Another Day, Another Stool (Brent Forrester) (Graded)

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Ymiden 31, 719

It was midday in Raelia, and it was warm out. It was peaceful in the neighborhood around the Ox's Bellow Tavern, people heading to and from their various business and personal dalliances. Children were scampering after each other with toy weapons, and one man sat out front of the Ox's Bellows, on a stool in front of a table. His hair was graying brown and sparse, kept closely cut to minimize his obvious balding patch.

The older man was busy working, turning an awl through a circular piece of wood. He had several pieces of wood laid out on the table. There were wood shavings littered around the area, and the air smelled of the freshly cut pinewood. Soren finished the hole he was drilling, and leaned back on his stool, forehead glistening with sweat. He let himself soak up the sun instead of wearing a hat. He'd spent a long time in the tavern lately and needed the sun on his skin. He was a man that grew up on the roads after all.

He reached forward and grabbed the flagon of Noatun Blue Stout. It was an energizing drink, and quite rich. After wiping away his foamy mustache, he looked around. He saw a mother and her two children heading for his tavern. He smiled and waved at them, "Good day, Mrs. Torstold. How are you three this trial?"

The woman stopped and smiled, "All is well, didn't want to cook today. What have you got in there today?"

"Fish and chips, with honeyed fruits for the little ones."

"Wonderful, tired of running around all day."

Soren watched her drag the kids inside and he felt his heart soften. The poor woman was recently widowed, her husband having died in the recent Lothar raids. But she was holding it together and wearing a strong face for her kids. It was why he still referred to her as missus instead of miss. He felt it would give her comfort. He let out a shrill whistle, and Delilah came out cheerfully. "Need a refill boss?"

"No. Well, actually, yeah, if you don't mind. But could you do something special for Mrs. Torstold and her kids? You know it's been rough for her lately." He finished his flagon, and the barmaid took it, smiling.

"Sure boss."

She turned and left to refill it, and he left her to the details. He knew she would handle it properly. He went back to work, building stools for the Back Room. It had been a particularly rowdy night last night so there were many more replacements needed than usual. He didn't mind, it kept the customers happy and coming back and gave him something to fill his time with. He fitted in the legs and cross bars, and began sanding it all down. Soon, Delilah returned with another flagon and he took another long draught of it and sighed contentedly.

Another day in Raelia.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Brent Forrester]

31st of Ymiden

Another day, another morning wasted.

The cartographer begrudgingly decided to give himself a break after trying to find fruitless leads on his maps or attempting to commission one. He had brought about ten of his Melrath maps to Raelia and a few odds and ends of other more specific locations. And so far, he had managed to part with a grand total of two. Perhaps what irked him most was the huge array of reasons… no, excuses as to why people turned down a sale.

“The symbols are cute but it doesn’t look like real art.”

“How much did you say?! I couldn’t part with that!”

“But I can’t see where my grandmother’s house is.”

“Where’s the ‘X’? My friend said these were treasure maps!”

And on, and on. The second thing Brent was starting to realize was that many Raelians had no desire or wish to see more of Melrath. They were perfectly content in their expansive mansion or their neat little shop. Very few had any inkling of what it might be like to explore the wilds beyond.

A breeze picked up as his mood fouled, and before long Brent was holding his maps with both hands clutched to his chest to keep them from taking flight. Despite the heat, he was garbed in a long traveler’s cloak, as he limped down the streets of Raelia. There was a loud creak from above and when he looked up, he was pleasantly surprised to see a tavern sign swaying in the wind.

Finally something that brought him a smile. The Ox’s Bellow Tavern. What he would do for a nice long draught of ale. Outside on a table in front was a man working away at a stool, fitting in the legs and sanding it down. It had been a while since Brent had done some serious woodworking but he definitely had an appreciation for those who had the mind and creativity to put something together out of wood.

Brent started to approach the man, his gait slow and clearly favouring his left side. With a wave he said, “Good day, need a hand with anything?”

