Running a Tavern as a Former Witch!

The newly dried varnished door opened with the ringing of the door chimes. A tall figure covered by a long black cloak stepped in, dragging a brown sack of a flour, but I supposed the content isn't what a flour sack should contain. A bunch of monster cores. Whoever procured the flour sack is undoubtedly a high-level artificer.

I carry on refilling the glass containers lined up in the counter. These were recently gifted to me by Vernon, an exiled artificer who served as some sort of a mentor.

A low yet soothing voice called a yard away from myself.

"How much can you offer for these?" He asked before throwing the sack and spilling some of its contents on the counter. Perplexed, I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. This one had probably mistaken me for an appraiser.

"You've come to the wrong place if you're looking to sell those," I said, brushing some of the spilled cores back into the sack. The man's eyes, a deep, unnerving shade of violet, flickered with curiosity and something more dangerous. He let out a soft laugh, the sound almost musical.

"Perhaps. But I believe you know their worth better than most," he replied, lowering his hood to reveal a chiseled face marred by a single scar that ran from his left temple to the edge of his lip. His presence seemed to make the room colder, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"I used to," I admitted, my hands busy with a rag that I knitted and a bottle, cleaning up the mess. "But now, I serve drinks and stories, not appraisals."

"Then serve me a story," he challenged, taking a seat at the bar. "Tell me about the time you outwitted the Sorcerer of Dreadfall."

His request caught me off guard. Very few knew of my past escapades, especially something as specific as that. I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge his intentions. Was he a friend or foe?

"That was a long time ago," I began, leaning against the counter. "Before I decided to settle in this tavern, when the world was a wilder place, and I was a wilder woman."

His lips curled into a faint smile, encouraging me to continue.

"The Sorcerer of Dreadfall was a formidable foe, one who wielded dark magic with a ruthlessness that sent shivers down even the bravest spines. He sought an ancient artifact, the Heart of Ember, said to grant its bearer immense power. I happened to be in possession of it, though not by choice. It was a cursed item, and I was its reluctant guardian."

I paused, watching the man's reaction. His eyes never left mine, and I could see he was hanging on every word.

"The sorcerer found me in the forests of Eldenwood. We clashed in a battle of wits and magic, one that nearly cost me my life. But in the end, it was his hubris that undid him. I tricked him into a trap of his own making, sealing him within the Heart of Ember itself. The artifact's curse was broken, but it meant I had to give up my powers as well."

The man leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "And now you run this tavern, a sanctuary of sorts for wayward souls."

"Indeed," I said, feeling a pang of nostalgia. "But the past has a way of catching up, doesn't it?"

He nodded slowly, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small, intricately carved box. "I have something that might interest you," he said, sliding the box across the counter.

I opened it cautiously, revealing a glowing gem that pulsed with a familiar, eerie light. "The Heart of Ember," I whispered, my eyes widening in disbelief. "How did you...?"

"That's a story for another time," he said, standing up. "Consider this a token of trust. You'll need it for what's to come."

Before I could respond, he turned and left, the door chimes ringing in his wake. I stared at the gem, a sense of foreboding settling over me. It seemed my quiet life was about to get a lot more complicated.