Murder & Mead

Episode 1 - "The First Pour" - Where the mead flows, and the corpses stack.

Poison at the First Pour | A Fantasy Tavern Mystery in White Rocks

On the opening night of White Rocks’ newest magical tavern, a noble collapses from poison. Secrets, shadows, and enchantments stir at Murder & Mead.

Opening Day in a Magical Tavern

Dawn crept through the stained-glass windows of Murder & Mead. Jewel-toned light painted the worn floorboards. Laurie stood in the center of her empty tavern, hands on hips. She squinted at a painting of a ship caught in tempestuous seas. She stepped forward, adjusting it for the fifth time that morning, though it hung straight.

Meet the Staff of Murder & Mead

"If you keep fussing with that thing, you'll wear a hole in the wall," Gorruk said. His half-orc frame loomed imposing even as he polished the long bar counter with slow strokes. His voice remained steady, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed his nervousness.

Laurie snorted, adjusting her bustier with practiced ease. "And if you polish that counter anymore, we'll be serving drinks on a mirror." Her voice softened despite the sarcasm, and Gorruk's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. Her fingers moved toward the painting again before she dropped her hand.

The L-shaped bar dominated the northern wall, its dark wood gleaming beneath Gorruk's attention. Behind it, swinging doors led to Leo's kitchen, where the lionfolk chef cursed over bubbling pots. The enchanted taps—gifts from a grateful brewer whose life Laurie had once saved with nothing but a fork and creative threats—hummed, ready to pour their first drinks.

In the southwest corner, Seren arranged herbs and tinctures in the Alchemy Alcove. She positioned bottles of glowing liquid and bundles of dried plants. Her escaped-noble fingers worked with surprising efficiency, though her gaze drifted toward the windows.

First Patrons and Whispered Rumors

"The flowers say it's going to rain tonight," she murmured to no one in particular. She tucked a sprig of lavender behind her ear.

At the center of the room, the sunken hearth crackled with magical flames that never needed tending—the Everwarm Hearth, as they'd named it in the tavern's new guidebook. Stone benches circled it, still empty of the patrons Laurie hoped would soon fill them with stories and coin.

"Is the trapdoor locked?" Laurie asked, eyeing the half-hidden hatch near the bar that led down to their Sunken Cellar. "Last thing we need is some drunk fool falling in and drowning in our beer reserves."

Gorruk grunted an affirmative. "Locked and warded. Not even Milo could pick it."

As if summoned by his name, the halfling entertainer swung down from the rafters. He landed with grace on the small stage in the northeast corner.

"Slander and lies, my mountainous friend," Milo said, strumming a chord on his lute. "Though I appreciate the vote of confidence. The stage runes work—voice carries to every corner." He winked at Laurie. "And your coin purse is still where you left it. For now."

Laurie rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. She'd collected her staff like others collected strays—each broken in their own way, each valuable beyond measure.

Milo, who lifted valuables only from the rich and rude.

A Noble Guest and a Poisoned Toast

Gorruk, the former underground gladiator who, whittled wooden figurines to quiet his memories.

Seren fled from nobility with her herbal knowledge.

Leo, in the kitchen, exiled from her pride for choosing cuisine over combat.

And then there was Brynn, the half-elven server and apprentice brewer, who now pushed through the front door. She looked stoic except for the slight widening of her eyes at the transformed space.

"It looks..." Brynn paused, searching for words with her characteristic care. "...like home."

"Home with a chance of murder," Milo said, dodging the cloth Laurie snapped at him.

"The name is metaphorical, you insufferable pocket thief," Laurie said. "Murder the troubles of your day with a good mead. It's marketing."

"It's asking for trouble," Gorruk said, but his gruff tone held no real censure.

Laurie surveyed her domain once more—the mismatched tables and chairs salvaged from shipwrecks and arena discards. The narrow side exit on the west wall for deliveries or hasty retreats. The Whispering Wall on the south side that they'd discovered was cursed to repeat secrets at midnight. They'd decided to keep that particular feature; it added character.