Suddenly a gust of wind blew through the street and took with it several copies of Brent’s map of Melrath. With dismay, the cartographer started rushing after the scattered papers.

“Spirits be damned!” He cried out in anguish.

As he scrambled about picking up the maps, he was hardly paying attention as a wagon laden with fresh cherries crossed his path. A big wheel rolled over one of the drawings, causing the ink to run, before he was able to snatch it off the ground.

“Spirits! If I could just get through this day, I’ll bless you a thousand times!”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

As Soren's hands sanded down the roughly made stool, he saw the man limping toward him. Not a face he recognized, certainly not the gait, such things would stand out, but he smiled nonetheless. A little bit of cripple certainly didn't ruin a person in Soren's eyes. The man waved and offered a hand, and Soren appreciated the offer and fully intended to accept it. He always had something to do for people who were willing, even if it was only to get them talking.

It seemed the spirits were in a playful mood, as the winds ripped the papers from the man's hands. Soren set down the sand paper, effectively done with this stool, though there were still more to be made, and began walking over. Soren watched as Nedward's wagon ran over one of the papers, clearly ruining whatever was on it. One paper was tumbling toward Soren, and he scooped it up easily. He also reached into his coin purse and grabbed a silver, already knowing Nedward's prices.

He walked up to the crippled man, keeping the silver nel hidden in his other hand, offering the map to him. "Let me see the ruined one, if you don't mind." He didn't really offer a choice as he gently grabbed it. Not too pushy, but definitely taking charge of the situation. With the ruined map in hand, he called out to the wagon drive, "Ho, Ned, hold up a tick."

The fruit seller slowed to a stop, smiling at Soren. Soren was one of the people on his supply route, though mostly for dried fruits than fresh. Depended on the mood of his cooking staff more than anything. As Soren approached the driver side of the wagon, he slipped the coin over top the map in hand, and pulled himself up. "Hey, I know it wasn't your fault, spirits are playful and all, but this man's.." Soren looked down at the paper, "I think it's a map. Anyways, his map was slightly damaged under your wheel. Doesn't seem completely ruined, but certainly not so sellable, see?" He held it up for Ned to see, keeping the silver under thumb, to make it hard for the limping man to see if he wanted. But Ned would definitely not miss it. "Maybe we could do a trade? Damaged map for some damaged cherries?"

Nedward thought for a moment, then shrugged, "The grandson likes drawings and such. Got a deal. Grab however much you want from the basket in back right corner." Soren saw the twinkle in his eye, "You're a good man, Ned, stop by for a beer later." Everyone who actually knew Soren knew that if he invited you for a beer explicitly, and not just an invite to the tavern, the drink was on the house. Nedward nodded, and Soren hopped down. He moved round to the back of the cart, climbing up, finding a small empty sack in a pile there, and filled it up from the basket Nedward had mentioned. This was not the damaged basket either, just the less pretty ones. He would sell these to restaurants and such, and the nicer looking fruits to the stall vendors. Once Soren was done, he slapped the wagon, and Ned went on his way.

He turned back to the cripple, "You actually can help me, if you're still interested. Come, I need you to test this stool, let me know your thoughts." Soren led the way over to the table, grabbing the stool and putting it on the side opposite from his own, slapping the seat for the man. "The name's Soren by the way. Soren Kvistson." As he turned from the table to go to his own side, he looked into the bar, catching the ever observant barmaid's eyes, and mouthing the word for one. She caught his meaning and went to fetch a beer for the guest of the boss.

Soren swiped away the shavings off the table and set the tools off to the side, before plopping the bag of cherries in the middle of the table. "Come, have a seat." Moments later, an ale was plopped down in front of the stool as well, "Thanks hun."

Soren waited for the man to join him, if he would at all. But if he did, when he did, he spoke up, "You look like you have a story for me. Care to share?"

