The Empty Shelves of the Inn

 This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using Chat GPT alongside the RP logs. 

Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world, customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

The Inn had grown too quiet.

Where once laughter, music, and the scent of roasted bosk filled its halls, there was now only the faint aroma of stale bread and the sharp bitterness of blackwine left too long on the fire. Kash, the Inn’s remaining slave, worked tirelessly among the empty shelves, his bare feet silent upon the stone floor. Every cup he poured reminded him of what was missing — the meat, the wine, the cheese, the fruit — all gone.

He bowed before Mistress Neeve one morning, his voice trembling as he spoke. “This slave begs your mercy, Mistress. Our stores are nearly gone. We have only blackwine, tea, and a few pastries from the bakery. No meat, no mead, no wine, no ale. We clean for bread now, Mistress… and we wait.”

Neeve’s brow furrowed as she surveyed the barren shelves. Once, the Inn had been the heart of the city — a place where travelers were welcomed, merchants struck bargains, and slaves served with quiet pride. Now, it was a shell. “This is unacceptable,” she murmured, scribbling notes onto parchment. “An Inn without food is a city without breath.”

At one of the tables, Lady Sibylle sat quietly with her cup of larma juice, watching. She had come seeking a runaway slave, but even she could not ignore the emptiness that hung in the air. “It seems your owners have abandoned their duties,” she said coolly to Kash, her tone not cruel, merely matter-of-fact.

The boy lowered his head. “Yes, Mistress. They left some time ago. We serve as best we can.”

Neeve sealed the scroll with her own mark and rose from the table. “Enough,” she declared. “If the Innkeeper has gone, then the city must intervene. I will bring this matter to the Head of Merchants myself.”

---

Later that day, the Physician strode into the merchant’s hall, the scroll clutched tightly in her hand. Nero Titus, the newly appointed Head of the Merchants’ Caste, looked up from his desk as she entered.

“Tal, Lady Neeve,” he greeted. “If you’ve come for an interview, I’ll warn you, I’m not fond of them.”

She ignored the jest. “Neither interview nor gossip brings me here, Sir. I come with grave news. The city’s Inn — our heart of trade and hospitality — has run out of supplies. The Innkeeper is absent. The slaves have nothing to serve. I’ve made a list.” She placed the parchment before him with a firm hand. “It must be restocked immediately.”

Nero leaned forward, scanning the long list of provisions: flour, bosk meat, cheese, sugar, larma fruit, tospit, suls, mead, wine, ale... The necessities of daily life — and of civilization itself.

He sighed. “The merchants will cover it. We can’t have an empty Inn in a thriving city. It will be billed to the owners if they ever return.”

At his side, his slave knelt silently. Nero’s tone softened slightly as he gestured for her to fetch water for the Physician. The girl obeyed, her movements graceful, though even she could sense the tension hanging in the room.

Neeve accepted the cup and sat down. “Kash is terrified to act without his Mistress’s command,” she explained. “He believes he will be punished if he speaks of the shortage. I cannot stand by while the city’s servants starve and its visitors go unserved.”

Nero’s expression darkened. “You have done well to bring this to my attention. But in the future, leave matters of trade to the merchants. The caste system exists for order — not chaos.”

Her lips thinned, but she nodded. “Then see that order feeds your city, Head Merchant. Because as it stands, the Inn cannot serve a single proper meal.”

She turned and strode out, her cloak snapping behind her like a banner of defiance.

---

That evening, Kash knelt alone by the fire again. The shelves still stood empty, though for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of hope. Word would spread. Carts would come.

The Inn — and perhaps the city itself — might yet wake from its hunger.