Hierophantasy: A Satirical Saga of Dungeon(s) & Dragon(s) by Kyle James

Author:Kyle James [James, Kyle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

18

THE WITCH’S TEAT

The intrepid adventurers managed to enter Tresk without incident, which was something of a surprise given their track record thus far. They inquired about the nearest tavern and were pointed in the direction of Anaïs Burgh, the village’s modest entertainment district.

Anaïs Burgh was a peculiar collection of oddly-shaped buildings scattered along a dirt trail forking off of the high road. The buildings, like much of the village of Tresk, seemed to have been cobbled together out of scraps of material salvaged from the surf and assembled by a city planner with more vision than talent.

Broad-leafed trees lining the dirt road cast long shadows across the establishments on the eastern side of the trail, giving the impression of a vast piano-key arrangement.

The first of these establishments was a squat tavern whose corrugated metal plating shone a tarnished gold in the fading sunlight. A sign above the door featured a crude illustration of a verrucose mound with a misshapen, twisted obelisk at its crest. The words “Adventuring Services Provided—All-Inclusive!” had been scrawled next to it in bright pink letters. With a shrug, they entered.

So it was that Artie and Hjalmar found themselves entering the Witch’s Teat, a brass bar on the shady side of Anaïs Burgh.

Stepping into the tavern, they were met with the low hubbub of poorly-suppressed conversation that serves as the ambient soundtrack of taphouses throughout the multiverse, accompanied by the crackling of a subdued fire. A well-dressed minstrel stood in front of the hearth, idly strumming a medieval stringed instrument that looked like a lute, but may well have been a vielle or a psaltery.1

Welcome back.

The tavern was quite spacious, and surprisingly cool given the heat of the day. Looking around, Artie was shocked to see several translucent cubes glowing softly on pedestals lining the walls of the single room. They emitted a gentle, polar hue, and frost fell on the surface of each cube.

His eyebrows rose of their own accord. Iceboxes were at the forefront of Solarian technology, considered a luxury even in the richest neighborhoods of Ledoris. To see them this far from the city was astonishing.

Generations of spilt drinks had worked their way into the floorboards, causing them to groan ominously as Hjalmar made his way to the bar, Artie trailing like a duckling behind. The top layer of grime clung to their boots as they did so, producing a sound exactly like one might encounter in the men’s room at an optometrist’s office.

A portly woman in a tightly-fitting bodice stood behind the counter, running her finger down a ledger and muttering under her breath. Behind her, a giant of a man—nearly as tall as Hjalmar, Artie realized with some surprise—polished a glass in the time-honored tradition of barkeeps the world over.

“Welcome to the Witch’s Teat, the one-stoppe shoppe to meet all of your adventuring needs,” the woman intoned without looking up. “Prologue or exposition?”

Artie blinked. “Erm… which of those is beer?”

The hostess looked up at them over the rim of her wire-framed glasses.

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