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Brent Forrester]

Despite the fiendish winds, Brent managed to collect up most of the maps and the last one was handed to him by the friendly man at the tavern. He reluctantly looked at the damaged one. It had taken him at least half an hour to copy it out to the same level of detail as the original. Part of him was already trying to see where he could fix the smudged ink, but in his heart, he knew he couldn’t sell it. It would damage his reputation for the care and precision he put into his maps.

Before these thoughts had even gone through his head, the barkeep was already taking the damaged drawing. In what seemed like a display of finesse and charm, the barkeep had exchanged the map for a bag of fresh cherries. Damaged, maybe, but still a worthy deal. Brent’s eyes widened with awe as he watched the transaction. He had been trying to sell good decent maps all morning and this man had made a successful trade in a matter of minutes.

“You have quite the talent,” Brent said while still clutching his maps haphazardly as he made his way over to the table.

Before sitting down on the stool on question, the cartographer decided it best to lay out the drawings in an orderly pile, about ten in all, and folded them carefully so that he wouldn’t be at the mercy of the winds again. While he was at it, Brent removed his traveling cloak and placed it on the table. He wore simple clothes of an Alivilda villager, rather than anything remotely akin to the latest Raelia fashions.

He placed a hand on the stool, applied a bit of pressure and noted a slight wobble.

“It’s a good stool Soren Kvistson. Name’s Brent. Brent Forrester.”

He held out his hand in greeting before taking a seat. That’s when he could really feel the wobble and he couldn’t just let it by after the man had asked for his opinion.

“Can’t tell if it’s your paving stones or the stool, but it does have a wobble. But it might be a good way to tell if your patrons have had a little too much to drink.”

With laugh, Brent mimed falling off the stool.

“It’s good and sturdy though. And if you have any sliver of wood or even a small piece of leather, you could fix it to the bottom of the short leg.”

The pretty barmaid came around and an ale was set before him. Brent gave a glance at Soren before taking a deep drink. Light and refreshing for a hot Ymiden’s day. Although he might have preferred a darker ale.

“A story? I’m sure you’ve heard many of those.” Brent replied and took another drink. Inevitably he found himself relaxing with the ale and good company.

For a moment he gathered his thoughts. It was rare that he had an audience, and rarer still that he had something interesting enough to entertain them.

“Let’s just say my morning wasn’t as productive as I would have liked, and it so happens that you made the first sale this trial. I came from Alivilda hoping that the city folk would have some interest in my maps, but it seems they like the city things. I may just have to make a sketch of the city instead, if that’s where the business is. Do what the customers want.”

Brent wiped his mouth after another long drink.

“You seem to know a thing or two about customers, Soren. Got any advice for a fellow man? Nice place you’ve got set up here. You make the ale yourself, or do you ship it in from Alivilda’s brewery. It’s the heart of the town after all. Both in business and in spirit.”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren decided to impart a quote his mother would tell him often as a child. "Talent is what people think they are born with. Hard work is a much more valuable and reliable tool." He watched with appreciation as the man, named Brent, gave a proper check of his stool. He hadn't actually expected him to to do so, and that made him appreciate it even more. "Yes, well, woodworking is a newer hobby of mine. Not much room for free to use lumber in the trade caravan growing up." He laughed at the man's miming, "And that is sound advice, Brent, definitely will try it out. Though this particular stool is slated for the Back Room. That means it will likely be broken in a tentrial. But hey, break enough stools, I should eventually be the greatest stool maker in Idalos."

At this, Soren laughed deeply and loudly.

He listened as Brent spoke about his business, "I definitely can provide some advice, though I will ask that you take all advice with a grain of salt. And maybe a beer. But I will say, there's opportunities to be had for you in this city. And not just this city, but right here at this very table." He took a long drink of his beer, as the barmaid brought out a bowl of fried dough bits with a creamy dipping sauce, that was rather garlicky. "Thanks love."

