Benetia
So far as capital cities went, Benetia was not very impressive. It was a humbly-sized city nestled between a lake and its merging river waters. Its walls are solid enough, and the bridges leading into the city quite stately, but from outside looking to the city there was just farmland as far as the eye could see. Inside the walls, the architecture could best be described as plain or, in politer terms, "practical" or "functional." In that way, the city was reflective of the wealth and status of the Caernling-ruled realm.
The road to Benetia was a long one from any other major settlement. There was a great need for proper boarding houses and inns in the city. A wealthy merchant might stop at the Blade's Rest, a stately inn with all the fineries and comforts one might ask for, and impeccable service at that. Others might stop at the Princely Pig, whose sign depicted the a fat pig in the garb of the King-Bishop of Lithenia. That place was popular with patriots. The Dancing Flame, Markam's Meadhouse, the House of the Silver Moon, all were respectable places to stop for the night.
All these inns could be found in such strategically placed locations as by the city gates, or overlooking the lakeside, or in the center of the busy market. But if one looked toward the innermost sections of the city, toward the poor district and the sprawl of Caernling-style houses - or, in some cases, huts - one could find a rather different sort of inn. Its faded sign depicted a colorful red boar with a wild eye and a huge grin biting down onto the buttocks of a barmaid. Above the doorway was another sign, old and scratched, on which were carved two words: Bawdy Boar.
It is here that our story begins.
The Bawdy Boar
It was a quiet place so far as inns went, the Bawdy Boar. It was a cold autumn night, and with harvest season in full swing and the gawdy sign outside, one might have suspected a little more business in the Boar. It was, however, fairly quiet that evening, with perhaps eight customers (if you counted the beggarly loiterer napping at the table beneath the stairs) and a lone minstrel playing on a lute in a lazy fashion. The innkeeper - a pale, fat, wormy looking fellow - focused his attention on his mugs, seeming just fine with the quiet air of the place. The barmaid was an older woman of about forty years. She brought the food in a professional, no-nonsense manner. She wasn't polite, either.
The food was of passable fare, though it smelled a little too strongly of spice, and the furnishings were quite plain. There was a faded red rug on the gray wooden floor. A wind coursed outside the building, smacking the sign against the building every now and then. The dining room was a little claustrophobic, with four tables in total and a single bar, and most of them were taken by the regulars. However, they seemed to be giving a certain berth to one of the tables tonight: the one closest to the door. It also happened to be the one furthest from the fireplace, and given how cold it was outside, that might have been reason enough to avoid it.
Of course, they might also have been avoiding it because there were was a stranger occupying the seat. That, or they left the coldest table to the stranger so they could enjoy the warmth in their clannish way.