The tenor of the tavern

"Same old smell of hops," Gurzhik thought as he entered the tavern. "Alright. I need Edgar Darklin," he muttered, glancing at the note. Everything in the tavern was just as before: dark, with the smell of smoke and the aroma of dry herbs lingering in the air. The pleasant sound of clinking mugs mingled with the low hum of patrons, while someone strummed worn-out melodies on a lute.

Squinting, Gurzhik began scanning the tavern when suddenly the man behind the bar started waving his hand in Gurzhik's direction. He was dressed in a leather jacket, under which lay a dark shirt of rough fabric, and loose woolen pants provided ease of movement. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Hey, Shadoumor, you taking forever over there?" The youth hurried over to the bar.

"Do I really need this man with the thick red beard?" Gurzhik thought to himself.

Reaching the counter, they politely greeted each other, and Edgar invited the youth to pass through the back entrance of the bar counter. Inside, where the room usually reserved for staff breaks was located, Gurzhik wanted to hand over the note when Edgar, with a smirk, asked, "So, you're the sole heir of the Shadoumor family?... Have a seat." Gurzhik sat on a wooden chair with a stone frame.

"I've known your father for many years. He's put me through all sorts of trouble. I owe him a lot," the innkeeper continued.

"Listen. I need a job," the youth said timidly, casting his eyes down.

"Hmm. A job, you say," Edgar said, lighting his pipe. "It's not an easy job, lad. If you're wi--"

"I'll do my best. I won't let you down, Mr. Edgar. Just tell me what needs to be done," Gurzhik interrupted sharply.

"Hold on, don't get ahead of yourself, lad," shaking his pipe, the innkeeper said. "I appreciate your enthusiasm - I need workers like you. But I haven't even said what you'll be doing while working for me."

"Sorry, I'm listening."

"Well, you'll be a regular porter," Edgar stated firmly. "There's no room for mistakes here. And I don't want to burden you unnecessarily."

"Alright, fine. Thank you, sir, for the opportunity," the youth replied coldly, glancing briefly at Edgar.

"Come back tomorrow, I'll tell you what your task will be each working day."

"Okay, thanks again," Gurzhik bowed.

They said their goodbyes, and the youth with the scarf headed towards the exit. Hastening through the drunken patrons, he bumped into a tall figure dressed in black leather. Falling to the ground abruptly, he muttered softly, "Oh, really? What now?"

"Are you alright, sir?" the figure asked, extending a hand to the fallen youth.

Gurzhik looked up and exclaimed in surprise, "Manakur? Manakur Thornwood?"

"Gurzhik? Is that you?" Manakur asked joyfully. "Long time no see... How have you been?"

"Let's sit at a table," Gurzhik suggested quietly.

"Sure. I was heading to that table anyway," Manakur replied, pointing to a table far to the right.

They zigzagged their way to the table and sat down.

"So, tell me. How's life? What brought you back?" Manakur started.

Gurzhik swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. Folding his hands, he coldly said, "Nothing special."

"Hmm... Silent as ever. Are you sure everything's okay?" Manakur lowered his head.

"You know..." Gurzhik began.

"Come on. Tell me what's bothering you," Manakur glanced at Gurzhik and added, "It was boring here without you..."

Gurzhik felt a slight unease: his hands started shaking, and he felt a slight sweat on his forehead.

"You know," Gurzhik continued, "I failed the main exam and got expelled... You have no idea how hard it was to come back home with such sad news..." Gurzhik trailed off sadly, staring down.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried..." Manakur murmured quietly.

"It's okay," Gurzhik said. "Better tell me how you've been," he added with a hint of curiosity.

"Oh? I've been good. I'm currently involved in the family business - selling meat at the market," Manakur said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "And also, keep this between us. In secret, I'm forging daggers in the old smithy near Darius Cathedral."

"Have you been a blacksmith for long?" Gurzhik smirked.

"Just a couple of months," Manakur shrugged. "And you?" he asked Gurzhik.

"Well, here I am. Got a job as a porter for Edgar Darklin. Figured I'd start with the 'simple' stuff," Gurzhik replied.

"Sounds good. I wish you luck, buddy," Manakur said.

"Thanks, buddy," Gurzhik replied warmly. "Alright, I gotta go. See you around." Gurzhik hadn't even gotten up from the table when Manakur grabbed his hand and said warmly, "I know you're going through a tough time. I want you to know that there are still people in this city who care about you. If you have time, drop by once in a while. We're always happy to see you."

"Thanks, buddy. I appreciate your words, but... I really have to run. Sorry," Gurzhik said, feeling warmth spreading to his heart. Gurzhik hurried towards the exit. Pausing halfway, he shouted, "I'll definitely come by! Definitely!" Manakur just nodded approvingly and thought, "He really has changed." Exiting the tavern, Gurzhik headed home.