Come one, come one, come all, come all,
And be transported from this Hall
To stand before a red inn door
Where many a traveller's stood before.

'Whatever road you seek or take,
Be welcome to the Winsome Drake!'
The sun's last light illumes a sign
That bears a dragon as design.

But not a drake alone, it's strange--
You squint, and all lines rearrange
To form a lass with few clothes on--
You blink: the second scene is gone.

The wind is chill, your feet are sore,
You enter through the beckoning door.
And once your horse is stabled here
The taproom's chatter draws you near.

So up the glasses, up the hour,
And all raise toast to Cholen's power--
If you've a dusty throat to slake
There's drinking in the Winsome Drake.

The locals greet you, ask your name.
They haven't awe for wealth or fame--
They're friendly here, and friendly more
If you'll pick up a round or four.

And Jock's a blacksmith, Londer cooks,
Ytaer counts beans and keeps the books,
Ashale's a farmer, wheat and corn,
And Treb's a mage, when not loveshorn.

But Treb's half lost in his fifth drink--
Best leave him be, the locals think,
It seems there's trouble with his maid--
To rest the subject's quickly laid.

And now they start a dicing game,
You win some, lose some, they're the same.
Some coin to spare, a chance to take?
There's gambling in the Winsome Drake.

Well, Treb gets up and leaves the bar,
And all are glad to know he's far.
There's something strange in Jock's dark gaze--
It's probably just drinking-haze.

A bard comes in with lute and fife
And cries, 'A drink!  Upon my life!'
They laugh him off-- they know him here,
And soon he plays, and folks draw near.

He spins out ballads for a while,
Then glances up with jaunty smile.
The next tune's wild, and floorboards shake--
There's dancing in the Winsome Drake.

A wanton maiden claims a dance
And others quickly too advance.
You halt at last to catch your breath,
No knowledge you'll soon brush with death.

A prior partner brings you ale
While Krel, the bard, begins a tale.
The gambling group has split to pair
With likely maids, a kiss to share.

But laughter stops when Treb returns--
His jaw is clenched-- his wild gaze burns.
He scans the room until he sees
The maiden perched on Jock's broad knees.

His whisper cuts through leaden air--
'Alanna, get away from there.'
The flash of fear slips through her face
As she reknots her bodice lace.

Jock dwarfs the mage by two or three
And rage and shame are plain to see.
One swift-tossed punch is all he'll take--
There's fighting in the Winsome Drake.

Alanna hides behind your chair.
You've not a clue how she came there.
Staying, she'll come soon to harm--
The fight's spread fast, to your alarm.

Her hair is black as raven's wing,
The kind of mouth to make bards sing.
Her skin's cream white, her dress is torn,
Her sapphire eyes are dark, forlorn.

You block awareness of her charms
And lift her up by both her arms.
Treb sees-- he gives a rebel yell
And flings the gesture of a spell--

You duck-- the blast ignites a chair
And suddenly flame's everywhere.
A single firebolt's mistake
Will soon destroy the Winsome Drake.

All folk are rescued from inside.
Their jaws are dropped, their eyes are wide,
They stare to see the huge inn blaze
Where long they'd laughed down happy days.

The stables are not yet aglow--
You hurry, find your horse, and go.
From that inferno, naught'll be found
When burning rubble strikes the ground.

Behind, they turn upon the mage,
And voices shift from grief towards rage.
All but memory, you forsake
As you ride from the Winsome Drake.