In his quest, Geo was on the hunt for the heart of the Trading Circle the Fox Den and its unofficial leader Jove. The Den a legendary establishment visited by every trader at least once, seamlessly blending the excitement of a casino, the escape of a bar, and the delectable flavors of a quality restaurant. This extraordinary place was the brainchild of an old friend, someone Geo had known for what felt like a lifetime. Every time he found himself in this part of town, memories of their past would resurface, tugging at his heartstrings. Jove had always been Geo's friend first, a reliable partner and source of information second, a treasure trove of knowledge within the trading circle. No matter the question, Jove would have the answer.
The casino, always nestled in the heart of the bustling trading circle, was an area Geo avoided for a number of reasons since Willow, his precious daughter, came into the world. Whenever they ventured into the circle, Geo, Ali, and Willow would be welcomed into Jove's home, where they were treated as family. Through the years and the miles, their friendship remained steadfast. On his last trip Jove had expounded on the changes he had planned for the Den and wondered if he would recognize the place. But Jove always had a greater imagination than he had time and recourses.
Geo's senses heightened, attuned to the ebb and flow of traders and individuals surrounding him, as if it were an instinct ingrained deep within his being. He understood that the Fox Den was a nomadic entity, shifting its location with the ever-changing river tides and the pungent scent wafting from its outhouse. As he ventured further away from his camp and towards the bustling center of trading, the throngs of people grew denser, like a tangled web of human activity. This served as a clear sign that he was nearing the Den, a place that stirred a mix of anticipation and unease within Geo. Despite the mild temperatures that enveloped him, beads of nervous sweat began to form on his brow. The road meandered through a dense forest, its dusty surface strewn with sharp rocks and trampled weeds that fought for survival along the edges. The constant stream of traffic had obliterated any trace of the flora that once flourished here, but Geo's eyes, trained from years of assisting his wife in gathering medicinal herbs, still scanned the surroundings instinctively. The crowds ebbed and flowed, weaving in and out of the traders' stalls, creating a whirlwind of dust that made breathing a challenge. The air was thick with the scent of perspiration and the collective heat of so many bodies pressed together, making it impossible to avoid constant brushes and collisions.
It felt as though he had been walking for an eternity when he finally arrived at a grand multicolored canvas pavilion just as he remembered it. The fabric, now tattered and patched with a kaleidoscope of colors, reminded him even more than before of a faded rainbow. He chuckled softly to himself, a mixture of nerves and amusement. Adjacent to the entrance, a rough-hewn plank adorned with a carving of a fox and a hill hung, serving as a rustic signpost. The triangular opening, created by pulling back one corner of the canvas, served as the humble doorway, guarded by two brawny, blond men with a wild mane of hair. Their eyes scanned the crowd with a watchful gaze, their mismatched leather armor and assortment of gleaming weapons—a belt adorned with an axe and a row of daggers secured by a sturdy leather strap across their chests—served as a silent warning to anyone who dared cause trouble. The sight of these guards made the people tread more cautiously, and the area around the tent where they stood remained surprisingly calm and orderly. In the harsh light of day, the camp appeared vibrant and lively, a riot of colors and pleasant sounds, but Geo knew better than to be deceived by this facade. He knew that as the day wore on and the liquor flowed, the mirth would soon give way to brawls and chaos. It was the reason for the guards and he hoped to be long gone by then.
Geo stepped inside the pavilion, immediately noticing that everything about this makeshift pub was even more haphazard than he remembered from his previous visits. The room was furnished with long, roughly hewn planks that served as tables, scattered haphazardly throughout the space, adorned with groups of rowdy men engaged in games of dice, boisterous conversations, and intense card games. The bar, consisting of large wooden boxes hastily arranged to create a makeshift counter, stood directly across from where he stood. Geo couldn't help but wonder what had become of the sturdy counter he and Jove had painstakingly fashioned from a massive tree felled by lightning during an early winter storm. it had proudly served as the counter and bar since the place had opened. As he surveyed the room, his eyes settled on a vacant table situated close to the bar. He gingerly navigated the treacherous mud that formed the floor, doing his best to avoid the remnants of what was likely spilled drinks and vomit that marred the ground. It seemed too early for such a mess, yet there were no signs of water or puddles outside to explain it.
