Roderick

Greyshire inn was located in a secluded part of the Capital City of the Empire, which some might consider a miracle in itself, for there remained a few places in the overly populated Capital City that could even remotely be called 'secluded'. A person new to the region might not even notice the inn at a first glance, so was it made, with a heavy set door and a particularly small door handle, and dark tinted windows. It was so masterfully designed to hide in plain sight, that some considered the structure no less than art. And those 'some' were few in number as one would expect, for only few knew about this place.

What Roderick liked the most was the interior of Greyshire inn. To the immediate right was the higher bar, two bartenders standing at constant service, round bar stools with leather seats lined up neatly along. The left had tables and chairs set far apart such that each table would provide sufficient privacy to its occupant. The place was always dimly lit, except the bar, the bartenders had once tried to explain to him the reason about how and why that was done, something related to maintaining the drinks, but Roderick had never paid much attention to such minor details pertaining to spirit. A mild smell of alcohol lingered as one neared the bar. The temperature was always warmer than that outside which Roderick considered a pleasant change. In fact not only the temperature but the temperament of Greyshire was so different that it gave Roderick a disconnected feeling from the world outside, or Capital City, if one was to be more precise. Perhaps, that was the reason he liked it so.

Roderick had oft inquired of the bartender, who was also the owner of the inn, about why would one design a inn in a fashion so devious? Would it not defy the ultimate purpose of managing an inn- to make a little profit? The bartender struck 'some' as an eccentric fellow. He had smiled at Roderick's doubts and said, "Would you have come to this place was it not so designed? The same can be said for my other customers, would you not agree?" Roderick had then remarked at how that was the way to question his question but he did accede to the fact that he would never have stepped into Greyshire was it structured otherwise, so he argued no more.

Roderick knew he was no easy customer, in fact that would be an understatement, for he visited Greyshire in dire times. His very purpose of coming to Greyshire was that his mood was sour, and his conduct yet more. It was in such times that Greyshire had proved to function best, thus providing a new dimension of service, years ahead of its time and maybe even times to come.

One such occasion was that day when Roderick kept demanding Furginian wine. The bartender cum owner warned, "Any more alcohol and your systems might rupture, friend."

"Now now, what sort of bartender are you, Clint? What sort of bartender denies a drink? Your whole business thrives on the fact that drunkards like me devour your barrels of wine," said Roderick, looking at his now empty glass.

"As a code, bartenders are not exactly supposed to get a customer drunk, Roderick. We are supposed to rejuvenate your spirit and not further scatter it," said a disappointed Clint.

"Enough of all your preachings about spirit and all. Isn't there a 'customer must never leave unsatisfied' code?" inquired Roderick, "Pour me the freaking wine now will you, O Priest?"

"Dearest me, what have I done to offend you so, a drunk customer is always unsatisfied anyways, so the code becomes void, you see? But wait, worry not, I have a better solution," saying so Clint turned to face the collection of casks and bottles, removing some and selecting others.

Roderick did not further argue for he was always interested in what the bartender might conjure from up his sleeve. He was no less than a magician when it came to concocting drinks, how he found the perfect flavor for his mood was beyond Roderick.

"So was it another court council?"asked Clint, trying to produce from the lower shelves.

"Well, not exactly, but let's just say they are doing what should not be done. Any sane man can see that blind as day, and yet here I am," though Roderick couldn't divulge much in terms of information to the bartender, he always found himself more open in here. That was ironical for the place was closed from the world. But he always felt Clint was more inclined towards mending his mood rather than knowing about the Empire.

"Then that comes as absolutely no surprise to me, if I am to be honest. We humans have long mastered the art of doing what should not be done," said the bartender, as he finally started to stir and concoct the ingredients.

Roderick gave a weak laugh, he would have laughed more was it more a joke than truth.

"Such factors cloud their vision they see no more than a bat during day. The main problem arises when they wish not to see the truth. That is the time they stop learning and all comes to standstill for them. For they start considering they know enough about everything, while the truth stands aloof. The truth is they know nothing for they are human.

"And you tell them this, they look at you with a weary eye and a stumbling step, and say how they already know what was stated or how what is said stands false without any reason presented. A man who thinks he knows enough can never learn," said Roderick looking at the numerous bottles on the well lit shelves.

Clint presented the glass with a light tap so as not to disturb the drink. The glass had a red hue on top while the bottom was a mild green turning to yellow towards the edges. Clint stated as he edged the glass towards Roderick with three fingers, "That is for one cannot learn what he thinks he already know."

Roderick stared at the glass and the mildly merging shades for a while, which led Clint to say," It called The..."

Roderick cut him," No Sir, I wish not to know the name, I know I will forget. But the same can't be said for the flavor. You must remember the name for that is your job. My job here is to savour the drink."

"A poet you should have become," remarked Clint as he saw Roderick sip his drink.

At first the flavor was strong Furginian, but with a bit of variation, as the taste of alcohol varied. It was the aftertaste that packed a punch. It was a seeming opposite of the Furginian wine, a taste he then realised could be as good as the wine. It had a bitter sour feel with the citrus hint.

"And that my friend has extremely low alcohol," Clint said.

It hit Roderick, how the taste complimented his current predicament. How his addiction to the Furginian wine was both fulfilling and destroying; just like his addiction to tactics and such dealings in the Empire. Then there was the aftertaste that betrayed what all he thought sustained him. That contradicted what he knew about his own addictions.

But in the end, the taste arises from the Furginian wine.

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