Once upon a time there lived a middle-class armour and weapons rental shop owner in a middle sized cottage. This cottage was in the center of a great wood by the intersection of two large dirt paths. These paths were frequently traversed by all sorts of citizens from meager peasants to great lords. There were no other buildings within twenty leagues, so to supplement his income from rentals, he started up a hotel service. He had the first establishment which gave different prices for different quality rooms. For example, the second-best room was fifty tures a night while the stable was only three. The reason his rental shop didn't flourish, despite the well known fact that he had the best weapons and armour in the land for very acceptable prices (his advertising slogan was, "Rent the best — better impecunious than dead"), was the undeniable problem that there had not been any wars for a very long time and he was in an inconvenient spot for those not already passing by.

Between the travelers and the rentals, he made enough money to live comfortably, alone in his cottage. He had no wife or children, and all the rest of his relations lived a hundred leagues away, in a sea coast village (though now it had grown enough to be called a town without anyone laughing outright) that mainly survived by fishing and the tourist industry (though fishing, by far, was the more profitable venture in those dangerous days)...

Note: This is short because the following chapters all all about the past, and don't really fit with this one. They will be longer, I assure you. This is my first story done individually, but it is still in the series with the three objects (blunt ax, black machete and answering machine with the sharp angle), though that won't become apparent for a while yet. I would appreciate feedback if you have the time. Thanks, Snowshoe Hare