Aerdek didn't care for deserts. Too dry, too hot, too oppressive. He liked cool mornings and green forests. Zantaric was an improvement from the city of Essyrn. There he had spent his nights sleeping nearly nude, with his sword strapped to his hip and his nerves always on edge. It was too hot to work, too hot to sleep, too hot to eat. Even the water was unpleasantly warm.
So he had travelled to Zantaric on the promise of a contract. It was still warm here, but not nearly so severe. Early morning was rather pleasant, and he rose before dawn, armed himself, and made his way to a small tavern near his meagre accommodation.
He had been warned that Zantaric was a rough settlement. He had been here two nights and he'd already been involve in three fights and one murder. It was unfortunate, but as long as he didn't wind up with a blade at his own neck, he was happy.
Entering the cool shade of the tavern, he took a seat on a bench in front of a low wooden table, and ordered last nights cold roast, and some dried break. He expected to meet his new employer today, and he hoped to have the usual discussions of payment and obligation handled as quickly as possible. He didn't like the way the old barmaid kept looking at him, and he was pretty sure his bunkmate the planning on putting a knife in his spine. The sooner he was on his way, the better.
