Knight's Errand (February 3010) - [OPEN]
Mar 21, 2018 11:05:03 GMT -5
Post by Durion on Mar 21, 2018 11:05:03 GMT -5
"You are not mistaken. Unfortunately, for the tanner and those that live in these parts, it is a foul stench. And by no means inconspicuous."
“It is a place only for the desperate to live,” Durion managed in reply. He knew the people that lived around the smell of the tanner and sound of the smithy paid little for their rent. Sometimes he wondered how often the families cycled out, or if eventually one became blind to such atrocious decays and ungodly hammering.
He had not thought much on the matter of it being inconspicuous, though Durion knew well enough such had to be true. One would know the tanner should one cross his path, in much the same way one would know a groom from the stables for the stench of horse, or the couple who kept the apothecary by the overbearing scent of herbs. Though, as a man of the upper tiers himself, it was not often he need cross the tanner’s path. Merely on days like today, where he had errands that brought him around the proper part of the city, or when he was leaving on mission with the cavalry.
It was always best to not linger long.
"Master Holbarth commented the smell was quite distinctive, especially in places that the tanner shouldn't necessarily be frequenting."
The tavern was up ahead, though Durion’s thoughts no longer trained wholly on their destination. He peered over to the figure beside him, marking the glazier’s face to gauge whether the man had been finished or not. It seemed he was content to say no more, but Durion was certainly not going to allow such an interesting topic to flit away.
He would, however, need to proceed delicately. If Durion came across overly eager to speak on such things as Master Holbarth’s comments about another member of the city, surely even the glazier with his distractible demeanor would begin to suspect something of Durion’s motives. And yet…
“Distinctive indeed,” the man drawled. He paused, offering only a moment before lightly continuing. “Though I did not think there were many places a tanner should not frequent, though. I must wonder what such a place would be. Perhaps the Steward’s stable,” he laughed slightly. The thought of trying to run off with any of the mounts kept there for leatherwork seemed a shade dark, though amusing nonetheless. “It is probably not the use the Steward intended for the horses.”
They had now reached the tavern door, and with a movement akin to the grace of a dance, Durion reached for the door and held it open, motioning for Finlach to lead the way inside. “After you, Master Finlach.”
The inside of the tavern was cozy, a fire blazing in the corner of the room to spread warmth through the cold stone building. Being on the second tier, it was simple and understated in design, the frequenters of the establishment likely less affluent than those who would seek drink along the upper half of the city's scape. As Durion often found it, the seats were relatively full. There was no shortage of folk who lived nearby to indulge in some well-earned comforts, and the day was growing old.
The tavern was discreet.
Enough people chatted in low murmurs that one's own conversation hardly carried beyond the table which made this particular location a favorite for some of Durion's more questionable meetings. The only taverns that would have filled his need as well were the ones scattered along the first tier, and such locations were truly lower than Durion was willing to stoop. Run down, shoddy, full of drunks; second tier had just the right mix of anonymity and cleanliness.
"Feel free to pick our spot," he offered.
“It is a place only for the desperate to live,” Durion managed in reply. He knew the people that lived around the smell of the tanner and sound of the smithy paid little for their rent. Sometimes he wondered how often the families cycled out, or if eventually one became blind to such atrocious decays and ungodly hammering.
He had not thought much on the matter of it being inconspicuous, though Durion knew well enough such had to be true. One would know the tanner should one cross his path, in much the same way one would know a groom from the stables for the stench of horse, or the couple who kept the apothecary by the overbearing scent of herbs. Though, as a man of the upper tiers himself, it was not often he need cross the tanner’s path. Merely on days like today, where he had errands that brought him around the proper part of the city, or when he was leaving on mission with the cavalry.
It was always best to not linger long.
"Master Holbarth commented the smell was quite distinctive, especially in places that the tanner shouldn't necessarily be frequenting."
The tavern was up ahead, though Durion’s thoughts no longer trained wholly on their destination. He peered over to the figure beside him, marking the glazier’s face to gauge whether the man had been finished or not. It seemed he was content to say no more, but Durion was certainly not going to allow such an interesting topic to flit away.
He would, however, need to proceed delicately. If Durion came across overly eager to speak on such things as Master Holbarth’s comments about another member of the city, surely even the glazier with his distractible demeanor would begin to suspect something of Durion’s motives. And yet…
“Distinctive indeed,” the man drawled. He paused, offering only a moment before lightly continuing. “Though I did not think there were many places a tanner should not frequent, though. I must wonder what such a place would be. Perhaps the Steward’s stable,” he laughed slightly. The thought of trying to run off with any of the mounts kept there for leatherwork seemed a shade dark, though amusing nonetheless. “It is probably not the use the Steward intended for the horses.”
They had now reached the tavern door, and with a movement akin to the grace of a dance, Durion reached for the door and held it open, motioning for Finlach to lead the way inside. “After you, Master Finlach.”
The inside of the tavern was cozy, a fire blazing in the corner of the room to spread warmth through the cold stone building. Being on the second tier, it was simple and understated in design, the frequenters of the establishment likely less affluent than those who would seek drink along the upper half of the city's scape. As Durion often found it, the seats were relatively full. There was no shortage of folk who lived nearby to indulge in some well-earned comforts, and the day was growing old.
The tavern was discreet.
Enough people chatted in low murmurs that one's own conversation hardly carried beyond the table which made this particular location a favorite for some of Durion's more questionable meetings. The only taverns that would have filled his need as well were the ones scattered along the first tier, and such locations were truly lower than Durion was willing to stoop. Run down, shoddy, full of drunks; second tier had just the right mix of anonymity and cleanliness.
"Feel free to pick our spot," he offered.
