Lennox stood frozen behind the polished mahogany bar, his eyes darting across the rows of gleaming bottles arranged neatly on glass shelves.
The bottles were unlike anything he'd ever seen. Some pulsed faintly with light, as if tiny stars were trapped within the liquid. Others had mist swirling lazily inside, forming fleeting shapes—a dragon's eye, a rising sun, a swirling storm—before fading back into nothingness. Delicate runes shimmered faintly on the glass, their light waxing and waning with an ethereal rhythm.
To anyone else, they would seem like expensive but otherwise normal drinks. But to Lennox, the newly chosen Mystic Tavern Master, the bottles felt alive. Each one exuded a magical aura—like they were whispering ancient secrets meant only for him.
His hand hovered uncertainly over one tall bottle etched with spiraling golden runes when a gravelly voice jolted him back to reality.
"Well, lad? Are ye trying to hex the bottles into pouring themselves, or are ye planning to actually serve me something?"
One-Eyed George sat at the bar with his single sharp eye fixed on Lennox. His stubbled face split into a crooked grin, but there was a flicker of impatience in his expression.
Lennox swallowed hard. Right. Drinks. That's my job now.
"System," he whispered under his breath, trying not to look like a madman talking to himself, "I need a suggestion. What should I serve him?"
A soft chime echoed in his mind, and the calm, slightly smug voice of the System spoke.
"For a seasoned adventurer like George, consider serving the 'Emberbrew Ale' from the tavern's unique selection. It's a hearty magical drink with a slight spice kick, perfect for a weathered soul. It costs just 50 silver."
Lennox's heart stopped. Fifty silver? His eyes twitched as he glanced at George. Fifty silver was half a gold coin! That amount could buy an entire drum of regular ale in Greywater's seedier establishments.
"What in the—System, are you trying to bankrupt me? Who charges fifty silver for one mug of ale?!" he hissed underneath his breath.
"All drinks stocked in the Mystic Tavern are crafted from rare materials sourced from other realms. They possess unique benefits for mages and warriors, enhancing mana flow, chi balance, and even physical recovery. The 'Emberbrew Ale' is a Rank-1 spiritual drink, and 50 silver is a bargain. Normally, it would sell for 20 gold coins in the proper circles."
Lennox felt faint. The System seemed far too pleased with itself for having nearly given him a heart attack.
"Oi!" George called out, tapping the bar with his knuckles. "If you're done arguing with your invisible friend, how about pouring me something before I grow roots here?"
Lennox straightened, took a deep breath, and finally reached for a stout bottle labeled 'Emberbrew Ale'—the glowing runes on its glass flickering in response to his touch. As he poured the liquid into a heavy mug, a faint crimson glow illuminated the inside of the container.
The ale was a deep amber color with swirling golden flecks suspended within it. A rich, spicy aroma filled the air, making even Lennox's stomach rumble in anticipation.
Carefully, he slid the filled mug across the polished counter towards George.
"Here you go," Lennox said, his voice steady despite the nervous knot in his chest. "This is Emberbrew Ale, one of our finest selections. Normally, it goes for fifty silver a mug, but since the first drink is on the house… well, consider this one my treat."
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George's single eye narrowed slightly as the mug was slid across the bar towards him.
The swirling golden flecks in the ale caught the faint tavern light, casting tiny glimmers onto the rough skin of his hand as he picked it up. The rich, spicy aroma rose to meet him, tickling his nose with a promise of something different.
Fifty silver for a mug of ale, he thought with a grunt. Kid's either bold or a damn fool.
Still, there was something about the way the liquid shimmered and the faint warmth radiating from the mug itself. With a deep breath, George lifted it to his lips and took a slow, deliberate sip.
The world went still.
The first thing he noticed was the texture—it was smooth, velvet-like, sliding over his tongue as if it had been crafted by celestial hands. The spice hit next, sharp but balanced, leaving a faint tingle on his tongue. Then came the warmth—a deep, rich heat that spread from his chest to his fingertips, loosening the stubborn knots of tension in his shoulders and melting away the dull ache from an old injury he'd carried for years.
He closed his eye briefly, letting the moment linger. For a man who had survived on bitter swill served in damp taverns across the continent, this was something else entirely. This was… magic.
"By the gods…" George muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared down at the shimmering surface of the ale. "This ain't no ordinary swill."
The adventurer took another sip, slower this time, letting the drink coat his throat and settle warmly in his belly. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his weathered lips, softening the rough lines of his face.
When he finally set the mug down, it was with great care, as if he were afraid the drink might shatter or disappear if he wasn't gentle enough. He looked up at Lennox, whose knuckles were still white from gripping the edge of the bar.
"You know, lad," George began, his gravelly voice carrying a rare warmth, "when I heard fifty silver, I thought to myself, 'Well, I'll never set foot in this place again. This kid doesn't know the value of coin.' But now…" He gave the mug a little shake, the amber liquid swirling inside catching the light once more. "…I'd say it's worth every bloody copper."
For a brief moment, the tension in the air evaporated. Lennox let out a breath he'd been holding and straightened up slightly, a faint, proud smile creeping onto his face.
George chuckled and leaned back, fishing out his coin pouch and tossing it onto the counter with a heavy clink.
"There's a hundred silver in there, lad. Pour me two more of those beauties."
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