52nd of Ashan, 716
It was getting to be that time of the evening. Though the tavern was beginning to fill up and a beautiful bartender was holding the fort this evening, it was up to Qaerris to muster the desire to leave and tend to his job for the evening. Tonight, he was not to meet with Evelyn, but another client who had at last mustered the courage to summon him after a drunken affair several nights prior. It was up to the Mortalborn now to satisfy the woman and end up with another client to add to his list of regular affairs. Eventually I'll need not seek out clients and simply cycle between my existing ones. When that day comes it'll be a grand relief for as long as I keep to this life.
In truth, actively soliciting was quite fun, but it was arduous work that involved far too many drinks and rarely compensated for itself in that evening. Not keen to spend all the coin he had saved before arriving in Rynmere, he deemed it best to find clients who could offer him predictive business. A crease formed in his eyebrows as he pinched his nose, listening to the ambient noise of the tavern before, at last, the harlot rose from the stool he was seated upon, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder and turning out of the tavern.
The evening, considering it was Ashan, was rather brisk, Qaerris' flesh warmed from the alcohol, but he searched in his knapsack for his coat, which he threw over his shoulders, doing up each button right in front of the tavern before he advanced. There was moisture in the air, as if light precipitation had touched down from the skies of Rynmere mere minutes ago. Had Qaerris not heard the downpour? Had it been that light? And in the end, did it really matter? The presence of light precipitation insinuated that the chances were high that more would fall later in the evening. And thus, it was up to Qaerris to make haste before the rain come down upon him and drench his coat, leaving him with no option but to endure the cold.
The Mortalborn noted a figure in the distance, a curious glance flitting forward as he attempted to make odds out of who the figure was. She, for the visage was clearly that of a woman, was dressed familiarly, and Qaerris wondered to himself if he perhaps knew the woman. He'd not seek to call out to the woman, instead carrying on as he would, but instead of making haste as he had initially sought to, he slowed his ascent towards the house of his client.
She can wait. After all, she made me wait for her summons.