52 Ymiden, Arc 716
The government had enforced a water restriction in all regions outside of Burhan, but fortunately they had not enforced a wine or beer restriction which meant that Tristan could still pursue his favorite activities. It was hot, hot, hot, the sun was burning down on Andaris like crazy, there were no clouds in the sky and no relief, and thus the young noble avoided spending longer amounts of time outside at all costs. These trials he could usually be found in the Blacksmith Arms, a mug of cool beer in his hand and his work in front of him.
His apartment in the city center had very large windows that seemed to attract the heat like a magnet, the tavern on the other hand was located underground which was why the temperature was still comparatively pleasant there. If the old Biqaj that owned the Blacksmith Arms would have allowed him to sleep there as well, he would happily have done so, but unfortunately the man insisted that all patrons had to leave after a certain break. He’d tried to bribe the man with a drawing and a few nels, but to no avail.
Since his backpack that contained all the things he needed for his job as a sculptor and an artist was too heavy and too bulky to put it onto the chair that was next to him, he had placed it on the floor in front of his table. That was not the most ideal place as people could stumble over it, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him at the moment was that he needed to finish his play, but unfortunately things were not going well. The main character’s love interest was still entirely too cliché and he was still lacking half the necessary actors.
Which was why he ordered another drink. He hoped that it would help his creativity and cool his brain down to a temperature that would allow it to function normally and produce something halfway tolerable once more. He took a large gulp, rolled the sleeves of his shirt (yellow, because that color was currently in fashion) up and started writing again.
Maybe, he thought, he would have the imaginary kingdom his play took place in suffer from a terrible heatwave and a draught that would destroy most of the harvest. His characters would take refuge in an underground cave where they would do whatever it was that young lovers whose love was forbidden usually did while the rest of the population continued to sweat.
OOC: 2 mugs of beer – 6 sn.
The government had enforced a water restriction in all regions outside of Burhan, but fortunately they had not enforced a wine or beer restriction which meant that Tristan could still pursue his favorite activities. It was hot, hot, hot, the sun was burning down on Andaris like crazy, there were no clouds in the sky and no relief, and thus the young noble avoided spending longer amounts of time outside at all costs. These trials he could usually be found in the Blacksmith Arms, a mug of cool beer in his hand and his work in front of him.
His apartment in the city center had very large windows that seemed to attract the heat like a magnet, the tavern on the other hand was located underground which was why the temperature was still comparatively pleasant there. If the old Biqaj that owned the Blacksmith Arms would have allowed him to sleep there as well, he would happily have done so, but unfortunately the man insisted that all patrons had to leave after a certain break. He’d tried to bribe the man with a drawing and a few nels, but to no avail.
Since his backpack that contained all the things he needed for his job as a sculptor and an artist was too heavy and too bulky to put it onto the chair that was next to him, he had placed it on the floor in front of his table. That was not the most ideal place as people could stumble over it, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him at the moment was that he needed to finish his play, but unfortunately things were not going well. The main character’s love interest was still entirely too cliché and he was still lacking half the necessary actors.
Which was why he ordered another drink. He hoped that it would help his creativity and cool his brain down to a temperature that would allow it to function normally and produce something halfway tolerable once more. He took a large gulp, rolled the sleeves of his shirt (yellow, because that color was currently in fashion) up and started writing again.
Maybe, he thought, he would have the imaginary kingdom his play took place in suffer from a terrible heatwave and a draught that would destroy most of the harvest. His characters would take refuge in an underground cave where they would do whatever it was that young lovers whose love was forbidden usually did while the rest of the population continued to sweat.
OOC: 2 mugs of beer – 6 sn.
