15th Day of Spring, 514 AV
With a satisfied sigh, Vann lowered the mug from his lips and planted it firmly back on the bar. There were stools available, but the evening was young and Vann preferred to stand; if trouble came knocking he'd prefer to be ready and not have to waste time standing up. In Sunberth, it always paid to be ready. The bar in question was the one situated in the taproom of The Drunken Fish. The dockside inn was where Vann had been staying since he moved to Sunberth. It wasn't the nicest place, it was filthy by most civilised standards... but it was Vann's place; he wouldn't want it any other way. From the cheap ale, odd smells and shady patrons, all of it was perfect.
The thought of patrons reminded Vann of his purpose in the inn that night; well, it was the same most nights anyway.
Time to get to work.
With an exaggerated, practiced stretch he spun his body around and leaned back against the bar so that he was facing the rest of the room. He was as close to a corner as he could get, it gave him a better view. Vann blindly grabbed for his mug and raised it back to his mouth. As he drank, his eyes scanned the increasingly busy space; he wasn't looking for anything in particular, but finding something was always better than finding nothing. He recognised a few of the regulars, dockworkers mostly, they were split into two types. First, there was the social men; they would sit at a table in a group, sharing jokes and stories about the day. They were contrasted by the second type, the solitary men; these were men who sat alone, usually at the bar, surrounded by a brooding aura that screamed "don't talk to me." After spending a few seasons in Sunberth Vann learnt it was actually the former who were the more dangerous of the two. The brooders would keep to themselves unless provoked; the drunken social group would go looking for trouble... if they got got drunk enough, which they usually did.
The buzz of conversation was a constant presence in Vann's mind. With so many people talking, it was difficult to pick up more than the odd word here and there. Bar maids weaved between tables serving food and drink; mugs and pitchers rattled as they were drained; tables were knocked, chairs grated against the floor; Vann was assaulted by this cluster of incoherent noise.
Now, what secrets are you hiding?
Vann smiled at the thought, he had grown to love his new profession. He spent his evenings listening to people, learning what they had to say. With a strong drink to loosen their tongues, people talked, they gossiped; Vann's job was to weed the truth from their stories. Truth, he could sell.
The thought of patrons reminded Vann of his purpose in the inn that night; well, it was the same most nights anyway.
Time to get to work.
With an exaggerated, practiced stretch he spun his body around and leaned back against the bar so that he was facing the rest of the room. He was as close to a corner as he could get, it gave him a better view. Vann blindly grabbed for his mug and raised it back to his mouth. As he drank, his eyes scanned the increasingly busy space; he wasn't looking for anything in particular, but finding something was always better than finding nothing. He recognised a few of the regulars, dockworkers mostly, they were split into two types. First, there was the social men; they would sit at a table in a group, sharing jokes and stories about the day. They were contrasted by the second type, the solitary men; these were men who sat alone, usually at the bar, surrounded by a brooding aura that screamed "don't talk to me." After spending a few seasons in Sunberth Vann learnt it was actually the former who were the more dangerous of the two. The brooders would keep to themselves unless provoked; the drunken social group would go looking for trouble... if they got got drunk enough, which they usually did.
The buzz of conversation was a constant presence in Vann's mind. With so many people talking, it was difficult to pick up more than the odd word here and there. Bar maids weaved between tables serving food and drink; mugs and pitchers rattled as they were drained; tables were knocked, chairs grated against the floor; Vann was assaulted by this cluster of incoherent noise.
Now, what secrets are you hiding?
Vann smiled at the thought, he had grown to love his new profession. He spent his evenings listening to people, learning what they had to say. With a strong drink to loosen their tongues, people talked, they gossiped; Vann's job was to weed the truth from their stories. Truth, he could sell.
