Good morrow, literate peasants! Today’s storie ist a review of one of the Kingdom’s many fyne drinking establishments. If thou dost enjoy Ye Olde Tyme News, rememberest to subscribe, sharest it with thine other peasant friends, and followest His Majesty on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook @yeoldetymenews.

When I set out to write a review of the renowned tavern known as the Halfdrawn Bow in the oft-besieged city of St. Drumlinsvale, my fellow foode criticks warned me: “There is an army encamping ‘round that city as we speak and they will most definitely put it to siege in the coming days. It is highly inadvisable to travel there to write a restaurant review.”

But I am a foode critick of an older, stouter sort, and I would not be deterred in my lust to critique such a fabled establishment on account of a mere siege. And anyways, the newspaper had already offered to pay my tab and I was not going to pass up a free meal.

So to the road I took, northwards through the Barleylands on my trusted donkey James, eastwards through the Enchanted Forest, and northwards again through the Non-Enchanted Forest which despite its name is still magickal in its own sort of way. We travelled, James and I, till our backs were sore and our throats parched of thirst, knowing that the legendary potations at the Halfdrawn Bow would make our troubles worthwhile.

We arrived in the city at sundown. We passed with ease through the besieging army’s lines, perhaps because they were stunned into disbelief that anyone would want to enter the city at such a violent juncture, the siege, as it was, about to begin. But James and I foolishly took this as an auspicious sign of goode things yet to come. We smelled the barn, so to say. Or, James smelled the barn, and I the beer.

James took his leave at the tavern for donkeys, and I continued on foote to my destination.

At the Halfdrawn Bow

I arrived at my destination famished but in well spirits. As the reader may know, the Halfdrawn Bow is so-called because the entire tavern is carved from a single block of yew wood from a Great Drumlins Yew tree, a famous bow-making timber. That, and no man hath ever left the tavern sober enough to effectively draw a bow.

I was met at the door by a patron stumbling out. He vomited on my shoes then fell and drowned in a puddle. When I went inside most of the other customers was in a similar state of inebriation.

“I have heard stories about this establishment’s legendary refreshments,” said I to the barkeep, “but it seems the ravenous state of thy clientele at this moment surpasses even the legends.”

“Yea,” said he. “That’s because of the siege, of course. We’re all going to die.”

“Oh,” said I. “Then I suppose in that case their behaviour is quite appropriate.”

“I s’ppose,” said he, and he poured me an ale.

It was at that moment that the siege began. A mighty boulder launched from a catapult completely destroyed the amulet shoppe next door. It was also at that moment that I came to the realization that I, too, was going to die here.

But the mission must go on, and ‘twas my mission to bring impartial foode critiques to the many tavern-goers of the Realm, so that they might make informed decisions about where to fare.

It was only with great risk that I was able to relay this review to James so that he might steal away from the city in the night to have it published. If thou art reading this now, then that means I am no more for this lyfe, but that James delivered my review to the editor’s desk successfully. I hope the efforts of myself and James were not in vain. If thou ever desires to visit the smouldering wreck of a city that was once St. Drumlinsvale, may my review influence thy decision to dine at the Halfdrawn Bow! If it’s still standing, that is.

Ye Review

Ale. The Halfdrawn Bow is known for its ale above all else, and in this it did not disappoint. They had three different types of ale, which for this particular place and tyme is a lot. The only reason I didn’t give it an A+ is because it is on the pricier side. But when one’s employer is paying for it and everyone in the city is going to be killed in the ongoing onslaught, who really cares about that? A

Service. Friendly, but slightly aloof. Hard to tell if they’re always like that or if ‘twas just because of their impending violent deaths. B-

Mead. Whilst ‘tis famous for its ale, the mead on cask also flows as freely as blood through the streets after the enemy breached the walls. This came especially in handy after a flaming arrow destroyed one of the ale casks. A-

Safety. The barkeep took a stray javelin through the heart at one point during the siege, so slightly substandard. One cann’t really blame the bar for the war, though, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. C+

Cleanliness. Messy no doubt, but most of the mess was just blood and soot from the catapult barrage. Before he died, the barkeep assured me that the tavern is usually much tidier. B

Overall Score: B+

If thou art reading this, then that means I have met my demise and the fabled city of St. Drumlinsvale didst succumb to the siege. In all likelihood, the Halfdrawn Bow is naught but a heap of smouldering yew ash by now. Were that not the case I would easily have given it an A. But ‘twas still a solid experience given the dire circumstances.

Somebodie tell this rabbit cavalryman that riding dogges into battle ist not allowed:

YeOldeTymeNews @YeOldeTymeNews

Somebodie telleth Sir Rabbit the rules.

7:24 PM ∙ Aug 23, 2021

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Previous reviews:

• Foode Review: I Am A Peasant And Therefore Was Unable To Acquire Any

• Tavern Review: I Was Stabbed by the Barkeep and Did Not Have Tyme to Write One on Account of My Wounds

• Foode Review: Rock Pie. Because the Normal Things We Put in Pie Were Taken from Us in The Marauding