed to make up his mind about something. “Just Phil is fine, mate.”