A familiar voice interrupted. Corwin, the elf who’d cleared the rat contract, slapped the counter. “Hey, barkeep, pour your finest free ale for the Children of Corwin!”
Shardon set out six mugs of Foamy Blessed, as agreed.
Contract #3 Fulfilled!
Contract #3 Closed.
Corwin clambered onto the bar, shouting to grab attention. Shardon considered ejecting him but recognized the behavior as a presentation tactic. He let it slide, running an analytical script in the background.
Attention Engagement: 24%.
Shardon took another order, sent it to the kitchen, calculated profits, graphed order intensity, and forecasted the next two hours. He instructed the cook to prep extra roast meat, the day’s top seller, during downtime. A quick Auction House check confirmed herb stocks for Potion of Luck, vital for Foamy Blessed.
Attention Engagement: 63%.
Shardon paused his tasks, focusing on the commotion.
“Hey, looks like a strip show!” a player yelled, eyeing the bar where Rihanna, the leggy elf waitress, adjusted her hiked-up skirt.
“Surprise incoming!” she announced.
“Striptease!” the crowd roared.
Attention Engagement: 97%!
Threshold Exceeded!
Activate Dialogue Template: “Auction 3.”
Shardon set aside a grimy mug and climbed the bar, nudging Corwin and Rihanna aside.
“Right now, before you—” Rihanna began.
“Ahem, thank you, lovely. I’ll handle it,” Shardon cut in. “Lords and ladies, I bear most unfortunate news!”
He paused dramatically, scanning the crowd with a heavy gaze, mimicking a video Sumraxs had shown him for the staged moment.
“No striptease?”
“Spit it out!”
“Tax inspector coming?”
“More like liquor control!”
“There goes our surprise.”
“Only one barrel of delectable Foamy Blessed remains,” Shardon declared. “I didn’t expect such demand. Soon, we’ll run dry and close for the day.”
“Three mugs!”
“Pour me five!”
“Thirty gold per mug!”
“Fifty for two!”
Wealthier, higher-level players upped the bids.
“How much for the barrel?” Bilbo Sumkins, a level-32 hobbit trader, pushed forward, an odd presence in the Reserve.
Shardon calculated, based on the highest mug bid: “Three thousand!”
Silence fell, all eyes on Sumkins. No one in the noob zone could match his coin.
“Done,” Sumkins agreed instantly.
“Wait!” another player, after a hurried huddle with friends, shouted. “I’ll give three-five for it!”
“Four,” Sumkins countered, unfazed.
“Four… four-two,” the player stammered, confidence waning.
“Four-five.”
Silence.
“Five!” Corwin bellowed. “And a free mug for everyone here!”
“Corwin!” Rihanna shrieked, trying to shove him off the bar.
“Today’s the birthday of Fanmir’s future top guild!” Corwin roared. “As leader, I, Corwin the First, invite you to celebrate with a round of the famed Foamy Blessed! Barkeep, roll out that barrel!”
Transaction: 5,000 gold.
Cost of Dark Human Barrel: 3 x 100 = 300 gold.
Cost of Potion of Luck: 135 gold.
Total Cost of Foamy Blessed Barrel: 300 + 135 = 435 gold.
Market Value: 100 mugs x 20 gold = 2,000 gold.
Auctioneer Sumkins’ Fee: 10% of profit (5,000 - 2,000) = 300 gold.
Net Profit: 5,000 - 435 - 300 = 4,265 gold.
Shardon transferred Sumkins’ cut. The rest boosted the Foamhold’s daily revenue, which, after operational costs and losses, would settle into the tavern’s main account.
Tavern Income: 6,805 gold/day.
Milestone: Tavern income raised to 500/day!
+50 Influence Points, +50 Experience, +50 Development Points.
Milestone: Tavern income raised to 1,000/day!
+100 Influence Points, +100 Experience, +100 Development Points.
Milestone: Tavern income raised to 5,000/day!
