6th of Fall, 518 AV
A scowl rested on Koroshtoph’s face as he meandered through the Seaside Market. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword, while his right hand played with the pocket where almost five gold mizas worth of coin had been the day before. His pocket had been the first thing he had checked after a waitress had shaken him awake from his slumber at the bar of The Drunken Fish. Only a couple of silver remained. Didn’t the drummer pay for the drinks?
Memories of the previous night were still blurry in his mind. The only thing that was clear, and painfully so, was the reason for which he had drowned his awareness in ale. It was an emotion which creeped always just beneath the surface of his conscious thought. It had been there when he boarded that ship in Zeltiva, it had been there during the storm, and it was there even now, muted by the pounding of a dull headache. Each time it surfaced, he had done something to push it to the back of his mind, something to avoid having time for reflection. Ale had proven scarily effective, though the aftermath made for a likewise effective deterrent from turning it into a habit.
The downpour of the night before had turned into a gentle shower by morning, so the merchants were out in full force, peddling their wares in a cacophony of sales pitches. The noise grated at Koroshtoph’s mood. He wrecked his head to try and remember the path he had taken the previous night, but Sunberth at day was so different from Sunberth at night, that the market seemed now unfamiliar to him. At least he knew he had to go southeast. Or he was pretty sure he knew. Or it seemed like the right way. The Syliran let out an exasperated sigh at his own state. He had had a plan for the day – he was going to search for steady employment, which both provided an income, and spared his conscience. That was out the window now. Quickening his step, he followed his intuition southeastwards.
***
No man’s land was an interesting name for a tavern. It sounded vaguely ominous to the Syliran, being what such a thing would mean in his city of birth. In Sunberth however, it was perhaps better that land belong to no one rather than to whomever could wrestle control of it. This was a strange thought for Koroshtoph to contemplate. He had always known order as a chief pillar of Syliran culture, and order was not something that was likely to emerge from the bottom up.
A familiar rumble interrupted his contemplation. It was the most hungry he had been in a long time, and it felt like a meal would help with the headache as well. He walked over to a table at the entrance of the tavern and set down to wait for the service. Only a chime after a woman came over to him, a cordial smile on her face. Was it obvious that he had been drinking the previous night?
“Welcome! My name’s Lana. What would you like?”
Koroshtoph gave a tired smile in return. “Whatever I can get for five silver,” he said, putting on the table what mizas he had left.
“Something to help with the headache?”
Apparently, it was obvious. That or the woman was very observant. He wondered if his accent had given away his origin as well.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Her kindness was a reminder that the people of Sunberth were no less people than the Sylirans, but Koroshtoph was not sure he particularly appreciated being reminded of that nuance at the moment. Nevertheless, he smiled again at the woman as she scooped up the money and walked off.
When the food arrived, neither the bread nor the cheese was the freshest he had ever eaten, but he couldn’t recall a time when he was more happy to have a plate of food in front of him.
Ledger :
