Tavern Tale — The Braggart and the Desert Phantasm
On the edge of the Old Town stands a small, timeworn tavern where the local men gather.
Its name is The Abundant Barley Field.
Its signature pour is a barley ale brewed from grain raised on the Plain—ealu.
It’s toasty, full-bodied, a little rough around the edges.
Each year, brewers on the Plain blend their own secret herbs and vie for a flavor all their own.
Lately the younger brewers have been tinkering with new methods, and brighter, crisper ealu has come into fashion.
But at the old-school Abundant Barley Field, they still serve ealu made the simplest way—just as in the earliest days.
This cup carries a long history.
They say ealu began as a harvest festival on the Plain.
And that it was born by accident.
Porridge cooked in great quantity for the feast was forgotten in a back storeroom; wild yeast from the air slipped in, and time turned it into drink.
Early ealu, driven by wild yeast in “primary fermentation,” shed its sweetness and took on a tart, cloudy bite—a sweet-sour drink you’d soak bread in, more meal than drink.
Later, dedicated brewers learned to cultivate yeast and reproduce ealu reliably.
They added a period of maturation after primary fermentation to mellow the flavor and let the lees settle, making it easier to drink.
Even so, in those early days many batches spoiled from stray microbes.
To stave off spoilage, they would simmer the barley mash with a combination of wild Plain herbs—gruit—before casking and storing it, which not only helped prevent rot and improved keeping but also infused the brew with flavor.
As this method spread, differences in the herbs used for each gruit yielded distinct flavors in the finished ealu, giving every brewer a signature profile.
As for the name ealu, some village elders say it comes from an old nomad tongue, but no one knows for sure.
Most folk on the Plain simply believe it means “the bounty born of barley.”
For that bounty, people crowd the Abundant Barley Field again tonight.
Once again tonight, three familiar faces have claimed their usual wooden table.
They’d started on ealu not long after dusk and were already well into their cups.
Then the tavern door swung open, and in staggered another drunk.
He’s well known here — the man everyone calls the Braggart.
Man A: Oi, you’re already drunk, ain’t ya?
Braggart: Went drinkin’ at that new tavern down South.
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Man B: Man, that weak watered-down South ealu? How’d you drink that stuff?
Man C: Ha! If that gets you tipsy, you could get drunk off the Narethil water!
Man B: Damn right! Hahaha!
Man A: Wait, hold up… this guy don’t need booze to spin tall tales.
Braggart: Shut it. Just drink your damn ealu.
Laughing off the jibes, the Braggart took a lone seat at the counter and ordered the tavern’s famed ealu.
The taciturn tavern keeper filled a terracotta mug to the brim with ealu and set it down before the Braggart.
Man B: C’mon, Braggart, tell us somethin’ funny!
Braggart: Hold up, lemme get a sip o’ my ealu first.
Man C: What, that South swill ain’t loosenin’ your tongue enough?
The Braggart snorted and gulped down the ealu in three quick gulps.
Braggart: So, what’re you lot treatin’ me to, huh?
Man A: Heard enough city gossip to last a lifetime. If you got somethin’ fresh, we’ll buy you the daily plate.
Braggart: Hey, barkeep—what’s today’s Daily plate?
Tavern Keeper: Trader goods came in. Steppe milk porridge with Plains mustard greens, Elba herb cheese, and smoked Narethil fish.
Braggart: Ohh, now that’s fine!
He thumped the table happily and glanced at their spread.
Braggart: So, what’re you fellas eatin’?
Man B: Just the set—white bread and dried figs.
Braggart: Hmph. Add that set for dessert, then.
Man A: Better be a damn good tale you’re sellin’.
Braggart: Oh, it’s fresh—some curious desert rumors.
Man C: Desert story with dessert, huh?
Braggart: Shut it. Just drink your damn ealu.
The table roared with laughter.
The tavern keeper slid over a wooden plate topped with a terracotta bowl of porridge, Elba cheese, and smoked fish—silent as ever.
Braggart: You lot ever hear a rumor like this…?
The Braggart always opened with that same old line.
At the cue, the trio of drunkards went quiet, ears pricked to listen.
Braggart: That’s what folks call the “Desert Phantasm.”
The trio turned toward him as one, like it was their silent signal.
Braggart: It’s like the desert legends…
Plenty of “Desert Phantasms” out there, but tonight I’ll spin you the four big ones.
Night-Mirage Lake, Phantom Pillar of Light, Phantom Legion’s Night Parade, and The Ephemeral Citadel.
But mind you — their truth’s a foggy business.
Man A: Sounds fishy already.
Braggart: Just listen. Night-Mirage Lake’s the real deal — a miracle of desert nature. Some caravans swear they’ve seen it. But the other three… well.
The Braggart tipped back his terracotta mug and drained the last of his ealu.
Man B: C’mon now, quit stallin’ and spill it.
Braggart: Hey barkeep, another mug!
He passed the empty to the tavern keeper and went on.
Braggart: First — Night-Mirage Lake.
Shows up outta nowhere under the moon, clear as glass, starry sky reflected so perfect you’d think the world flipped upside down. Then, come dawn, gone without a trace.
Next — Phantom Pillar of Light.
A single white beam shootin’ straight to the heavens from bare sand. Too bright to stare at long.
Third — Phantom Legion’s Night Parade.
Black riders marchin’ over the dunes, banners flappin’, drums echoing. But chase after ’em and there’s no one — only tracks in the sand.
And last — The Ephemeral Citadel.
They say on new-moon nights a pale castle rises from the desert with a whole ghostly town about it, then vanishes by sunrise.
But here’s the rub — the reason no one’s sure about the last three? Folks who claim to’ve seen ’em and told the tale in the capital… vanish come next day.
Man A: Ha! So it ain’t a tall tale, it’s a straight-up horror tale!
Man C: Uh… I don’t like horror much…
Man B: Want me to walk you to the privy, scaredy-cat?
Man C: S-shut up!
The table burst out laughing.
The tavern keeper set down a fresh, brimming mug of ealu in front of the Braggart.
Braggart: Well, anyway — just dumb gossip from the capital.
Man A: Still, that daily plate looks good. Hey, barkeep, bring me one!
Man B: Oh, me too!
Man C: Uh, I’ll have a half size.
Man A: What's ”Half size”? (laughs)
The Braggart bit happily into a chunk of Elba cheese and spoke with a grin.
Braggart: Someday, how about we all go chase down these ‘Desert Phantasms’ together?
Man A: Ha! Now that’d be somethin’.
Man C: Hey, you did hear the part about folks vanishing, right?
Man B: Relax, I’ll tag along to the outhouse with you.
Man C: That again?! Cut it out with the toilet jokes!
Laughter broke out around the table.
—And so, from this tavern were born the legendary “Desertbusters.”
In later years, the Desertbusters themselves came to be spoken of as just another “Desert Phantasm”… or maybe not.
The Abundant Barley Field — a tavern in Saint-Prea.
Locals fondly called it simply “the Barley Field.”
It was an old tavern, handed down through many keepers.
They said the present barkeep had once roamed as a traveling merchant.
Because of that, not only the usual local drunks but also old road-worn traders still found their way back here.
At the far end of the lively counter, one such merchant sat alone, happily devouring the tavern’s famed ealu and the day’s special plate.
Even if the talk was all nonsense, the merry night at the Barley Field wore on as it always did.
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AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.