The Distiller Episode 1- All the Right Friends, In All The Right Places

The last time we saw our bountifully bewhiskered adventurers, a fellowship had been formed, duties were assigned, and a Barkeep tasked with finding a mysterious Marksman. Now we find a Distiller overlooking a festive gathering…

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The Distiller’s eyes survey the scene. His tavern, the front for his distillery, is alight with several iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, as well as the felicitous countenance that all the patrons possess. Mercantile sailors bellow sea songs, their voices clear and smooth, much like the bourbon they are drinking from their heavy wooden flagons. These sailors had just made the run from the Cremouth islands, west of the realms. These men ship whale oil and meat, fine timber, and Fable Beard Company beard care products across the seas. It was a long voyage, but they are finally home.

In many a-tavern, celebratory sailors fresh off a long voyage spell trouble for an establishment and grievances from the other patrons. In The Distiller’s distillery, nestled in the small port city of Lock on the realms’ southeast coast, the sailors were home. The other patrons are their families, celebrating the return of their loved ones. The drinks and food flow freely as the tavern workers celebrate along with their family and neighbors. It is a beautiful sight that brings a glimmer to The Distiller’s eye’s and a warmth to his heart. The party continues for hours, late into the night. With everyone’s voice gone, and their fill of drink and food, the patrons begin to filter out into the streets.

The Distiller helps his tavern staff clean up the tavern. He’s a kind soul, with a warm face and smile, dressed in cozy, but simple brown robes, and a snug chapeau on his head. He has a rich beard, held in place by a beard oil of his very own creation; a scent of vanilla, spices, and bourbon. It was his first commercial creation.

The Distiller is always interested in creating. As a child he helped his mother cook the most fantastic meals, and helped his father develop some of the best coffee blends ever tasted. He then spent his years as a young man at the monastery, but his curiosity and creativity were still very much alive. At the monastery, his creativity was not as appreciated, however. Apparently, experimenting with the ceremonial red wine was not tolerated. 

The Distiller with no trade, began working at his father’s coffee shop, experimenting with other pursuits in the meantime. One thing the Distiller had in spades was his bushy black beard. It was very difficult to keep under control, growing wild if left untrimmed for too long. Then one day, The Distiller heard of beard care products and decided he would give the profession a try. After many iterations, he developed his very own beard oil. The fairest of maidens couldn’t keep themselves from flocking to the Distiller, if only to get a quick embrace and a whiff of that fine ointment in his facial mane. 

Then, the Wizard came to town and heard word of a man who’s facial hair was the envy of every man in town, and the covetise of every woman. The two met and saw a kindred soul in each other, as well as a business opportunity. The two struck a deal, forever tied together in the bond of brotherhood and partnership. The Distiller creates his scented beard products for the Wizard and the Wizard distributes the product along with his own for a cut of the profits. 

That was fine with the Distiller, as a creative fellow, the Distiller had many interests. One of those interests is the one we find the Distiller participating in tonight.

After cleaning up the tavern, the Distiller bids farewell to his staff and locks the front door. He then walks back toward the distillery. The social affair tonight has the Distiller’s blood pumping, and he decides to play around in his distillery before going to sleep. He walks over to his vat of rum that is brewing.

“A rind of orange and the juice of a lime, with some cinnamon and ginger should create the perfect rum for the sailor,” murmurs the Distiller to himself. 

As he is adding the ingredients and stirring, he hears the creaking of a wagon’s wheels, coming to a stop in front of his establishment. A few moments later, a booming knock emanates from the tavern door. The Distiller wipes his hands on a nearby towel. 

“The tavern is closed for the night, come back later tomorrow and I assure you, you’ll have the best ale you’ve ever had flow into your stomach.” says the Distiller loudly. 

“I need to see the Distiller tonight, for both supplies and lodging,” replies the familiar voice on the other side of the door.

The Distiller quickly strolls to the door and opens it, revealing The Barkeep standing upon the porch, several massive wagons pulled by monstrous oxen are parked behind him.

“Well I’ll be,” shouts the Distiller embracing his friend in an embrace, “you just missed a great gathering. There was singing and merry-making. Not to mention the drink flowed and the food didn’t stop.”

“I wish I could have been there,” replies the Barkeep in his baritone tone. 

“As do I.” says the Distiller, “What brings you to my brewery this night?”

“I am going on a grand adventure and I am needing some supplies. The crew will surely need some of your quality spirits to lift our spirits. We also need a place to lay our heads and rest our oxen,” explains the Distiller.

“This I can provide dear Barkeep, but you have a team of oxen not horses,” wonders the Distiller.

“Yes,” answers The Barkeep.

“So you must have another means of transport? It would take years to move that many supplies back to the Greater Realm. I’d guess you’re moving it on the Baguay River with a barge. With all these logistics, I would expect that you could have bedded down tonight elsewhere. You know, Barkeep, that if I was dead in the mausoleum and you knocked on the door needing anything, I would rise to offer my service. ‘Tis so sweet to see a good friend but I expect that’s not the only reason that you’ve darkened my doorstep tonight,” chuckles the Barkeep.

“Nothing ever gets past you, old friend,” muses the Barkeep, “Might we grab a table and a drink while those in my employ settle in? Then we can talk.”

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The Distiller and Barkeep sit around a table, enjoying the earlier brew the Distiller was concocting.

“You’ve always had the palette for creating the most wonderful drinks. This tropical rum is beyond compare,” says the Barkeep.

“Thank you, but my best work is the bourbon I have brewing in the corner. If you would stay around a few years it would be ready,” laughed the Distiller. “But you have held me in suspense too long. What is your purpose here tonight?” 

“I am searching for a man who is very difficult to find. A Marksman who has been said to have tracked the Devil himself,” spoke the Barkeep in a low tone.

“I know of the man you speak of. A tavern owner in the northern realms spoke of him. He didn’t say much during his stay, but the owner said he headed off towards the west, on the road to a port city named Aquertol. He belongs to a long forgotten order, now seemingly a crossbow for hire,” says the Distiller.

“What kind of order,” asks the Barkeep.

“Legends tell of The King’s Thousand Eyes, an order of multi-disciplined servants of the King. To call them soldiers would insult their subtlety and finesse, to call them simple assassins would discount their prowess in combat. These warriors embodied the stealth and cunning of the greatest assassins, excellency in marksmanship of an archer, and some of the greatest hand-to-hand combat in the kingdom. Some even said they held magical abilities like the ability to speak to animals and destructive magic. I would believe they trained their animals well and even possibly picked up on a spell or two. They were the ultimate weapons, covertly enacting the king’s will throughout the realms. When the throne was overtaken, the new king dissolved the order and sent one of their own to hunt them down. Those who weren’t hunted down dispersed and the order died out. This Marksman you seek could either be a descendent or a pretender, but either way, I would consider him dangerous,” warns the Distiller.

“Yes I will be careful,” says the Barkeep, “in fact, we have a job for him.”