Tamil Rivers is the owner and operator of the Maple House, Berador's only public ale house and rooms for rent. The villagers and farmers from nearby frequent Tamil's place to trade gossip and tales, slake their thirst on a hot summer day and to discuss important "town business." This last item occurs rather rarely.
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
The afternoon sun beams into the common room of the Maple House through the two large windows flanking the stout oak door, providing the only light in the otherwise dim drinking hall. Motes of dust sparkle and swirl in the sunlight as the door swings inward to admit a slim fellow in clean, well-kept tunic and trousers.
"Gerry!" several of the patrons call out in a delighted chorus, and the newcomer's sharp blue eyes and easy smile brighten the dusky room just a little more. The heavy door thuds closed as Gerry makes his way to a bench near the bar. Two roughly dressed and somewhat dirty field hands scramble to make room for him, and a blonde beauty with laughing green eyes plunks a mug of maple beer down as Gerry takes his seat.
The general buzz of the place, briefly interrupted by the priest's arrival, resumes as ten different conversations pick up where they left off. Gerry sips his beer and listens politely as the sweaty field hand on his left complains of the drudgery of digging potatoes and the mess of dirt under his fingernails and the heat of the late summer sun.
The Proprietor
"Heat?" a well-known voice calls out with a hint of laughter and more than a hint of bravado. "You don't know the first thing about heat, Kerry Wakefield!" the voice growls and grows in volume as its owner moves from behind the bar.
Tamil "Tam" Rivers deposits an empty beer mug on the bar and tosses his gleaming white towel over his shoulder where it rests as he shuffles out towards Gerry's table. Tam is a bear of a man, fully six feet four inches tall, barrel-chested and a bit round in the belly. The streaks of gray in his shaggy brown mane and thick brown beard tell the true tale of his age. He wears a white apron over his workman's coveralls. As he shambles to his spot the room grows quiet in anticipation of the tale. Everyone can see he's favoring his left leg a bit more than usual. Everyone in the joint recognizes the walk; Tam's going to tell the Dragon story again.
The Dragon Tale
Tam jerks his bone pipe from between his teeth and tosses it on the table. He takes a pull from the heavy clay jar sitting on the table and drops it back in its place. His right eyelid flickers and his eye looks a bit damp as he clears his throat and inhales the hot, sweet flavor of the whiskey. "Seems when I was your age, Kerry, I felt a bit o' the heat myself," Tam grumbles. He's just loud enough to be heard throughout the room and quiet enough to draw his audience to him. They've all heard the story a hundred times before, but Tam's quite the entertainer, and he knows well the power of his voice.
"Aye, was 'long about thirty five, maybe forty years ago when I had a mind to see the world. 'Venturin' they called it. Well, I had me a ‘venture or two." Everyone leans in, listening intently, sipping their drinks and paying well for the refills as the blonde hostess makes her rounds. Tam tells the tale well, and everyone is rightly impressed with size and majesty of the beast. They imagine they can feel the heat of its breath themselves as it barrels over them, fangs dripping flaming death. As the hero lands his crashing axe blow to the serpentine neck of the monster the crowd cheers.
The Reason
Tam's eyes lighten. He smiles knowingly, nods to a nearby patron and winks at one of the pretty young ladies in the crowd. He appreciates a good audience when he tells his tale. And he loves it when they spend their money on his fine maple beer.
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