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37th Fall, 514 AV
20th Bell
Today could not end soon enough. Jovhel was so tired, but The Bean was not experiencing a break from the relenting customers that constantly poured in. There wasn’t enough room for the five tables that graced the business, much less enough room for people to actually sit at them. Luckily, as an employee Jovhel was blessed with avoiding the cramped space and got a relatively spacious area behind the counter.
As usual, he had spent the entire day working. Hagard Astram, his employer and the proprietor of this fine, cramped establishment, told him that he should probably get a life. Gard was funny like that, considering his enormous lack of social skills and his ‘hobby’ consisted of trimming his mustache every morning. Still, he had a point. Maybe it was time for Jovhel to get a life. He shrugged it off Gard, I will learn some magic and use it to make some damn room in here somehow. He was met with a scoff, followed by a chuckle. Neither of them knew much about magic.
He stood there, empty minded with a sliver of thought passing through about what he should do every now and then. A good five chimes passed before he was snapped back to reality by a loud clink of a tea cup meeting it’s plate. His eyes scanned the business’s patrons, evaluating each and every person to grace his place of work, simply because there was little else to do.
A number of heads were counted; ten to be exact. All five tables were taken by the ten of them.
As usual there was the elderly couple. Yahal bless their souls, the kindest things in Syliras if there ever there was. The family, an armorer as a husband, a stay at home wife, and an adorable, healthy baby girl. A future knight, they tell eveyone. The three kids of the nobles, gods above were they a loud bunch, pompous too. They were paying customers though, much to Hagards misfortune. The loner, who said he was a farmer, but didn’t look the type. It was strange, but none of Jovhel’s business.
At last there was the sailor, a suspicious individual under the scrutiny of all the others in the room with him. Jovhel recalled the first time the sailor set foot in the establishment. The scent of alcohol wafted under the Benshira’s nose, disturbing the pleasant smell of coffee beans and tea leaves. He went up to the counter and began to brag about how his homeland, Zeltiva, something about a university and guild of sailors. Zeltiva being superior Syliras was the main point he was trying to make behind his slurred speech.
The sailor would mumble something to himself as he sipped his tea. Gods know why he came into The Bean when The Broken Casket clearly was a more fitting of a choice. Every once in a while he he would shout something at the other patrons. Everyone was uncomfortable, everyone was turning to one another to see if any one of them would go get a knife. The Zeltivan visitor, himself, looked rather frail for his trade, but that being said, he was a sailor. One who looked like trouble.
.20th Bell
Today could not end soon enough. Jovhel was so tired, but The Bean was not experiencing a break from the relenting customers that constantly poured in. There wasn’t enough room for the five tables that graced the business, much less enough room for people to actually sit at them. Luckily, as an employee Jovhel was blessed with avoiding the cramped space and got a relatively spacious area behind the counter.
As usual, he had spent the entire day working. Hagard Astram, his employer and the proprietor of this fine, cramped establishment, told him that he should probably get a life. Gard was funny like that, considering his enormous lack of social skills and his ‘hobby’ consisted of trimming his mustache every morning. Still, he had a point. Maybe it was time for Jovhel to get a life. He shrugged it off Gard, I will learn some magic and use it to make some damn room in here somehow. He was met with a scoff, followed by a chuckle. Neither of them knew much about magic.
He stood there, empty minded with a sliver of thought passing through about what he should do every now and then. A good five chimes passed before he was snapped back to reality by a loud clink of a tea cup meeting it’s plate. His eyes scanned the business’s patrons, evaluating each and every person to grace his place of work, simply because there was little else to do.
A number of heads were counted; ten to be exact. All five tables were taken by the ten of them.
As usual there was the elderly couple. Yahal bless their souls, the kindest things in Syliras if there ever there was. The family, an armorer as a husband, a stay at home wife, and an adorable, healthy baby girl. A future knight, they tell eveyone. The three kids of the nobles, gods above were they a loud bunch, pompous too. They were paying customers though, much to Hagards misfortune. The loner, who said he was a farmer, but didn’t look the type. It was strange, but none of Jovhel’s business.
At last there was the sailor, a suspicious individual under the scrutiny of all the others in the room with him. Jovhel recalled the first time the sailor set foot in the establishment. The scent of alcohol wafted under the Benshira’s nose, disturbing the pleasant smell of coffee beans and tea leaves. He went up to the counter and began to brag about how his homeland, Zeltiva, something about a university and guild of sailors. Zeltiva being superior Syliras was the main point he was trying to make behind his slurred speech.
The sailor would mumble something to himself as he sipped his tea. Gods know why he came into The Bean when The Broken Casket clearly was a more fitting of a choice. Every once in a while he he would shout something at the other patrons. Everyone was uncomfortable, everyone was turning to one another to see if any one of them would go get a knife. The Zeltivan visitor, himself, looked rather frail for his trade, but that being said, he was a sailor. One who looked like trouble.