Soren grabbed one of the snacks, and dipped it, before tossing it back, as he leaned back on his stool. "Tell you what Brent, let's conduct a trade." He smiled brightly, "Because that's the problem with advice. Advice is free. And in this world, you always get what you pay for."

He leaned forward now, resting on his elbows, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at Brent closely. "I will trade you one of my expert opinions, coming from my near fifty arcs of experience selling and buying to customers from all over the world, and one story, in exchange for you considering a business proposal I have in mind, and a story from you."

He plucked a cherry from the sack, popping it into his mouth, pulling the flesh from the stone. "And because a good businessman is generous, I'll even go first. But I will ask that if you decline, that you finish your beer and go, on the house." He took a long drink, wiping away the mustache.

"For the opinion, do not peddle to individuals. Anyone can do that, and most don't do it well. Maps will always be needed. Always. For every person such as yourself that can navigate well, there will be a hundred or a thousand that cannot. You will waste your incredibly valuable time trying to peddle to them. Instead, you need to sell in bulk to others. Don't sell one custom map to a one customer. Sell one hundred of the same maps to a business."

He spat out the cherry stone, and grabbed his beer, leaning back. "If you agree to our deal, show it by keeping your end of it, and we shall continue," he said without sarcasm or jest.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Brent Forrester]

Hard work was better than talent. Brent was definitely starting to like the man. There were certainly those that claimed talent but couldn’t be relied upon from one trial to the next. Whereas Soren seemed to be a man who had built himself up, although with perhaps a few cleverly placed words in the right ears. Even though lady luck sometimes made her rounds, she was no comparison to hard work.

Brent settled into his seat and popped a cherry into his mouth. When Soren mentioned certain prospects at this very table, the cartographer raised an eyebrow. The barkeep had certainly sparked his attention. Sucking the tender fruit, Brent spat out the pit away from the patio. The smell of freshly fried bread wafted over as the barmaid served some treats from the kitchen. It was flattering to have all this food and drink at his disposal, but for now he kept to the cherries as he felt he had at least contributed by means of the ruined map.

Soren had another deal at the ready. Advice and a story in exchange for a potential business proposal and a story. Brent couldn’t help but wonder if the barkeep had missed out during some of his life and was trying to live vicariously through his customers. Of course the cartographer had stories, but whether they were interesting or something he wanted to share was an entirely different matter. But when Soren offered his piece of advice, Brent listened intently while sucking on a couple more cherries.

“Selling to businesses? Isn’t it more personable to sell to the individual? Start a good relationship going and work from there?” The advice had come at him like an east wind, wholly unexpected and he didn’t know what to do with it. But then something sparked from what Soren had mentioned earlier.

“Would a caravan group have the means and need for multiple maps?”

Brent didn’t expect an answer right away. Soren had of course asked for something in return. Without much delay, the cartographer continued.

“So you’re looking for a story in return? As well as to hear out a business proposal? Since you seem to like stories, I’ll try to humor you with one.”

Brent had considered this story earlier, but it was admittedly not something he had shared with many people. Largely due to the likelihood of people not believing him or being too mystical for their taste. But Soren seemed more the type and if he was adamant about getting a story, Brent would give him one.

“So this happened a while ago. I was only a child, well before my coming of age, and also before I busted my leg.” He tried to speak casually as he tapped his right thigh, but a keen observer would notice a tightening of his lips and his shoulders curling in at the mention of it.

“I was seven, eight arcs at the most, and you see my father ran a logging business. I was too young at the time to be much use, but I loved exploring the forest. Inevitably, one day I got lost. Like real lost. I had left that morning and was out all day. All the trees started looking the same and the trail seemed to be going in circles or would just stop all of a sudden with a fallen log I didn’t recognize. By lunchtime I was hungry and by late afternoon I was starting to panic. I had been told stories about wolves and grendels and other monsters that lurked in the night, and if it got too dark, I didn’t have anything like a candle to light the way.”

