The Sloppy Seal lived up to its name. He could smell the wine and ale before he’d even made his way inside, and that was with the door closed. When he opened the door, his senses were assaulted by the transparent lack of effort the owners of the establishment put into keeping up appearances. The lights were dim, the place was messy, and over a dozen people were drinking in the common room despite the sun still being up.

It was exactly what he needed.

He headed to the bar, ignoring the unsavory looks he was getting from the other patrons, and focused on the barkeep currently busying himself with some sorting under the counter.

“How much for a pint of ale?”

“Four small copper,” came the reply as the older man slowly and, if the grimace on his face was any indication, painfully stood back up. The sound of coins hitting the counter was all the additional information the barkeep needed, and an almost clean pint filled with amber liquid found its way to Nerick after a few short and quiet minutes.

If he wanted normal human interaction, he’d need to go someplace else, but for now the price was right considering his limited funds.

Picking up the mug, Nerick went for a sip of his drink that quickly turned into more of a gulp. He didn’t realize just how badly he needed an ale until the taste hit him, but self-control eventually won out, allowing him to put down the mug for a moment. A thought occurred to him as he thought about all the things driving him to this particular cup.

“Where do you get your ale?”

The older man obviously wasn’t expecting to be engaged in conversation and certainly wasn’t thrilled by the surprise, but he answered anyways if only to be left alone.

“Farmer’s Brew.”

The older man prepared to duck down below the counter again, no doubt trying to flee the conversation, but Nerick was more than willing to cause the man a little inconvenience for the potential to drink on the job.

Considering his newly acquired job, some ale or wine might be a daily necessity moving forward.

“A local place I assume? I’m not from around here, so I’m sadly unfamiliar with it. Could you tell me where that is?”

Nerick was lying in his statement, but only a little bit. He’d never heard of that particular place before and certainly wasn’t used to spending time around this part of the city. At least, not for the past several years.

The older man actually looked at him for the first time, a myriad of questions screaming in those tired eyes. Questions like ‘You don’t actually like this piss water that much, do you?’ or, more likely, ‘Why won’t you just leave me alone?’

“They have a store in northern Berics, over by where the smiths and tanners are. Let me know if you need another drink.”

With all the subtlety of a war hammer, the man exited the conversation and went back to work. Some of the other patrons chuckled at the exchange as Nerick grabbed his drink and looked for a table.

The goal was to eavesdrop without it being too obvious, a simple enough task in theory thanks to his excellent perception. Of course, it would be even easier for Chef, but the little green terror was unlikely to get anyone to behave sanely around him. Must be the goblin musk or something.

Nerick sat at a table near the middle of the room, a convenient place either for someone trying to listen to everyone or for someone trying to keep their distance from everyone. And while everyone was cautious at first that it was the former that motivated the newcomer, they eventually went back to their hushed conversations. All the while he sat there, sipping his ale.

It was… ok. Truth be told, it was probably quite a bit worse than that, but he was just so damn desperate that this was hitting the spot despite its poor quality. The saying went that hunger was the best spice, and, even if his wife had proven the limits of that particular idiom, the same was mostly true for thirst.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I could be starving and still wouldn’t eat her roast. No, never again.

He shivered slightly as he tried to focus on his mission. After a couple of drinks over a couple of hours, Nerick was getting a good feel of the local situation. He heard a number of conversations that immediately piqued his interest until he remembered that he wasn’t a guard anymore. Aside from those, the patrons of the Sloppy Seal never discussed the prison break or any wanted peoples. Perhaps this was just the wrong crowd for that, but it made him feel better regardless. It even let him believe that perhaps he really wasn’t a fugitive after all.

More people trickled in continuously through the evening until a shorter man wearing an all-black suit and his oversized bodyguard came in. The bodyguard was so large that he had to visibly duck under the door to enter the establishment, drawing attention to the absolutely massive sword on his back. The impression they were attempting to give was clear, even if their levels didn’t quite measure up.

Human[47]

Human[53]

In the past, Nerick would have been impressed by those numbers even if he had surpassed them some time ago. But now, he’d just seen Chef in action a few too many times to consider these people to be anything but weak.

Just like him.

“Attention patrons of this little shithole, I have a business opportunity for you. Anyone with information on a certain famous goblin can sell it to me. I’m paying up to one large silver coin for information on the bugger, and, as a show of good faith, I’m even willing to pay a small copper for information I already have, assuming it isn’t too basic of course. I will only be here for a few minutes before finding another suitably seedy establishment, so don’t dilly dally.”

The man in the suit then stood just next to the door, looking disdainfully on the nearby chairs and floor. In the man’s defense, it really was filthy in here. Nerick had been living in the woods for about a week now and his clothes were still visibly dirtied by gracing this establishment. Turned out that not all of the wine stains in the furniture were dry.

He had expected the other patrons to be offended by this newcomer or to flock to him, but the general disregard was quite unexpected. Their whispered words made their reasoning all too clear.

“Why in all the hells would I give some scalper information for one coin when the damn Baron is paying five? At least I know the Baron wouldn’t scam me.”

Ah, so it’s like that. We don’t exactly have a bounty on our heads, but information on us is worth its weight in gold. Well, even more than that since information has no weight. Unless you wrote it down but that—

A slamming noise jostled him from his thoughts, causing him to look towards the sound just in time to see the door bouncing off of the bodyguard. It seemed that their newest patron had kicked the door open with a bit too much gusto, punishing the suit and guard combo who had disdained proper seating in this improper establishment. The bar quieted down in anticipation of a fight that never came. The reason was plain to anyone with the slightest bit of sense.

Human[??]

Indignation died in the bodyguard’s throat as every instinct presumably warned him against action. Size was an advantage in many fights, but the only numbers that really mattered were those in your coin purse and those that showed up in your status. The newcomer who stumbled into the tavern obviously had less of the former, after all he looked like a beggar, but power tended to speak for itself.

The entire room held its collective breath as the man dressed in rags slowly made his way to the bar, stumbling into no less than three tables during the perilous journey. The first held his weight, the second fell over, and the third was shattered by a steadying hand, causing both the man and a rain of wood chips to fall onto the wooden floor. All the while, no one said a word.

By the time this strange, raggedy newcomer made his way to the bar, everyone was trying to figure out how to leave as inconspicuously as possible. The man in the suit had already escaped, using the shattering of the table as an opportunity to leave his bodyguard behind. And then the drunk spoke.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

A fistful of coins fell onto the countertop, coppers of all sizes rolling away as the old man behind the counter stared in a mixture of awe and fear.

“Anyone ‘ere from out o’ town?”

The old man’s eyes fell squarely onto Nerick as the apparently very wealthy beggar turned to look at him for the first time.

Well shit. So much for keeping a low profile.