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Finally reaching the table, Geo settled into his seat and retrieved a bundle of sage from his pocket. He carefully placed a charred cloth at one end of the sage and used his striker to ignite it. After a few seconds of gentle blowing, the sage began to emit a fragrant smoke. The pungent aroma of sweat, dust, and a hint of decay, mingled with the musky scent of alcohol and the overpowering stench of unwashed bodies, assaulted Geo's senses. The burning sage provided a small respite, its cleansing smoke momentarily masking the unpleasant odors and helping to soothe his frayed nerves.
As he waited, Geo's thoughts drifted to his old friend and whether he would be present today, as well as the urgency of the information he had sought from him. As he waited memories of the opening of this bar and the day, he met his wife in this very tent over 14 years ago. She had come searching for rare herbs, including bloodroot which was common here but out of season, and someone had directed her to Geo. But he had been so captivated by her radiant spirit and ethereal beauty that he had been rendered speechless, oblivious to her words.
Frustrated, she had almost turned away before he snapped out of his daze and finally acknowledged her presence. He had practically given away the bloodroot, but it had been worth it. In the aftermath, he couldn't shake the memory of that encounter, nor the woman who had enchanted him. He had known, in that very moment, that he was hopelessly and irrevocably in love.
Geo's thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a towering figure approached his table. The man was dressed in an oversized shirt that strained against his muscular frame, and his belt was adorned with daggers and an ax, just like the guards stationed at the door. With a swift motion and a smile, the man wiped the table clean with a cloth, revealing his gentle nature despite his intimidating appearance. Jove, as Geo recognized him, had a mane of dusty brown hair, piercing green eyes, and a complexion darkened by the sun. His rugged features, including a prominent nose and a scar that traced across his left eyebrow, down his nose, and stopped just shy of his lips, did little to diminish his overall attractiveness. Jove was the epitome of contradiction – rough on the outside, yet fair in his judgments and tender-hearted within. It was his impeccable memory that had brought Geo here today.
Lost in his thoughts, Geo noticed that Jove was addressing him. Remembering their days as mercenaries, Geo decided to employ an old code phrase to communicate his intentions. Keeping his head down to conceal his face, he asked nonchalantly, "Got any peach Ale, Jove, my friend?"
Jove's face lit up with recognition his smile wider. "Almost didn't recognize you, what have you been up to? I wasn't expecting you so soon your earlier than usual this year." But I can tell there's more on your mind than just catching up at our old hangout. Where is your lovely family?" Jove's tirade finally abated, and his gaze wandered around Geo, as if expecting his family to magically appear.
Geo stood up and, while embracing Jove, whispered, "Let's not dwell on the past here. We should find somewhere else to talk. I need some information." Aloud, he added, "Trading has been prosperous, and prices remain high as always."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Jove exclaimed, "I never would have thought you'd settle down and stay out of trouble back when we were young and restless."
Before Jove could finish his sentence, Geo interjected, "I thought I'd trade for some cloth for the wife. It was our 13th anniversary this year. I brought furs, herbs, root veggies, cheese, butter, honey, and mead for trading. And I've even crafted some fine wooden barrels myself. It's hard to come by good barrels these days."
Jove understood Geo's worry, but surely after 13 years he would be safe. Jove moved off as he talked over his shoulder, "We must talk later. Perhaps I could use some of your goods as well. For now, enjoy your ale, my friend. I have other guests to attend to."
As Geo watched Jove navigate the bustling tavern, he couldn't help but worry about his old friend's loose tongue and what he might reveal about him. Jove always dismissed Geo's concerns as paranoia, but that last assassin had almost caught him. they both still had scars from that encounter. A few minutes later, a young girl who appeared to be around the same age as Geo's daughter, Willow, approached the table and placed a beer in front of him, accompanied by a neatly folded cloth napkin. Their eyes met, and Geo couldn't help but notice how much Ella had grown. Ella had vibrant red hair, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and captivating green eyes. She possessed a tall and slender frame, which Geo knew would attract the attention of the local boys.
Her eyes sparkled with joy as she noticed Geo, " Uncle, Uncle do you have some honey candy? I saved some of my bars to trade. Love you but I best be getting back to work." She waved as she bounced off toward the back.
Carefully, he picked up the napkin, feeling a slight crinkle beneath his touch, before discreetly slipping it into his pocket. Geo continued to sip his ale, his gaze fixed on the patrons, his mind filled with curiosity and caution.