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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Cinerarium" data-source="post: 1033518" data-attributes="member: 9349">Hammer 27Troubling news today from the urchins.  One of them, Ugliol, introduced me to a girl of perhaps eleven that he claimed was his cousin.  This girl, Duena, told me that she had seen a man matching Gorful’s description about a week ago, around the time when Omad had spotted him.  She had begged a coin from Gorful, who had thrown her a crust of bread from the loaf he had been chewing.  Shortly thereafter, a man matching Chardin’s description approached Gorful and began talking with him.  Soon the two were smiling like old friends, and Gorful followed Chardin away.Damn that man!  He has followed our every step, and continues to block our way!  Now I must fear for the safety of all who know of what happened with Lordling Macon.  Clifticus and the Deneirites are probably safe in the Temples, but who knows if Chardin will strike at them.  And I must also remember Bugdul, the orc Toth claims waits for us outside the Harren gates.But back to last night’s outing.  It was with serious trepidation I entered the Stargaze Inn last night, alone.  I found a place at the bar, and was soon in conversation with several other patrons my age or older.  They introduced me to some of their other friends, who were looking for a place with some “more excitement,” and invited me along.I happily followed, liking these companions whose names I will exclude for the moment.  We happened into another tavern in the Coinsward, where I was shocked at the price of wine, though I managed to hide it.  My companions took to me quickly enough, though, and I found them good drinking partners.  At one point, as we sat on low chairs around a candlelit table, a delightful young lady on my lap (I say young, but in truth she was at least five years my senior), one complained how the crowd at the tavern that night was less than thrilling.  I expressed my innocence as a relative newcomer to Harren, and asked where the nightlife was better.  He mentioned a place called “the Kitchen,” but was quickly shushed by his friends.  The conversation changed, and we never returned to that subject.  I shall have to discover more about this “Kitchen.”Hammer 28Yesterday, before leaving on another excursion, I penned a letter to my father, included here for reference: Later in the evening I left again to find out more about the “Kitchen.”  A few well-placed inquiries with one of those I had made the night before, the Lordling Kevolio Rulios, made of course in confidence, after several drinks, netted me some fascinating information.  He was the one who had mentioned the Kitchen, and after I promised to pick up the tab on an evening’s drinking, he agreed to go along with me.  After several rounds, when I was near to fainting myself, he finally opened up.On Opulio St (there’s that name again!) there is a horrid little ramshackle tavern named, simply enough, the Soup Kitchen.  Only the most nefarious and foul-smelling denizens of Harren frequent its environs.  The swill they serve is vile, and the food inedible.However, (and this I find hard to believe) the rear wall of the Kitchen abuts what appears to be an empty tannery warehouse on the adjacent street.  This building, however, is apparently one of the most opulent and exclusive clubs in the city.  Only the finest priced harlots work those rooms, though not all the love making is for profit, as many upstanding gentlemen and ladies take their paramours there to escape the public eye (often arriving in covered carriages to the Kitchen, then being ushered – hooded and cloaked – through the hidden rear wall, if the story is to be believed).The owner of the Kitchen, one Fink the Walrus, takes his job seriously.  The carriages are quickly hidden and well-guarded.  Anyone asking too many questions is quickly beaten senseless, and a second transgression results in death.Finally (and this I believe is the key), the warehouse acts as a central place for the upscale black market – narcotics and other unsavory magical items are always for sale.My acquaintance stared at me numbly for a minute when I suggested that I would like to join such a club – that as an adventurer, traveler, and epicurean I could not resist the lure.  After another round of shots and further negotiations, I revealed that I could come into possession of some Tears of Lys, if that would help in the bargain.  At this his eyebrows rose.  He leaned forward, the alcohol heavy on his breath.  “I… er… a friend of mine… would be very interested in procuring that.  I could… I mean, he could… sponsor you into the club, in exchange for such a gift.”“Well, of course such a gift would be extraordinarily expensive for me to acquire, but your friends are my friends.  I suppose, in exchange for sponsorship and a year’s membership fees, I could arrange it.  For you.”  Suddenly I am a drug dealer.  Well, who am I to comment on another’s habits, so long as nobody else gets hurt?“A year!” he exclaimed, then looked around nervously and settled back in, sipping another shot and grimacing.  “I could do… four months?”  I knew I had him now.  He was almost pleading with me, though despite the alcohol he was hardly phased, now that we were coming into a serious conversation.  From talking with Fineon, I have realized that those sad addicts of alcohol can act almost completely normally, even when heavily intoxicated.“Six months, and you’ve got a deal, friend.”  I offered my hand.“Done,” he said, though I could tell we would never be friends, and he would likely never speak to me again after this.</blockquote>

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