“Well, as I neared my breaking point and started looking for sticks to build some sort of shelter, the wind picked up and I swear I heard something in the rustling leaves. ‘Follow the setting sun.’ At first I didn’t know what it meant and I thought I was dreaming or something. But then it came again. ‘Follow the setting sun.’ At this point I had nothing to lose and I was afraid the sun might set completely, so I started walking and then running towards the glowing red sky.”

“It wasn’t easy, mind you, since the forest leaves blocked out much of the view and there were hills to climb up and down. I even remember scrambling up onto a big rock to try to see which direction the sun was setting. I was exhausted by the time I made it back to the Vynmur river and I felt faint with relief. I knew the Vynmur, since my father’s mill was on the river. It took several minutes to figure out how far along it I was, but there were enough recognizable parts that I was able to figure out which direction to go. By now the sun was behind the mountains and the stars and moon were beginning to come out.”

“When I finally made it home, my mother was in tears but I tried to tell her that the Myrkvior spirits had protected me. They told me to ‘follow the setting sun’. She didn’t really believe me but she was glad I was home.”

Brent paused at the end of the story. There wasn’t really more to say, but following that incident he had learned that the sun sets in the west and where he had lived, the Vynmur had been west of the forest.

“You said you wanted me to hear out a business proposal?”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren sat and listened, carefully and with undivided attention. Even when he brought the beer to his lips, he didn't take his eyes ears away from the man's story. He listened first to the man's own ideas in business, and while they weren't necessarily completely wrong, they weren't completely right either. But Soren would save his opinions on the subject for later.

As the man launched into his story, he watched the man's body language. He was still sore about his limp, and not just in the physical, literal sense. Soren wondered if that was because it was new and recent, or because of just how bad the situation was that caused it. Clearly not a childhood injury. Or at least not by age seven or eight. His father was a logger. So the man grew up in the outdoors, near a forest somewhere.

The story was compelling, and was one that many a child who lived in such areas could related to, Soren included. Him and his family had traveled a lot, and he did have a tendency to wander off from time to time. Looking back, it was all the more surprising that he was still alive. He knew that feeling of fear from being completely lost. It wasn't until he was older that that particular fear had changed into wonder.

Ah, so the man was from here, from Melrath. Soren had wondered if the spirits were kinder to the people that lived here and respected such beings, or if it was just that the Melrathi were the only ones listening. Soren hadn't met any spirits when he was a child. Or rather, he didn't know he had or not. Which made it all the more surprising that his mother didn't believe the boy's story. Soren wondered if maybe she was a foreigner. But he wouldn't ask. Not yet. Not now.

Soren held out the flagon, "Thank you for the story."

He followed it up with a drink. He smiled at the mention of the proposal. "In due time, friend. First, I will answer your questions. While you are right that selling to individuals might be more personable, overall, selling to a business isn't the opposite to that, nor is it even the lesser. After all, businesses are run by people too. After all, you're speaking to both an individual and a business right this very moment."

Soren leaned forward onto his elbows, "While it is good to forge relationships, necessary even, for all merchants, you can do that with these businesses too. Because a good relationship with a business also gives you access to all of the relationships that business has. And if you partner with a good, reliable business owner, your relationships grow with it."

He grabbed another of the fried dough bits, "Try them, my staff will talk if you don't. The cooks are so easily offended sometimes." He chuckled at the light jest, "New caravans would definitely need maps, though most hire a guide, or have one in crew already. But that's not to say a business opportunity isn't present there either. Could always offer to upgrade or repair their existing maps or.." at this he grinned broadly, "Treat them as what they are. Which is a business. Sell them a bulk amount of maps, and they can sell them for you elsewhere."

Soren dipped the fried dough once more and ate it, "Now, my proposal is simple, really. You make me a bunch of maps for this region, with several copies of each. Additionally, for each one you make, you make me one large version. I'll have them framed, and posted in the Front Room and maybe other rooms, depending how many I get. In return, I will pay you a fair sum for the lot, and I will make sure everyone knows who made these maps."

