Simeon stared at the entrance to the inn. What on earth would he find in here?
            He held the papers in his hand, wrapped in a fine cloth.
            Something nagged at his insides as he looked at the door. It seemed like a quiet place, and not one that he remembered all too well. Swooping Eagle the inn was called, not a name he particularly liked, and the civilians felt the same. Some said it was an affront to the King. Often it was put to the torch by rowdy folk who were sick of looking at it but was eventually rebuilt. The place was nice to look at no doubt, white as was the favourite of Louena, pinewood window sills and an old styled thatched roof instead of slate. That reminded him even more of Victum.
            The more he thought about it, why hadn’t this place been torn down yet?
            Simeon pushed open the door, and it was like stepping into his past, a very long time ago.

            The guards had stopped him.
            “You wouldn’t know a good place to get a drink would you?” He asked as quickly as he could. He wasn’t all too good at trying to put on accents but he gave it a go. The guard at the front cocked his head, his eyebrows were raised, Simeon could tell. The cloth wrapped around this man’s head was reinforced with bronze. The combination of materials made for an interesting contrast, but he could bet it would be mighty useful for fighting in these harsher, warmer climes where sand and dust were prevalent.
            “Where are you from?” He said. Simeon had always found the Victum accent interesting, much like the Louenan accent but slightly more drawn out. It was a strange lilt.
            “Not this city.” Simeon spoke with as much honesty as he could. The more truthful he could be right now the better.
            The guard surveyed him, saying nothing.
            “So the nearest place I can get me a drink?” He urged. “My throats getting a little dry just standing around and all.”
            “Alright. Follow this path to the bottom, there’s a good place opposite the waterfront.” The guard turned to his side to allow them to pass. Simeon smiled and nodded at him but before he could walk on, the guard grasped Simeon’s arm with a tight grip. “Cause trouble and you’re out of this city, one way or another.”
            Simeon looked him in the eye for a moment until he felt the grip on the guard’s arm loosen. He kept on walking. Waiting for the guards to get far enough away as Simeon followed the path, he turned to Garrin, “Check the harbour, look for an easy target to get off this rock.” Garrin’s face soured at that.
            “An’ I was hoping for some rum to fill me gut with. Aint been easy, I could use a drink.” He growled and some of the men chuckled.
            “Aye?” Simeon’s brow raised. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “I’ll tell you what, just soon as we find a way out, we’ll get you to a real nice tavern where you can sully your liver whilst we sail off home, only the drink’ll be pouring out of the holes I stab in your belly to repay you for your insolence.” Garrins face grew red, one hand on his knife. They stared each other down, but it was Garrin that turned away.
            “I get it. I’ll go find your bloody ship.” He spat on the floor and strode away.
            Simeon turned to the rest, eying each one individually but they would not meet his gaze. Instead they followed him as he continued on.

The End

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