Beyond the Western Deep

The Land’s End

“You open, yet?” The gruff Canid leaned up and to the side, trying to get a good look in through a nearby window set into a massive, old tree trunk. Aside from the Canid, a small cluster of local Tamian had congregated nearby, more than content to wait for one of the two proprietors of the establishment to officially open the door leading into the Land’s End Tavern.

A head poked up from behind the window — an older Tamian, sporting an eyepatch and a devious grin. “A moment, please!” He ducked back down below the window and turned to his wife — co-owner of the Land’s End and either the bartender or head chef, depending on the day. The two of them switched duties at regular intervals. “Holly, m’dear, how’s the cask looking? Seems we’ve a small crowd out there already.”

“Not surprised.” Holly was behind the bar sampling the ale — a pine nettle brew sweetened with maple sugar. “You can smell this from the forest edge whenever we roll it out.”

“The Canid certainly can, at least.” The eyepatch-wearing Tamian ducked behind the bar. “He was here before opening last year, too.”

“He’s here before opening every day, dear.” Holly vacated the bar and nodded toward the door leading into the kitchens. “You’ve got the menu memorized?”

“Sure, we’ve got some cedar salmon left from yesterday, the usual salads, and the buckwheat noodles with…” He trailed off.

“With what?” Holly grinned.

“You know… vegetables.”

“Squash and pumpkin, Alder. Squash and pumpkin.”

“I knew that.” Alder returned the smile. “Bread’s still baking though, right?”

“Right.” Holly peeked into the kitchen briefly. “Should be ready by the second wave. We’ve got some leftovers from the last batch yesterday. Better get rid of ‘em before they get stale.”

And with that, Alder opened the latch on the door. The crowd had doubled in the short time he’d been away from the window.

The regulars usually rolled in around dusk, no matter the weather. Alder had seen that same Canid trudge in last winter when the snow was up to his chest and everyone else was stuck at home — how could he not offer the poor bugger a hot drink? On most nights, though, the place filled up well before the sun sank into the ocean. They liked the house-brewed ale and the fresh food, but Alder and Holly themselves often proved a good reason to offer up some amber drops for a meal in a forest that often served up its bounty for free.

The Canid took his usual seat in the back, while the Tamian crowd milled about, splitting themselves into groups that fit at the various tables around the tavern. A few Lutren politicians came in a few minutes into the rush and grabbed the last table. The next group of Tamian to arrive held court by the door, forming a line that stretched outside and around the edge of the tree trunk — a common sight to any regular.

It was right around the end of the first wave of patrons when Crim wandered into the Land’s End.

“Hoo boy,” Alder groaned under his breath when he saw the Tamian approach the bar, looking more than a bit perturbed. Crim could get loud when he was angry — and louder still after he’d had an ale or two.

A few suspicious eyes followed Crim as he beelined toward Alder, curious if another outburst was on its way. After his less-than-graceful spar with Captain Quinlan, Crim had indeed found himself promoted to captain: Scout Captain. Far away from the royal intrigue that he’d wanted, naturally.

“Still can’t believe they promoted that empty shirt to the Royal Guard,” Crim grumbled, sitting down with a heavy sigh at the bar. Alder rolled his eye and held up a glass.

“Pine nettle ale?”

The captain waved a paw. He didn’t care.

“You might not want to go around calling Quin an empty shirt,” Alder offered, setting the amber-filled glass on the bartop. “That empty shirt kicked you halfway across the forest.”

Crim snatched up the glass and downed a third of it in a single gulp, then slammed it back on the bar, making Alder jump a bit. Those glasses weren’t cheap.

“Yeah, well, he caught me unawares, that’s all. A moment of hesitation.”

“That’s all it takes, right?” The bartender picked up another glass and started cleaning it with a rag. “I always thought that whole foot on the ground, foot in the grave thing was just a mantra against idleness. You know, ‘don’t let life pass you by’?”

“To you, maybe.” Crim turned a bit. A number of suspicious eyes quickly snapped away from him. “When you’re fighting somebody else it’s a bit more literal.”

“A foot on the ground means a foot in your face?” Alder asked, allowing himself a grin.

Crim rubbed the side of his head. Quinlan and the Lutren delegation had left a week prior, but the Tamian still complained periodically about a ringing in his ears. “Something like that.”

“Well, don’t let it get you down,” Alder said, noticing with a pang of unease that Crim’s glass had somehow emptied itself while he wasn’t paying attention to it. “Quin’s a good fighter, and he’ll make a good Captain of the Royal Guard.”

The glass lifted itself up again — but there was nothing left in it. Crim frowned and slapped two amber drops on the counter. “Another, please.”

Alder complied.

“So what makes you say that?” Crim asked, sounding a bit on edge at the line of discussion. “I’ve known Quinlan most of my life. He’s a- a coward, and he shirks responsibility! When we were in the scouts together, he’d disappear for hours at a time to go and draw plants or whatever.” He took a drink. “But his grandfather! Oh, what a hero he was!”

