Pete was ushered into an alehouse by a large party of revelers.
Earlier, Sir Guy had excused himself in the park and had left for his quarters with Elaine.
The Sheriff of Nottingham, Robert de Renault, led the party. "Drinks are on me!" he announced to the drunk townsfolk inside. As he walked through the doors, the people cheered and banged their mugs of ale against the tables.
"Hail the Sheriff!"
"Long Live the King!"
"Bravo! Rob the Champion!"
"Fuck the Elves!"
Pete cast a cursory glance at the alehouse. It was a standard establishment with medieval fixtures. Wooden trestle tables and benches were haphazardly arranged to accommodate maximum customers. One barkeep and three servers ran around providing ale and food.
"Welcome to THE BLOODY TOOTH," the bartender said, rushing to the group as he saw the Sheriff walk in. He was a man in his thirties, in a large apron, constantly wiping his hands on an already filthy towel. "Ah, the Sheriff of Nottingham. Sir, what a pleasure… Are these your guests?"
"Aye, Marvin," Robert replied, crushing Pete's shoulder with an enormous hand. "This boy right here hit three bullseye targets simultaneously from a hundred feet!"
"Amazing! Amazing!" the bartender exclaimed, feigning interest. "Sheriff, the tables near the bard's counter are reserved for you as always."
"My gratitude, Marvin," Robert replied and led his guests to the seats.
"Ale or wine?" he asked Pete as soon as they took to the benches.
Pete had been apprehensive since his system interface declared the Sheriff a Boss. As the hero, he was supposed to battle Robert de Renault. Instead, he was being celebrated by his foe. On their way to the alehouse, the boy observed him and found he was not a bad guy at all. In fact, it would profit Pete to suck up to the Sheriff.
"Ale or wine, Rob?" Robert asked him again.
Pete was technically a teenager and had never tasted a drink. He patiently waited for THE ROBINHOOD SYSTEM to offer him a drinking quest, but no notifications popped up. He had to make the right choice to prove himself a man.
"Ale, sir."
[ Reputation +1 ]
[ Likability +1 ]
Robert guffawed. "Ah, that's more like it, young man! Barkeep! Ale, bread, and meat for everyone at my table!"
"Coming up, Sheriff!"
Pete scrutinized the Sheriff up close. The man was over six feet tall, with an ox-like frame. He had a severe face that looked scary even when he was smiling. Robert de Renault was the legend of the Sheriff of Nottingham. The boy could not believe he was sitting across from his nemesis.
"Young man!" Robert began. "Sir Guy tells me you have been traveling the southern lands. On the other hand, My head constable, Knuckle, reported that you come from the east and belong to a house named Huntington. Where are you really from?"
'Oops,' Pete thought. 'I got trapped in my lies.'
The boy looked around. The alehouse had simmered down, and all eyes were on him. He had to make up a better story that made sense.
"Sir, I am Rob Huntington. My proud House of Huntington lies to the extreme east of the King's lands. My father, Rowan, swore his allegiance to the Crown last year."
Pete looked at Robert's face to gauge his response. The Sheriff did not look convinced. 'Damn! I have to step up my storytelling!'
[ Perfect Gene: Level 1 ]
The boy suddenly remembered a critical detail. He had observed that the people of Nottingham constantly abused 'elves' for some reason. Perhaps there was some backstory that he could tap into to make his lies convincing?
Pete cleared his throat. "My late uncle, Bronn, was headed to Nottingham to bring the fealty letter with seal to King Richard the Lionheart. Unfortunately, tragedy struck! On his way to the town, he was ambushed and killed by Elves!"
[ Guile +1 ]
As soon as he uttered the word, the alehouse customers put down their mugs and turned to Pete. The Sheriff's expression also turned severe. His eyebrow twitched, and a vein throbbed on his forehead. "Elves, you say?" he growled.
"Yes, sir. That was not all. Elves caused our House's ruin! They ransacked our castle, butchering my entire family! My sister and I escaped at substantial risk to our lives. I've been traveling all over the world since trying to find a home."
Robert touched his mustache and twirled it. "And where is your sister now?"
Pete instantly regretted adding a fictional sibling. While concocting the story, he felt it would appear dubious if he were the only survivor. "She… uh… is a traveler like me. I received a letter that she was in Nottingham. Therefore, I arrived in the town, hoping to meet her."
The Sheriff twirled his mustache again. "Hmm. Is it fair to say that you hate Elves?"
Pete bit his lip, wondering if the question was a trap. "I despise them. I would annihilate the race if I had the power."
Robert went silent for a few seconds. The barkeep arrived with a platter of ale mugs.
The Sheriff picked up a mug and slammed it in front of Pete. "Never say again that you don't have a home, young Rob! From today, Nottinghamshire is your new home! I, Robert de Renault, an instrument of the King's grace, accept you into our town. Fuck elves!!"
"Fuck elves!" the crowd shouted after him.
Pete wiped the sweat from his brow in relief. The lies had fortunately worked. He had almost burst an artery, brainstorming a convincing story.
[ Smooth Talker: Level 2 ]
[ Guile +2 ]
[ Likability +2 ]
[ Reputation +15 ]
[ The Sheriff's Affinity for you has greatly increased! ]
[ Reputation has reached a Threshold ]
[ New Identification: Citizen of Nottingham, Friend of the Sheriff ]
"Drinks all round!" Robert declared. The crowd joined in, rejoicing, celebrating their champion and the Sheriff. Pete spent an hour drinking and listening to the Sheriff's heroics during the King's wars.
***
The alehouse door swung open, and a figure burst in. "Ale for me, Marvin!"
Pete recognized the newcomer. She was the muscular girl from the champion trials.
The boy immediately turned to Crease, who had been shamelessly downing the free ale and meat. "Hey! You promised!" The old man nodded and excused himself from the bench.
"Who is she, Sheriff?" Pete asked, turning to Robert. The man had already downed a dozen mugs of ale. Yet, he barely appeared to have a buzz.
"Ah, that girl! I forget her name… Marlo... Maria… Marian… Yes! She is the adventurer, Marian!" Burp!
Pete wanted Robert to explain what he meant by 'adventurer', but old man Crease approached and gave him a nudge and a toothless smile. "Marian has agreed to let you buy her a drink, my boy. She's waiting for you at the rooftop bar."