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
+200 Influence Points, +200 Experience, +200 Development Points.
Level 6 Achieved!
+3 Attribute Points, +3 Skill Points.
“Come get your free ale, courtesy of the Children of Corwin!” Corwin hollered.
In private chat, Rihanna raged: “You half-baked elf! That was my birthday money! What do I tell Mom and Dad? That instead of the hoverboard I begged for two years, my brother bought a virtual beer barrel and gave it away free?”
Player Corwin has blacklisted you. Private messages blocked.
“Kiss from a real elf beauty to whoever punches that smug, pointy-eared jerk!” Rihanna yelled aloud. No one cared.
“Ten! Nine! Eight…” the crowd chanted, counting down. “…Five! Four!”
“Zelenkin! Back me up! I thought you liked me!” Rihanna pleaded.
“Sorry, Rihanna, I keep real life and virtual crushes separate,” the green-skinned healer replied. “Nothing personal, my love.”
“…Three! Two!”
“You’re joining my idiot brother’s virtual guild, you dimwit, stingy—”
“And generous donator. With a gorgeous sister, no less,” Zelenkin grinned.
“What’d he promise you?”
“Clan healer spot, fixed pay, and your real holo-proj—”
“One!” The crowd’s roar drowned Zelenkin’s reply.
A clan crest flared above Corwin’s head—a golden “C” with a symbolic pacifier. The same appeared over Zelenkin, Ukhorez, Podpodmyshkins, and, briefly, Rihanna. Hers flickered and vanished as she quit the Children of Corwin, storming out.
Leaning against the tavern’s log wall, Rihanna sobbed, furious at her brother, Zelenkin, Fanmir’s developers, and her parents, who’d gifted money instead of her coveted hoverboard. She’d mocked Kirill for sinking his gift into premium accounts, expanded bags, a unique Reserve-start questline, and a clan license. She’d laughed but accepted the perks, enchanted by Fanmir’s fantasy. She’d spent two hours tweaking her avatar’s features—eyes, lips, ears—and lingered in the virtual wardrobe’s endless outfits.
Jerk. Idiot. Imbecile.
Kirill had picked her favorite elf race and funded her advanced character editor. A loving brother’s gift to the best sister. Now, having blown her money on his dumb clan, the fun was gone.
“Pardon the intrusion on your… er… moisture-venting process,” a pleasant male voice said.
Rihanna looked up. “Oh, it’s you.”
“No fair lady should be alone on the streets at night. It’s getting chilly,” Shardon said.
“Thanks, Shardon. You’re the first person today to show me any care. Just crude jokes, sleazy offers, butt slaps, and hands up my skirt.”
“Humans are… unrestrained in their urges.”
“And my own brother!”
“Let’s head inside,” Shardon said, gently taking her arm.
Rihanna noticed he wasn’t the portly figure she’d assumed. His attire, tasteful if understated, framed a broad-shouldered man with a neatly groomed beard and striking gray eyes.
“You’ve got… strong arms,” she said. “From hauling heavy barrels?”
“Just pumped Strength by four points,” Shardon replied.
Rihanna smiled. His humor wasn’t half bad.
“So, we going?”
“Yes, I’m freezing. Maybe treat a chilled girl to hot tea?” she batted her eyes.
“Of course.” Shardon opened the door. “After you finish your shift, which, by the way, isn’t over. I’m docking you for that missed hour.”
“Rude. Uncouth. Scripted Casanova,” Rihanna muttered, her romantic spark snuffed as she returned to waitressing.
She couldn’t help noticing Shardon’s scent—meat, herbs, something elusive—and those surprisingly strong hands.
Staff Efficiency Restored!
Current Staff Productivity: 87%.
Shardon resumed studying patrons, monitoring waitresses and orders. Level 6 boosted his processing power by 20%—no match for his creators’ supercomputers but a noticeable edge.
