A Matter of Faith

"Jurgen! Where is that cask I asked for??!?" The innkeeper is a cheerful, portly middle-aged Thyatian, but right now, his cheeks are flushed as he starts to buckle under the pressure "Table nine! Where is the order for table nine!!!!" he has almost gone hoarse, trying to yell over the hustle and bustle of the pub, and the last thing he needed right now was for some adventurers taking up more of his precious time.

He looks at Boudica, and then past her, when one of the tavern maids almost drops the tray she’s holding over her head. He has no idea what is a ‘Darius Guillroy’, or what nonsense they were talking about his wine cellar, but he DOES understand the glimmer of gold between her fingers. "Not now, not now. Come back tomorrow morning, alright? When things aren’t as – " he stops to look over her shoulder, then squeezes past you, hurrying to welcome yet another group that walks through the front door.

There are a couple of serving maidens comely enough, and one of them, with the black curls, even pauses to look at Will, but it is nothing more than an appreciative glance. There are far too many people at the tavern tonight, and they are too busy struggling to keep up with the pace of the orders to pay attention to yet another man checking them out.

The music is good, however, as is the ale. There’s plenty of conversation you can overhear, but most of it is about mundane stuff. The only interesting bit is about the grand tournament held in Specularum a couple of weeks from now, sponsored by the Duke himself. None of those in the tavern would actually compete (they are but commoners, after all), but since the harvest will be all but over, quite a few consider the short travel to spectate, or to enjoy the festival.

Eventually, with no luck pressing the innkeeper for answers, you take your leave and find a boarding house a few blocks away which is relatively clean, with cheap rooms to spare. It’s not anywhere like being hosted at Verge, but it is certainly much better than weeks on the road, under the constant drizzle.

You find Karl much more relaxed the following morning. He is busy cleaning the mugs with a towel in his hand, while a young woman, the same one who glanced at Will the other night, is busy scrubbing the tables. There are a couple of more young lads helping back at the kitchen, and a party around the table at the far end of the room, but other than that, the tavern is relatively quiet at this hour in the morning.

"Good morning!" the cheerful tavern owner waves at you when you come in. "I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your names last night. You said you wanted to take a look at my cellar?" he looks at you perplexed, and even more at the shovels you are carrying "What exactly is this about? I have expensive merchandise down there..."

"You’re all with the guild?" He doesn't look entirely convinced. You don’t look like what he expected archaeologists to look like, though, to be fair, he’s not entirely sure what that should be. "Look; I’m just trying to run a business here. I don’t want my cellar turned into some kind of dig site"

Karl strokes his beard as he thinks of it. The early customers are already starting to trickle in, and he’s eager to great them.
"Alright, alight!" he sighs "You’ve got until afternoon. I run a business here, and I can’t have it looking like a collapsed mine shaft before the evening crowd shows up. I want some compensation, AND collateral; in case you damage the floors, the barrels; anything. Deal?"