Tamberly's Taproom, the sign above read with scuffed and peeling paint.
A little worn down, slightly unassuming, set back off the main thoroughfare. Seemed the correct place. Not a friendly gathering place for an evening of drinking, a place for the locals not a foreigner. The half dozen rooms upstairs were no doubt a way to get knifed if your sleep.
Discreet meetings in the afternoon away from prying eyes? Sure, it would work. Lazarn had met in places far worse.
Slammed a hand into heavy wood and the door swung inward, gloomy common opening to his eyes. On the far side a weak flame spluttered in the fireplace releasing only a paltry heat while desperately clinging to a log. A few empty booths ran along the edge, glimmers of friendly sunlight illuminating enough to show the tavern unoccupied. Relieved Lazarn strolled in to await the potential employer.
Behind the tavern bar a grimy looking fellow wiped mugs with soapy water, eyes glanced Lazarn's way with a disdainful grimace. The proprietor, Lazarn assumed, spat something on the floor and grunted, “lunch is done for the day.”
True enough, outside mid-afternoon sunlight was starting to give way to the coming night. Lazarn rested his heavy weapon against, reached into his pouch and chucked a couple coins between himself and the owner. “A beer then.” His voice was gravelly, deep enough to give a stranger pause. Watching the man lazily make the drink, Lazarn scratched his beard drawing the barkeep's eyes to his face. Look at my scars, look at my broken nose, remember I'm a fighter, he said without words.
Meekly a mug was passed his way. Lazarn snagged it up, gulped a mouthful, tasted like filth.
Lounging in a booth, eyes watching the street outside to glancing at the entrance, he waited. In a pocket the flyer for work was crumpled up, good timing Lazarn thought. Money was starting to dry up. Seemed an easy job, escort a man and goods? Never that easy, not when the client sought a meeting in a shit-hole. Mercenary work always held a nasty surprise. Lazarn didn't mind.
The front door rattled suddenly, on instinct Lazarn reached for his trusty axe.
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