"Well," she said, planting her hands on the bar. "Let's murder the suspense and pour some damn mead. Open the doors."

The first patrons arrived with caution, hovering at the doorway before committing to entry. Dock workers mostly, with salt-stiffened clothes and suspicious eyes. A few merchants sought refreshment before returning to their ships. They scanned the room, taking in the magical hearth, the enchanted mugs that hummed as they were filled, and the eclectic staff that moved among the tables.

Whispers followed in their wake.

"Heard the owner used to taste poisons for some royal or another..."

"That wall—they say it's cursed..."

"Why's it called 'Murder & Mead'? That some kind of threat?"

Chaos, Accusations, and Antidotes

Laurie moved among them with practiced ease, her smile sharp but genuine. Her banter flowed as smooth as the drinks she served. "The house special is Mead of Memory," she told a weather-beaten sailor. "Sweet going down, but it might bring back things you'd rather forget... or invent memories you wish you had."

The man laughed but took the drink. His eyes widened at the first sip. "Tastes like my grandmother's garden," he said, wonder softening his face. "Haven't thought of that place in twenty years."

At the bar, Gorruk maintained order with nothing more than his imposing presence. Brynn moved between tables, her economy of movement making her seem almost spectral. When a patron knocked over a mug, her hand shot out to catch it before it hit the ground.

"Fast reflexes," the startled customer said.

Brynn nodded and moved on, leaving the patron staring after her.

In the kitchen doorway, Leo appeared with a dramatic flourish. Her mane framed her feline face as she announced the day's special. "The Briarrrroot Stew is rrready, darrrlings!" she said, rolling her R's. "A culinarrry triummmph to transporrt your senses!"

Despite the theatrical delivery, the stew proved popular—thick, aromatic, and indeed best eaten with a weapon nearby. One patron discovered this when his spoon dissolved halfway through the meal.

"It strengthens the blood," Leo said, replacing the spoon with a sturdier utensil.

As noon approached, the tavern had settled into a rhythm. Milo entertained with riddles and sleight-of-hand tricks that coincided with the lightening of rude patrons' purses. Seren moved between tables, offering herbal teas "for what ails you." Her quiet insights often left customers unsettled but comforted.

Laurie had just begun to relax when the front door swung open. A hush fell over the tavern.

The Countess of White Rocks entered like she owned not just the building but the very air within it. Tall, statuesque, and adorned in silks that cost more than a month of the tavern's hoped-for earnings, she stood framed in the doorway. She scanned the room with the detached interest of someone evaluating livestock.

Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she advanced, each step deliberate and measured. Behind her trailed two attendants—a pinch-faced woman clutching a ledger and a bored-looking young man with a sword that appeared more decorative than functional.

The clicking stopped when she reached the center of the room. Conversations died. Even Leo's kitchen theatrics fell silent.

Laurie's smile fixed in place, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists behind the bar. "Countess," she said, her voice careful. "What an unexpected honor."

The Countess's lips curved in what approximated a smile but never reached her eyes. "Laurel," she said, using Laurie's full name with pointed formality. "I could hardly miss the grand opening of the latest... establishment... in my district."

Gorruk moved to stand behind Laurie, his presence a mountain of potential at her back.

"We're flattered by your interest," Laurie said. Brynn appeared at her side with a glass of mead—the expensive reserve they'd purchased for their grand opening, intended only for the most distinguished guests.

The Countess accepted the glass with two fingers as though taking it with her full hand might contaminate her. "Charming name," she said, glancing at the painted sign. "'Murder & Mead.' Rather direct, isn't it?"

"We believe in truth in advertising," Laurie said, her smile unwavering.

A few patrons shifted, eyes darting between the women. The tension in the room pulled taut as a bowstring.

The Countess made a show of looking around. Her gaze lingered on the Whispering Wall, and then the trapdoor returned to Laurie. "I see you've made use of the... peculiarities... of this property. Bold choice. The previous three businesses that attempted to establish here failed within a month."

"Fourth time's the charm," Laurie said.

"Indeed." The Countess swirled her untouched mead. "Well, I should propose a toast, shouldn't I? To new beginnings."

