Gunter Heade

  • Derren Parsons
  • 3 min read

The door to The Restless Rooster creaked open, and a gust of cool, crisp air swept in, carrying with it the scent of pine and freshly fallen leaves. A lone traveler stepped inside, shaking off the chill and taking in the warm glow of the roaring fire and the gentle murmur of voices that filled the room.

Gunter Heade, the innkeeper, was behind the bar, his thick arms moving deftly as he poured a frothy mug of mead for a patron. He looked up as the traveler approached, his eyes lighting up with a friendly smile.

“Good evening, friend,” Gunter said, his voice rich and warm. “What can I get for you?”

The traveler, a weary-looking man with a dusty cloak and a worn pack slung over his shoulder, hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Just a warm meal and a bed for the night, if you’ve got it,” he said, his voice rough from the road.

Gunter nodded, his smile widening. “You’ve come to the right place, my friend,” he said, gesturing to a cozy corner by the fire. “Take a seat and I’ll see to it that you’re well taken care of.”

As the traveler settled in by the fire, Gunter moved about the room with a practiced ease, taking orders and carrying plates with the grace of a seasoned professional. And as the night wore on, the gentle murmur of voices gave way to laughter and song, filling the inn with a warmth and joy that was as comforting as a mother’s embrace.

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