He tipped back his beer, finishing it in its entirety, setting it down, just as his barmaid stepped out with a refill. It amazed him how good at her job she was. He thanked her, then looked back at Brent, "And that's just the first offer. Consider it, and then I'll give you a story in return, as promised. After all, a deal is a deal."

He winked at Brent and took another sip, "Damn, always good straight from the tap."

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Brent Forrester]

Brent was intrigued as he listened to Soren’s proposal. The barkeep undoubtedly had set up the proposal with a good preamble, and the cartographer was able to put two and two together to see the exponential possibilities of such a deal. It would only take a few good contacts with businesses to have a multiplying effect on the sales for his maps. Granted, he was sure that Soren was interested in taking some sort of cut, or using the maps to draw in travelers to his own businesses, but there was definitely potential in the offer.

The cartographer looked down at one of his maps and imagined what it might look like in a big frame on the wall. Suddenly rather critical of his work, seeing the small details that were out of place, Brent was quite sure he’d have to have another go at this one to make it suitable for such display and future sales.

Since then, he’d always considered his work as a means to get by and to provide value to his community. But Soren’s offer excited him in a new way. A way that he might be able to make a bigger impact in the world and develop a real business.

He emptied his tankard and wiped his mouth of the frothy ale before grabbing a couple of fried dough bits. They were surprisingly good and he took another which he used to scoop up some dip before popping it into his mouth.

For a few moments he mulled over the logistics in his brain. There was a question of producing said maps as well as a question of price.

“It is a good proposal, my friend. Not only will it free up my time so that I can be out there charting lands or drafting up copies, but you clearly have a knack for selling. Plus you see customers every day regardless, and my maps would only take up a small amount of space at the tavern.”

“Although I do have several copies right now, I would need to create a larger version and on second thought I may also want to refine the chart before giving you a whole bundle. Plus, the option of purchasing a secondary map, or having a choice would likely improve sales.”

Brent wasn’t entirely sure about whether a second map was necessary, but he felt rather lacking if there was only a single option.

“Here, take one of these as a token of my good faith. Map making does take some time, but I can return in Vhalar with plenty more and a couple of large sized ones. As for the price, I will sell them with a one third discount if you pay up front and for bundles of fifteen or more.”

For a moment or two, Brent held his breath in anticipation. This was a business deal better than he could imagine and at first all he could think of was the proposal. Then he remembered Soren’s love for stories and quickly added, “And in returned, I’ll gladly hear your story.”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren listened intently, sipping at his ale, eating the snacks, as the man thought out loud. He was putting the pieces together, the pieces that Soren had laid out before him. He was glad to hear the man putting proper thought into this instead of bullrushing into an agreement. He listened as the man laid out his plan of action, none of which Soren had issue with. The man offered a map now, a meeting later, and a discounted deal.

Well Soren knew when to hold em, knew when to fold em, and he knew when to cash in. And this was a time to cash in. It was a good deal, for both sides. "You have yourself a deal, Brent. I will pay up front, and buy as many that you can make me, so long as they are the best quality you're able to make. And sign them please. That will help you and me both."

He didn't offer a handshake deal, it was not needed. A good businessman's word was all the contract one needed. Plus, the deal was not complete, not just yet. Soren had one last thing to give. "I first met Nedward, the fruit seller, when I was a young boy. It was the first time I could remember coming to Melrath. I was about.. six or seven arcs old at the time. My family's caravan hits every city once every other arc. Still to this day, they are still going, just as reliable as the suns rising and the moons setting. He was a little bit older than me, though not by much. His family owned the fruit orchards out near where we'd park our caravan, the same orchards he owns now."