Two players returned every half-hour, splitting a cheap Goblin Karachun and leaving to refresh Fan-the-Fat’s blessing. A couple lingered two hours; the woman chose, the man paid for top-tier dishes. Solid clients.
Staff Efficiency Assessment: Complete.
“Zurilla!” Shardon called the lowest-earning waitress. “Take this gold, run to the florist, and buy the prettiest wildflower bouquet within this budget.”
Five friends celebrated a boss kill, ordering healing food and drinks in bulk.
Compiling Reserve Monster List: 18%.
He’d tweak a quest later.
Three players—two players, one NPC, all level-7 rogues—ate little, drank nothing, and eyed patrons for three hours, occupying a six-seat table. Others approached but didn’t stay.
Current Staff Productivity: 58%.
Rihanna stood idle in a corner, staring at him for five minutes, neglecting orders. Her tips, boosted by her rare elf allure, offset her lax pace—a local novelty.
Shardon > Rihanna: Hey, beauty, why so glum? Sadness doesn’t suit those green eyes!
Rihanna > Shardon: Just remembering stuff. I’m fine, don’t worry.
Shardon > Rihanna: Sure?
Rihanna > Shardon: Totally, honest :-) Thanks for caring!
Shardon > Rihanna: Table three wants to pay.
Rihanna’s smile vanished. Shooting him a miffed glance, she headed to the table.
Current Staff Productivity: 72%.
Odd girl. What was that yellow smiling face? Good mood despite feeling off?
Search: Medical symptoms—Complete.
A yellow face suggested gastrointestinal issues, but Rihanna had no debuffs. He’d monitor her productivity closer.
Back to the rogue trio. Their table’s underuse cost profits.
Crafting Soft Persuasion Phrase: Complete.
“Rihanna, my dear, have I told you no girl in this hall outshines you?” Shardon said.
“N-no, Mr. Shardon,” she stammered, blushing, tucking a stray lock behind her headband.
“Only your radiant smile can cheer those grim fellows and coax an order.”
“Right, on it!”
Rihanna grabbed a menu and dashed to the table. The rogues’ reception was icy. She returned five minutes later, cheeks flaming, nostrils flaring, eyes sparking.
“Jerks! Brutes! Thieves!” she fumed.
“What’d they order?”
“Me! Mr. Shardon, kick them out! They spewed filth, the scarred one slapped my butt, and… they…” She faltered.
“What’d they do?”
“Robbed me! All my tips from the last hour!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
Rihanna resumed work, and Shardon tackled the issue. He invested his new resources to amplify profits.
Guest Room Construction Complete!
+200 Experience.
Spent: 172 Development Points (178 remaining).
Brewery Upgraded to Level 2!
+50 Experience.
Spent: 100 Development Points (78 remaining).
He could now rent a two-person room and brew six drink lines simultaneously, provided he had recipes. Reviewing the tavern’s upgrade paths:
- Inn: Requires 4 guest rooms, Level-2 Stable.
- Gambling House: Requires 2 guest rooms, Level-3 Gambling Hall.
- Hotel: Requires 10 Level-2 guest rooms.
- Restaurant: Requires 2 halls, Level-5 Kitchen.
Each needed specific staff, with room quality and worker levels affecting income and an obscure “Social Responsibility” metric.
Zurilla returned, interrupting. “Sir, flowers as ordered!”
“Thanks, back to work.”
Current Staff Productivity: 92%.
Shardon sought Rihanna, but she was busy with the Children of Corwin, now 10 strong, spending lavishly. He set the bouquet on the counter and messaged:
Shardon > Rihanna: My gem, when you’re free, come see me.
For two minutes, she ignored him. Then, glancing over, her face lit up in a wide smile.
Rihanna > Shardon: Sure thing! One sec, taking an order :-.*
Another yellow face, now grimacing—per old 2D images, akin to toothache pain. Yet, despite apparent ailment, Rihanna hustled, boosting productivity.
Current Staff Productivity: 97%.