Devvyn looked at the decrepit old hut. Not much to look at, but soon... He picked up his tools and walked inside.
He'd bought the old house a month ago with the dream of opening an inn here. It was about a mile from the royal highway, and about a days travel from any of the big towns in the region. He knew it was a perfect spot, because the region it was situated in was never travelled because there was no accommodation. With the purchase of this building, he hoped to change that.
It was an old noble's summer lodge, now very neglected and run down as the House that had owned it had fallen in civil war decades ago. The land was rife with wars of all sorts, with powerful nobles continually quibbling over land and trade. That didn't worry Devvyn. Wars and trade were good for business. He'd owned inns in the Royal City before, but it was stifling. Too much competition and never enough room to expand, so he sold his hole in the wall to the neighbouring inn for a large pile of gold, and set off to search for a new premises, a search that was over
He spent a week just removing the mildew from the walls. The entire place was a dank hovel, reeking of rat dropping and rot. Devvyn's only companion was his tabby cat, and between the two of them they made short work of the rats and the rot. They worked for days, living off the bundle of food that Devvyn bought from the city.
He would wake up in the morning, pick up his chisel and his hammer, and work like a man possessed until it was too dark to see. When the evening rolled in he would walk around the empty rooms in the half light, imagining what it would be like. The hearth room with its dead hearth would hold a great fire to light and warm the room, and he'd line the walls with small alcoves for drinking. Larger tables for eating would be in the middle, but he wanted to leave enough room for musicians to play.
He loved looking at the cookhouse. This was the heart of his establishment, where everything happened. Closing his eyes he could see maid scurrying around as people ladled stew, baked bread and poured beers and wines. Then he would lie down and sleep.
When he had restored the building to a clean state, he set about planning the intricate details of his soon to be establishment
Leaving his cat to guard the empty shell, Devvyn saddled his horse and set off back to the Royal City. For as long as he could, he would look over his shoulder to look at the grey stone walls, trying to imagine them glowing from within and reverberating with the noise of a bustling inn.  He couldn’t. They were too empty and lifeless. Something he was setting out to change.
That evening he arrived in the Royal City. Plodding through the crowded streets frightened him somehow. The atmosphere of the city was pushing in on his newfound love of solitude. He shook his head. One week alone and he was turning into a hermit. He’d have to kick that habit if he were to run a busy inn. Rather than staying at a city inn, he payed a few coppers to sleep in the city barracks, home to soldiers, vagrants and the needy. He’d quit the city inn business, staying in one and getting embroiled in the politics and pettiness was the last thing he needed. He lay on his palette that night, listing over and over again the items his inn needed.
Morning came, and Devvyn was awoken at daybreak by the changing of the guards. Rising at this hour was nothing new to him, and he gathered his belongings and set off. His first port of call was the carpenter. He explained to the craftsman his plan for the common room, cookhouse and bedrooms. The wizened old man nodded, and after being paid a considerable amount of gold, set all his apprentices to cutting the wood. They would be sent out to the inn by the weeks end, Devvyn was assured.
Sundries were next on the agenda, but this was a fairly mundane task, detailing every possible odd and end he would need, from candlesticks to crockery to bedding. This took up most of the morning, as Devvyn had to choose every item of stock by hand from a warehouse on the cities east. Riding back to the city centre, he headed to the market to set up a trade route of supplies and victuals, the lifeblood of his inn. A relatively simple task, the last and most serious task now awaited him. Servants.

The slave markets always upset Devvyn. It was one of the few things that cracked his tough exterior. He would walk through, looking at the young people in the cages and imagine the multitude of miseries that fate was storing up for them. If he believed in the gods, he would have offered up a prayer for these slaves. These slaves where the reasons he didn’t believe in gods.
He entered a terrace at random, and made a token effort to be nice to the dealer.
“Girls first.”
“Certainly, honoured customer. Our girls are strong and hard working, and very beautiful too, if that is an important factor in your purchases…”
“It is not.” His brusqueness put a dent in the man’s crawly demeanour.
“Well, they work hard. Down here in the cellar we keep them.” Devvyn shuddered. He followed the wiry little man down a flight of stairs into a dank hallway. Doors lined every wall. “… So you can be sure they won’t run away. We really beat it out of them.” The last few sentences penetrated Devvyn’s walls. He grunted.
“Keys.”
“Ah, well good sir, I am supposed to…” he tapered off as Devvyn turned his large square frame to face the little whippet and stared him into silence. “Of course, someone like you will be just fine! Here they are. Just call when you’re done.” He was half way up the stair by now. He sighed and looked around. Start from the left, he always said.

