The door of the inn swung open, casting the chill and rain of the outside world across the threshold. A figure walked in, water dripping from their dark cloak onto the aging floorboards.
Despite the door slamming closed behind them, not a single patron noticed; only one pair of eyes met this new arrival, and Stonebrew's voice followed only slightly later.
"Welcome to my inn!"
The warmth of the words matched the warmth of the fire tucked away in the hearth and by the time the newcomer was sat at the bar, the worst of the water from their cloak was gone.
"What can I getcha tonight?"
The dwarf's accent was hinted with the happiness he never seemed to lose.
From beneath the cloak, a gloved hand drew a coin pouch, sagging under the weight of wealth. The newcomer counted gold pieces from it, small piles stacked neatly on the darkened counter top.
"…148, 149, 150."
With the first words the stranger had spoken that night, Stonebrew began to try to place details together. A male voice, probably human – a little too lithe for an orc, yet too bulky for any elf, now that he stopped to think. The words were crisp; any accent mostly flattened, though carrying a hint of something - perhaps Stormwind - along with them. Never one to miss the cue to start a conversation, Stonebrew looked at the hooded man while trying to choose the first question of the night.
A glance at the man's eyes changed his mind. Whoever this was, they would leave as anonymously as they entered. The stranger coughed awkwardly, casually pointing to the small stack of gold almost unattended between them. Stonebrew gathered them into his palm, the coins cold against his hand, tipping into a pot behind the bar, clinking with each other and the coins of many other gamblers from the night so far.
From underneath the counter, Stonebrew lifted a wooden box, lovingly varnished, with a letter A screwed below the central fastenings. The metal hinges creaked slightly as they opened. From the box, he lay three hero portraits out before the stranger, as the first choice of many for the man that night. Before him lay Uther, Anduin, and Garrosh. The man seemed uncertain for a moment, two fingers gliding above the porcelain portraits, before they lowered next to the young priest, tapping the bar twice.
"Anduin."
Stonebrew slid the man the portrait, returning the other two to the box, and drawing instead a large stack of cards. Over the next few minutes, he dealt many choices to the stranger. Some were instant, a decision made before the last card even touched the bar top. Others took an eternity, as one seemed set, he would switch to another, then back again.
Finally, he was finished. Thirty cards sat next to the stranger, the portrait of Anduin weighing them into place. Lastly, Stonebrew handed the man a humble key and a sheet of enchanted parchment, with space for a number, and three boxes beneath that. Stonebrew smiled as the man took the page, and gestured to one of the few empty tables by the fire.
"Find a seat, and good luck."
It was many hours, drinks served and jokes shared, later before the man returned to the bar. He slid the piece of paper back across first, the cards and portrait shortly after. Twelve wins and two red crosses marked the page.
"Fantastic, my friend! I'd have come and watched ya' final game if it weren't so busy here."
His attempt at a compliment only seemed to net a grunt from the stranger.
"An average performance."
The voice seemed disappointed and very nearly made Stonebrew's blood boil. Average? Twelve wins in the Arena was anything but, especially on a night as chaotic as tonight. But, never one to antagonise his customers, he held his tongue. Reaching onto one of the many shelves behind the bar, Stonebrew pulled down a similarly glowing box and lay it upon the bar, lock facing the stranger.
The man slid the key he had earned into the lock calmly and waited for the mechanisms and enchantments to begin. The lid sprung clear, revealing a number of leather coin pouches, as well as a ribbon wrapped card pack. The man lifted the rewards out carefully, before closing the box, and returning it to Stonebrew. Taking the box back, Stonebrew was about the try talking to the man again, when the sound of a pitcher slamming on the bar, and a thick orcish accent - drunk under several pints of ale, interrupted him.
"Stonebrew! Another!"
By the time he was finished serving, the cloaked man was nowhere to be seen, though on the bar sat a coin pouch, and a hastily written note, the writing elegant yet messy.
Give everyone a drink on me tonight,
-V
Stonebrew smiled as he pinned it to the wall behind him. It should not have been surprising, he chuckled to himself.
This was originally written as a submission to r/Hearthstone 's 350K subscriber writing contest, titled "A Night at the Tavern", but I felt it warranted being uploaded here to preserve it (and so people can find it more easily than by fishing through comments in a reddit thread).
Any - and all - comments and criticisms are more than welcome!
¬ h