The streets were even more crowded now, the life of Godeylet in full swing. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble—or opportunity.
Eventually, he found a tavern.
The tavern, named The Bronze Mare, was dimly lit despite the bright afternoon outside. The wooden beams were aged with time, the scent of ale and smoke clinging to every surface. The place was filled with all manner of individuals—hired swords nursing drinks, merchants discussing deals in hushed voices, and a few gamblers arguing over lost coins.
The tavern was packed.
Jolthar made his way to the bar, his imposing presence earning him a few wary glances but no outright challenges. He ordered a meal and a mug of ale, his eyes scanning the room as he waited.
He was looking around, subtly, all while sipping his ale.