She raised her glass, and the room followed suit. Laurie's hand trembled as she lifted her own glass, something that didn't escape the Countess's notice.

"Nervous, Laurel? You never used to show it when you served my table."

"Just excited for this new chapter," Laurie said. "To Murder & Mead, where troubles die and spirits rise."

The Countess's eyes narrowed. "Clever." She raised the glass to her lips and took a delicate sip. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Surprisingly adequate."

Something like genuine amusement flickered across her features, softening them for a moment—and then her expression contorted. The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor as she clutched at her throat. A heartbeat later, she collapsed, crumpling to the floorboards with a grace that contradicted her precise movements of moments before.

Gasps and cries erupted around the room. Several patrons leapt back, knocking over chairs in their haste. Others froze, drinks halfway to their lips, suddenly suspicious of their own beverages.

"Countess!" Laurie rushed from behind the bar, reaching the fallen woman in two strides. She knelt beside her, fingers pressing against her neck in search of a pulse.

The attendants reacted late—the woman shrieking, the young man drawing his ornamental sword with more enthusiasm than skill.

"Stand back!" Gorruk said. His voice cut through the chaos as he moved to intercept the panicking swordsman before he could endanger anyone.

Brynn was already clearing the area around the Countess. Her efficient movements belied the alarm in her eyes. "Breathing," she said to Laurie. "Pulse rapid."

Seren materialized beside them, a small vial of greenish liquid in her hand. "Eyelids," she said, and when Laurie complied by lifting one of the Countess's eyelids, Seren peered at the dilated pupil. "Poison," she said. "Not in the mead—it would have affected her differently. This is a poison that works through touch. Check her glass."

Secrets Behind the Bar

Milo was already there, crouched beside the shattered remnants. He avoided touching any of the pieces. "Strange film on the rim," he said. "Slight discoloration. Someone doctored her glass before she drank."

The young swordsman lunged forward. "Assassins! You've killed her!"

"She's not dead," Laurie said, "and if you don't lower that toy, I'll show you how much difference exists between a playacting noble and someone who's tasted poisons for a living."

The swordsman faltered, uncertain.

"Leo!" Laurie called toward the kitchen. "Bring my kit from behind the bar—the red box with the silver clasps!"

The lionfolk chef appeared moments later, the emergency poison kit clutched in her paws. "Is she going to die?" Leo asked, her usual dramatic tones subdued by concern. "Because while I enjoy a bit of theatrical tavern drama, darling, a dead noblewoman is beyond my preferred spectacle."

"She's not going to die," Laurie said, opening the kit and selecting vials. "Not in my tavern, not from poison, and certainly not before she settles her tab."

As Laurie worked, administering antidotes with the confidence of long practice, the rest of the staff moved to control the situation. Gorruk stationed himself at the door, preventing panicked exits while Brynn secured the scattered, frightened patrons.

"No one leaves," she said, her quiet voice carrying to every corner. "The Countess was targeted. We need to understand what happened."

"Why should we stay?" a merchant asked. "What if we're next?"

"You weren't important enough to poison the first time," Milo said, "so why waste good poison on you now?"

Seren touched the merchant's arm. "The poison was meant only for her glass," she said. "If the assassin wanted to fell everyone in the tavern, they would have chosen a different method. You're safer remaining calm."

Meanwhile, the Countess's attendants hovered uselessly. The woman still clutched her ledger like a shield, the young man having finally sheathed his sword at Gorruk's insistence.

"Will she recover?" the woman asked, her voice high with anxiety. "The Duke will have our heads if she dies under our supervision."

"She'll recover," Laurie said. "I recognize the poison now. Blackvine extract. Nasty, efficient, but not usually fatal with prompt treatment. She'll be unconscious for several hours."

"Someone attempted to assassinate the Countess in our tavern on opening day," Brynn said, appearing at Laurie's side. Her tone was flat, but her eyes conveyed the severity of their situation.

"Coincidence?" Milo asked, but his usual flippancy sounded hollow.

