2nd day of Summer, 518av
Guri walked into the Drunken fish, with its main expanse of the first floor being the communal drinking pit for the patrons. His nose was assaulted by the familiar aroma of old ale, pipe smoke and unwashed bodies along with the more savory smells of the local dishes being cooked and served up. For those use to the finer things in life this bar was not on that list, but for Guri this was home. Every smell, noise, patron and the unpredictable going ons was what pulled Guri back to the Drunken Fish.
"GURI!!!" A familiar gruff voice erupted from the bar. The old man looked excited to see him and Guri gave a soft smile back knowing full well why he was. "Where is that whore mother of yours? Please tell me she is coming right behind ya lad!"
The place went silent, most if not all knew who Guri's mother was. She was a well liked bar wench and whore to this establishment. Favored by many of the sea dogs of the day. So when this man yelled across at him in such a fashion, an insult in any other civilized world, he took it as not. "Bill, she passed away over the winter. You know that, you were here for the wake and stood by my side as we sprinkled her ashes just outside these very doors!"
It had been long time suspected that Bill had the disease of the mind. This was not the first time he had asked of Guri's mother, nor was it the tenth since her passing. He asks every-time. A sad affair to have to break the news to one of his mother's favorite customers and friend. The look on his face was heartbreaking and all that Guri could do, like he had done so many times was nod to the bartender who would fill the old man's tankard fresh.
Guri would pat the man on the shoulder as he walked by and taking up his usual roost close to the north east facing window. He could see the ocean from there while he enjoyed his drink, a puff on the pipe and watching the bustling off all that went around him. He grew up in this bar, from a wee baby to the man he is now. This was more home than his mother's apartment or the Dragoon barracks. He looked to the floor, reminiscing on how many times he had washed them, piss, shit, spelt alcohol, blood and many other elements that make up for mess.
It certainly built character, or that is what Father Manowar would motivate him with each time the bucket and scrub was dropped at his feet. Guri would lean back into his chair, taking his wooden pipe out from his simple garb's pocket and lighting the smokeleaf with in the bowl. A soft eastern breeze breached through the window and brush through his soft brown hair, bringing in the scent of the ocean with it.
Guri walked into the Drunken fish, with its main expanse of the first floor being the communal drinking pit for the patrons. His nose was assaulted by the familiar aroma of old ale, pipe smoke and unwashed bodies along with the more savory smells of the local dishes being cooked and served up. For those use to the finer things in life this bar was not on that list, but for Guri this was home. Every smell, noise, patron and the unpredictable going ons was what pulled Guri back to the Drunken Fish.
"GURI!!!" A familiar gruff voice erupted from the bar. The old man looked excited to see him and Guri gave a soft smile back knowing full well why he was. "Where is that whore mother of yours? Please tell me she is coming right behind ya lad!"
The place went silent, most if not all knew who Guri's mother was. She was a well liked bar wench and whore to this establishment. Favored by many of the sea dogs of the day. So when this man yelled across at him in such a fashion, an insult in any other civilized world, he took it as not. "Bill, she passed away over the winter. You know that, you were here for the wake and stood by my side as we sprinkled her ashes just outside these very doors!"
It had been long time suspected that Bill had the disease of the mind. This was not the first time he had asked of Guri's mother, nor was it the tenth since her passing. He asks every-time. A sad affair to have to break the news to one of his mother's favorite customers and friend. The look on his face was heartbreaking and all that Guri could do, like he had done so many times was nod to the bartender who would fill the old man's tankard fresh.
Guri would pat the man on the shoulder as he walked by and taking up his usual roost close to the north east facing window. He could see the ocean from there while he enjoyed his drink, a puff on the pipe and watching the bustling off all that went around him. He grew up in this bar, from a wee baby to the man he is now. This was more home than his mother's apartment or the Dragoon barracks. He looked to the floor, reminiscing on how many times he had washed them, piss, shit, spelt alcohol, blood and many other elements that make up for mess.
It certainly built character, or that is what Father Manowar would motivate him with each time the bucket and scrub was dropped at his feet. Guri would lean back into his chair, taking his wooden pipe out from his simple garb's pocket and lighting the smokeleaf with in the bowl. A soft eastern breeze breached through the window and brush through his soft brown hair, bringing in the scent of the ocean with it.