Soren finished his beer, and set it on the table, leaning back, his hands behind his head, "Nedward was always a quiet child, still is a quiet man. Our conversation earlier was some of the most we've talked in cycles. But he was always kind. Would give the shirt off his back to anyone and did so with a smile."

"At this time, Nedward was old enough to know his figures, so his parents let him run the small stand from time to time while they were busy. Just as he does now, he sold all types of tree fruits. Me and my mother were walking by when one trial, to see a large man, an outsider, looming over the boy. The man seemed to think the boy had sold him damaged goods and he wanted his money back. My mother stayed back, and told me to watch and learn from this, with a devious grin on her face."

"Nedward was a quiet boy, but that did not mean he was a pushover, by any means. He apologized to the man for the confusion, and politely told him that they didn't sell damaged fruit at this stand. He kept a soft, pleasant smile on, and refused the man's refund. The man was outraged. He grabbed a bowl of pears and threw them on the ground, damaging the lot, before swearing and turning to leave."

"But my mom told me to watch the faces around the street too. Every single person was staring at this outlander that had accosted an honest boy, from an honest family of good, hardworking merchants. The word spread through the land like wildfire. By the time the man reached the inn at which he was staying, merely on the other side of town, his belongings were sitting in a nice, neat pile in the street, guards standing there with a smile. They told the man he could have his belongings back if he paid a fee. At first, he attempted to argue, but they casually mentioned trial by combat. At that point, every person within sight drew some form of weapon, be it a sword, walking stick, or kitchen knife. The man paid the fee, and was promptly escorted to the docks to get on the first ship out of Melrath."

"The guards returned to Nedward, giving him the fee that they'd collected. And the boy thanked them."

And so, the story finished. Soren never summarized his stories, never attempted to give a lesson with them. Stories were there for people to make up their own minds about. He leaned back toward the table smiling, "Thank you for your business, for your story, for your company, for your advice on the stool. I look forward to seeing you again in Vhalar."

At this, he stood up, moving over to the man, clasping him on the shoulder, "It was a pleasure meeting you Brent. Please, eat and drink to your heart's content. I have more business to attend to." Soren then started down the street, off to his next errand, his next appointment, and his next business deal.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Brent Forrester]

The deal was made and with mutual benefit. Brent relaxed in his seat and enjoyed the food as Soren launched into the anticipated story. The barkeep spoke like a good solid Melrathi. He was down to earth, no magic or funny business, and with integrity and good character. Brent enjoyed the story perhaps more than he realized as he popped cherries into his mouth and savoured their sweetness. It was a story about community and having the integrity and courage to stand up for what’s right.

The cartographer nodded as Soren finished up, having clearly enjoyed the tale.

“Thank you, Soren. I will see you in Vhalar.” Brent replied simply.

He was mildly surprised at the barkeep’s sudden departure, and not into his own tavern, but Brent assumed Soren was busy looking at the bigger picture for his business rather than attending to the daily operations. As Brent finished up the fried dough, he considered what it might be like to operate his own business. If he could get more contacts like Soren, he might not need to focus so much on sales. Or maybe he could hire someone to attend the shop while he did what he loved. But did he want to have a shop, or something that was more mobile? What use would it be to sell maps of Fensalir in Raelia, if no one was interest in traveling to the Myrkvior woods? If he could set up something like a wagon or a peddler’s cart, it would be far more flexible. Plus his maps weren’t all that heavy as commodities.

The more Brent thought about the idea, the more possibilities he saw. If he could time the trips with the cart with local events like market day or harvest festivals, he might be able to reach even more customers. A young lad with some basic knowledge of the trade or even someone who was teachable but good at selling, would be a huge asset. Someone who was a younger version of Soren and eager to learn.

Brent swirled the last of his ale. It was time to reassess the Raelian market and sell the rest of his maps. Then he could start making real plans and have his business come to life. All starting with his first batch of maps to his new contact. With a smile, he raised his tankard in a silent toast to the barkeep and tipped it back with a wipe of his mouth.