"There are no coincidences in poisonings," Laurie said. She looked up at the room full of potential suspects, witnesses, and victims. "Well," she said with grim determination, "this wasn't exactly the opening day special I had planned."

Hours later, with the Countess stabilized and moved to one of the upstairs rooms and the city guard notified but suspiciously slow in their response, Laurie retreated to the back room behind the bar. Her breathing came in shallow, rapid bursts as she gripped the edge of a table for support. She allowed herself a moment of private panic.

The door creaked, and she straightened, mask back in place. It was only Gorruk. The half-orc's expression remained unreadable, but concern showed in the set of his shoulders.

"Tavern's clear," he said. "Guards finally showed up, took statements, left again. Said they'd return tomorrow for the Countess."

"Diligent as ever," Laurie said. "I'm sure solving an attempted assassination of the city's most powerful noble is right at the top of their priority list—somewhere below harassing street vendors and collecting their tribute."

"The patrons?"

"Gone, except for that one fellow who passed out under the table near the hearth. I told Brynn to leave him—he's harmless, and we could use the business." Laurie attempted a smile, but it faltered. "Gods, Gorruk. Opening day. I knew there'd be trouble, but this..."

"You handled it," he said.

"I almost didn't. That poison—it was imperial class. Restricted. The kind only royalty and their assassins can access." She looked up at him, revealing the genuine fear behind her composure. "Someone came into my tavern and tried to murder a noble using the exact kind of poison I was trained to detect when I served the royal court. That's not random."

Gorruk absorbed this, his frown deepening. "A ploy to cast blame?"

"Or a scheme. My past isn't exactly secret, but it's not common knowledge either." Laurie pushed away from the table, pacing the small room. "Who even knew the Countess would be here today? We didn't announce it—I certainly didn't invite her."

"The wall," Gorruk said.

A Shadow in the Night

Laurie stopped pacing. "The Whispering Wall? You think it... what? Overheard someone planning this?"

"It repeats secrets at midnight. Maybe it picked up something useful."

"Worth a try." Laurie rubbed her temples. "Meanwhile, we have an unconscious Countess upstairs, a tavern full of enchanted but untested magical elements, and a staff of—let's face it—dubious souls with shadowed pasts."

"Your eye for talent could use refinement," Gorruk said, the ghost of a smile touching his face.

"Oh please. You're all gems. Cracked, possibly cursed gems, but still valuable." Laurie straightened her bustier with renewed determination. "We're going to solve this. The Countess will recover, we'll catch whoever tried to poison her, and Murder & Mead will become famous for thwarting an assassination rather than hosting one."

Gorruk didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "I'll stand watch tonight. Take shifts with Brynn."

"Good. I want someone checking on the Countess every hour. And have Seren prepare more antidote—the effects sometimes return in waves."

As they emerged from the back room, the empty tavern greeted them—quiet now without the earlier commotion. Only the crackling of the Everwarm Hearth broke the silence. Laurie surveyed the space, her dream made tangible despite the day's disaster.

The Beginning of a Fantasy Tavern Mystery

At the far end of the room, a shadow moved across the Whispering Wall. Both Laurie and Gorruk froze, watching as the shadow detached itself from the wall and slipped toward the side exit. Too small for an adult human—a child perhaps, or a halfling—it paused at the door and, for a brief moment, turned back toward them.

A flash of teeth in a smile, a quick gesture that might have been a salute or a threat, and then the figure was gone. It slipped through the door before either could react.

"Was that—" Gorruk began.

"I don't know," Laurie said, cutting him off. "But I think our opening day just got extended." She strode to the door, peering out into the alley, but there was no sign of the intruder. "Set sentries tonight. No one enters or leaves without our knowledge."

Outside, the sky darkened with approaching rain, just as Seren had predicted. The enchanted mugs behind the bar began to hum within the tavern, signaling the many lies told throughout the day.

The first chapter of Murder & Mead had begun with an attempted murder, missing secrets, and a shadow in the night. As Laurie secured the side door, she couldn't decide whether this was the worst possible start to her new business venture—or, strangely, the most fitting.

Either way, the mead would continue to pour.