“Caldus was a great hero.” Alder nodded solemnly. “Saved the king and his family from quite a few scrapes.”

“More than a few,” Crim said. “Quin had the opportunity of a lifetime to be trained by his grandfather, and he threw it away to join the scouts, because of what? His parents? What an idiot!”

“Mind your tongue, Crim,” Alder snapped. “You’ll not speak ill of the dead at my bar.”

The captain shrank down at the counter, feeling foolish. He could sense the eyes of the patrons glaring at him. “I’m… look, I’m sorry, alright?”

“You’re damned right you’re sorry. You’re a sorry Tamian, Crim. A sorry captain, if ever I saw one.” There was a beat, then Alder resumed his idle glass-cleaning. “I knew his parents. Not a violent bone in their bodies. His father rebelled against Caldus, too, you know. Became Royal Archivist instead of joining the guard.”

“I didn’t, uh… I didn’t know that.” Crim took a steadying sigh. “Can I get something to, uh… to eat?”

“No.” Alder narrowed his eye. “You finish that, you’re done for tonight.”

“Aw.” Crim groaned, but knew better than to argue. “Fine.”

“What I was saying,” the bartender continued, “was that Quinlan never wanted to join the scouts. Or be captain of anything. But Caldus, well… he was set in his ways, I guess. Saw that he’d lost his son to menial work, didn’t want his grandson to suffer the same fate.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Crim asked. “He wanted his family to be remembered! To serve Dabheid with honor, as heroes!”

“Not everyone wants to be a hero.” Alder shrugged. “Sometimes you’re smart enough to realize early on that being a hero means sacrificing what’s important for the greater good. Quin was smart enough to realize that, but Caldus wouldn’t listen.” He flipped the dish rag over his shoulder and set the now-cleaned glass amongst a line of similarly-cleaned glasses. “I think Quinlan’s going to make a great Captain of the Royal Guard.”

That seemed to anger Crim. “Why? Because he doesn’t want to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps? That doesn’t sound right to me.” The captain downed the rest of his drink. “I’ve got everything Quinlan’s got and more!”

“You’re right,” Alder said. “You’ve certainly got something more than he does.”

“Right! Wait, what?” Crim was caught by surprise. “What’ve I got?”

“A temper.” Alder pulled Crim’s glass away. “You’ve got a temper, Crim. That’s why Dabheid didn’t consider you for the post. You’ve got a temper and you complain a lot and you’re a sore loser, and that’s why you’re the Scout Captain. Nobody likes being around you.”

“Yeesh, tell me how you really feel, why don’t ya?” Crim stood up from the bar, turned to leave, then lowered his head a bit. “Dammit.” He turned and leaned into the bartop. “Alder, am I really-?”

“Yes.” Alder cut him off.

Crim sighed, but Alder continued: “You want to be anything more than Scout Captain someday, I recommend you work on it.” He glared at Crim. “All of it.”

The eyes of the Land’s End fell on Crim, hoping he would heed the elder Tamian’s advice. As the scout slowly made his way to the door, Alder leaned back, noticing his wife’s concerned face looking back at him from the kitchens.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing, dear,” Alder said. “Crim, again.”

“Hoo boy,” Holly groaned. “Think he’ll listen this time?”

“Maybe!” Alder grinned. “He only got two drinks in before I gave him the speech. Maybe he’ll remember it this time.”

“Doubtful.” Holly returned to the kitchens.

Alder turned just in time to see Crim walk out through the door, and a group of three Lutren walk in past him. The bartender smiled, then waved them in.

“Come in, come in! Open seating at the bar! The drinks cost amber drops but the advice is free!”

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I hope you all enjoyed the second hiatus story this week! Next week there will be one more short story, and then we’ll resume our regular pages!

Before I show some amazing guest art, I wanted to show what Rachel’s been working on the last few days. Check it out!

That, dear friends, is the work-in-progress image for the cover of Beyond the Western Deep Volume 2! Jerome helped by putting together a set of potential cover compositions, offering a multitude of cool ideas to pursue. One them, featuring a looming Hardin over Deltrada, served as the inspiration for this final piece: the Sratha-din marching forth, a stoic Clovis standing atop the battlements. And yes, that Canid on the back cover will be familiar to readers :)

For guest art this week, a good bit of fun from guest artist extraordinaire, Jerijune! This probably should’ve been posted last week with the Beck story, but hey! It’s here now! In Jerijune’s words:

“I have this habit of daydreaming or staring blankly whenever I’d listen to music, especially songs with a slow rhythm, and this became the basis for how I imagined Beck sitting by a window in the Abadis Tavern, lost in thought and stuff like that.”

But of course as Beck looks out the window, lost in her most deepest thoughts, the rest of the Sand Spider crew is no doubt wondering “What the heck is up?”

And so Jerijune offered this “extended” take on the scene. Let’s take a closer look:

Thanks so much for the artwork, Jerijune! We love it! :D