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“The busier areas of town, like this one or the commercial district here,” you point at the map, “Seem like good places to, if not find some challenges, at least find some information. We can also stock up on supplies, find passage throughout the territory, and so on.” You orient yourself, using the sun to find north and then determining your relative location on the map based on the river. “We’ll just need to head South and find the biggest, busiest tavern we can find. I’ve worked up a mighty thirst after all this walkin’ and talkin’.” You grin, roll up the map, and begin walking South.
Sasha, ever silent and serene, trails behind you.
“Ah, and if you need any supplies we can find those as well.” You say to her over your shoulder.
“I wonder if they’ll have what I need here…” She ponders, tapping her chin with your long, thin index finger. “It would be worth a look. Let’s find our tavern and let it be our meeting place. I’ll check some of the herb shops for anything useful.”
As you journey away from the water and towards the commercial district, the monstrous crowd of people around you hustling and bustling between buildings and stalls never diminishes, but its nature slowly changes. In the docks, salty sailors bark orders in gruff voices from behind thick, unkempt beards, but as you enter the commercial district, the people become cleaner and more refined. The cargo changes from strong-smelling fish and oils to fine smelling spices, bolts of silk, and arms. The people are clean-shaven, well dressed, and smell of perfume, and instead of shoddy wooden huts and stalls, they hurry between sturdy, stone buildings and large wooden warehouses.
On the corners between the busy trails you spot the occasional watering hole, with cheerful business men sharing pitchers of wine. One in particular stands out to you as being larger and busier than the rest, perhaps due to the fact that it sits next to the main road. It’s four stories high, with a large porch on the first two floors and individual balconies on the top two. A large painted sign is attached to the second porch: ‘The Drunken Jester.’
“This bastard is as big as 10 Chalmuthian tavern-boats!” You say in amazement as you lead Sasha up a small flight of stairs onto the first floor’s porch. A bar lines the porches railing, and individual tables are crammed together so tightly that, except for the trail allowing passage into the bar itself, there is little place to stand. Each of the tables is full, as is every place at the bar. Some people are discussing business, others playing cards, and others simply laughing and talking about this or that.
“I’ll be off then.” Sasha says abruptly, standing so close to you that you can feel the heat from her cheeks against your shoulder. “I’ll find you here when I’m done, then?”
