Morning Bread (Craig Baker Solo)

It was another day at Sweet Treats, the bakery owned by Craig Baker. He woke up early, as usual and went downstairs to his shop. The flames in the oven were low, more like a large bed of coals. He began to stoke it, watching as the flames slowly grew, devouring the fresh wood. While the bed of coals was enough to heat the shop and home overnight, but wasn't nearly enough to bake with. The heat spread through the building, and it was time to prepare the dough.

He worked tirelessly, preparing for another day. In no short order he had already begun a batch of morning sweets, doughnuts and sweet rolls and danishes. Just behind it was the usual rolls, bagels, and bread. A pot of coffee was started, and he fetch some meats and cheeses from the larder for for breakfast sandwiches. His confections were done not long later, and he was soon enjoying his delicious hot breakfast. He finished his blueberry muffin as the sun finally rose, and unlocked the front door.

Fresh coffee, hot pastries, and breakfast sandwiches, ready at sunrise, every day.

Jaxin, his employee, would be arriving in about an hour. He helped with the selling and and serving, but Craig was the only one to bake. The bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of a customer.

“Good morning!” Craig cried as his first customer arrived. He was rough looking gentleman, a man who worked as a porter. He had been a regular for years.

“Morning Craig! The usual, please”. Richard, the customer in question, took a seat at the serving counter. Craig poured him a mug of the fresh brew, and served him a ham and cheese sandwich on a sweet roll.

“Still planning that fishing trip?” the baker asked as he leaned against the counter. He rarely got more than a few dozen customers each day, and enjoyed taking the time to talk to them and get to know them. The porter grumbled an answer around a mouthful of food, nodding enthusiastically.

“Today, actually. Four sandwiches for the road”. Craig smiled as he began to put the order together. Maybe he would make a profit today, after all. The sandwiches were quickly constructed and wrapped, set before the gentleman. He paid, and was soon on his way. Before the door could swing shut, Jaxin arrived. He made his way to the back of the shop, where he began to collect loaves of bread.

Sweet Treats donated bread to local soup kitchens and orphanages, and delivering them was the first priority for his young employee. Craig nodded a greeting to Jaxin, the young half-orc, as he soon left again with the bread delivery.

Pouring another cup of coffee, Craig began his work on another batch of bread. Disappointingly, his bread was his best seller. Not that he would complain. Bread was a staple food, and he was glad to provide it. And sandwiches sold well, any time of day. Still, he wished he could spend more time making the sweet treats his shop was named after. He set the next loaves to rise in the oven, and settled in for a slow morning. Hey, people didn't usually enjoy sweet treats on Saturdays, right?

Jaxin returned almost two hours later. Not surprising, considering he was trying to deliver twenty loaves of bread to four different locations. After handing over the shop, Craig left for his lunch break. A walk around the district, sandwich in hand. He stopped to check the adventure boards, as usual, while he walked. He wasn't an adventurer, not by any means. But he did find himself having to make extra coin on the side, just enough to keep the shop open.

His lunch was over sooner than he wanted. Returning to the shop, he was surprised to find three customers at his counter. Three! At the same time! Yes, he would definitely make a profit today.

Jaxin was busy behind the counter, serving the three at once. For most it would have been easy. Jaxin, however, was… Well, Craig employed him for his positive attitude. He was clearly feeling frazzled. “Jaxin, well done. Go enjoy your lunch. Help yourself to something to eat”. Craig took his place, easily handling the workload.

The day continued, his lunch rush ending as quickly as it started. Jaxin returned from his lunch, and was making himself busy with cleaning. Taking another break, Craig sat down to look over the finances.

The worn leather journal lay open before him. Within it was all the finances for his shop, since the day it opened. Every copper made and spent could be tracked within it's pages. His fingers traced over the yellowed paper. He bit his lip. He sighed, and wrote in a few more loaves of bread for the orphanage. He would still kind of make a profit for the day.

He glanced out the window, at the sun. Mid-afternoon. “Jaxin!” he shouted as he returned to the kitchen. “Five loaves to the orphanage”. This kid scrambled, eager to please, and was soon out the door. Craig sighed again. As long as the bakery stayed open, he was happy. And donating always made him feel good. He loved to help people.

Minutes later, Jaxin was returning. He looked ashamed. “M-Mister Baker. I dropped the bread”. He stared at the floor as he spoke, dejected. “It fell in… In a puddle. I'm sorry”. His shoulders shuddered. Was he crying?

“Jax, it's okay. The birds can have it. Go grab more, and don't run this time”. He clapped a hand on the boys shoulder. “It's alright”. Jaxin nodded and sniffled. He wordlessly made his way to the back, grabbing more bread, and left quietly. He was noticeably slower.

Craig rubbed his eyes. Jaxin was a good kid. He tried hard, and he helped support his family. He always liked to send the boy home with a fresh loaf of bread. His mind drifted to his finances. Breaking even would be okay with him.

More bread. When Jaxin returned, he would be running even more bread around town. This time, it was to the Inns and Taverns who bought from him. He began to bake, expecting Jaxin soon. The bread he sent out at night was baked fresh around afternoon, leaving it hot and fresh for dinner time. From it, Jaxin would take his loaf as well.

To an outsider, it may have seemed sad. A baker, barely getting by selling breads he didn't care for. But he didn't mind. He still got to bake his sweet treats, watching customers occasionally sample them. And even bread was his least favorite, he still enjoyed it. It was almost like meditation. Preparing and kneading the dough, minding the fire, waiting patiently for the bread to rise. It helped him remain calm.

He needed it.

Some months ago, something had happened. He had been out late, taking a pie to the orphanage. He liked to surprise them with treats. As he was walking home, he had decided to cut through an alleyway. He had done so dozens of times before, and never had an issue. That night, however, he was assailed.

Though dark, his elven heritage allowed him sight during the scuffle. A hooded figure, around his size, had kept out to attack him and, presumably, mug him. But Craig had fought back, defending himself with the only weapon he had on hand; a kitchen knife he had tucked into his belt earlier.

Drawing the impromptu weapon, he prepared to fight for his life. The stranger thrust, and Craig saw the glint of steel in the moonlight. The dagger barely missed him as he dove to the side, rolling and coming up on his feet. The odd adventuring say had taught him a little about combat. The stranger twirled, bringing the blade around in a slash. The baker lept back, a moment to late, and his chest was sliced open. A crimson rose bloomed on his chest, the thick blood soaking his shirt.

White hot pain flashed through his mind. Pain that spread through his body. Pain that flowed through his veins, coursed through his blood. Like flames burning him from the inside, a horrendous and crippling pain.

The kitchen knife was glowing. The blade, at least. It was red hot, like a poker left on the fire. He grimaced, the pain still ever present on his mind. He lashed out, in anger, in desperation, in fear, and his blade found its target. Screams echoed through the night as he plunged the knife into the man's chest. The smell of burnt clothes, burnt hair, and burnt flesh flooded Craig's nose as he stumbled back. The pain was subsiding, replaced by a dull ache in his chest.

His chest, with his blood still pouring out of it.

The rest of the night was a blur. He vaguely remembered stumbling to the nearest church, begging for help. His wounds were treated with magic, and he left with an empty purse. They didn't charge him for the life saving healing, but he felt it necessary to give them what he had.

He shook his head. The bread was burning. He quickly pulled it from the oven, inspecting the ruined food. He could give that to the birds as well.

Maybe tomorrow he would make a profit.