Lillian was on her toes looking out the window. This terrace shop was on the edge of a cliff, over looking the rest of the markets, and she passed her days watching the people scurry around down there. Her door slid open and heavy footsteps thudded on the cobblestones, catching her unaware. She gasped and turned around. It wasn’t the smarmy little trader come to look at her again; this man was large and surly. He had shoulder length brown hair and a flat face with a brusque expression that looked like it had been plastered there. Oh no don’t let this be a buyer! She thought, he looks horrible and mean. He looked her over quickly then asked in a gruff voice;
“Three questions. One, I want you to work in my inn. Two-”
“That’s not a question.” She has spirit, he thought.
“No. Two, catch this.” He tossed her an apple without warning, and she quickly caught it by reflex. “Excellent. You’ll make an excellent wench.” Her face flushed at this comment.
“I will NOT be anyone’s WENCH!”
“Good, I definitely want you for my inn. Good with your hands, and you’ve got spirit. I apologise for calling you a wench. Call it a test. Come with me.” Lillian felt a little confused. What had she passed, and did she want to pass it?

Devvyn asked 10 more girls before he found another two who he felt would be suitable. 2 had dropped the apple, and 6 had accepted his abuse with a down turned head. Not the sort of person he needed. It twisted his heart to think what kind of a life they would lead. The two other girl he chose would make excellent barmaids. Sylphia was a tall and very blonde girl who had called him a pig in retaliation for calling her a wench. Dyane was shorter than the other two, perhaps a little podgy, but Devvyn was beyond caring for little things like that.
“Follow me, girls.” Nervously they fell in behind him, looking at the ground. The wiry little man squirmed at the top of the stairs waiting for him,
“Aaah… beauties, those two. That Lillian, I like her hair. And such a lovely bosom. They’re worth a lot, they are.” Something snapped inside Devvyn. Talking like that in front of them as if they weren’t there. They were bright red, and Dyane looked close to tears at not being included as a beauty. This is why he hated slave markets.
“Listen you piece of human refuse, this may be a stinking slave market, but it is NOT a filthy brothel! I am here to buy servants, not whores! Two gold pieces each, comes to six gold pieces, there” He almost threw them at the man. “I hope you fall down those stairs and loose your teeth.” He stormed out of the building, nearly breaking the door off its hinges. The slave trader thought about trying to charge him more for the beautiful ones, but decided his teeth were worth more than two gold.

The girls quickly scurried out of the foyer and into the bright sunshine. Their new owner was facing away from them, leaning on a wall breathing heavily.
“I didn’t buy you three back in there, that was your freedom. I hope that with that freedom you choose to serve in my inn.” The three girls looked at each other. Dyane spoke up.
“So we could go, if we wanted? Anywhere?”
“Yes. I don’t agree with slavery as you may have noticed.” He turned to face them. “But you are alone in this life, and I have a place for you to sleep and a place for you to work. Your only other probable option is the whorehouse.” He let that thought linger. They all looked at him. In less than a minute he had gone from a horrible grumpy old man into a gentle giant.
“An inn is better than the whorehouse. I want to go with you.” Lillian spoke for the first time.
“Me as well” added Dyane. Devvyn nodded. He looked to Sylphia for an answer. She seemed unable to talk, her arms were crossed and a hand rested on her throat. She nodded weakly.
“Good. Follow me. I still need a stable boy and a cook.”

That night six people sat in a private room in a city tavern. Devvyn had visited the prisoner camp next. This was where prisoners of war were kept, and he wanted to free some low level prisoners who could already do what he needed. Darian was a mess cook for the Calimshan army that had made a small incursion several months ago into the north of the kingdom. He was a middle aged man, like Devvyn, and was pretty apathetic when it came to political allegiances, and he quickly agreed to take the position as cook.
Joei was a young page in the same army, and had forged quite a bond with Darian, so he came along as the stable boy. Devvyn looked at them all. 3 maids, a cook, a stable boy and a barman. This was happening.