A Farmers Woe

Istvan steps out of the dim smokey atmosphere of the Tattered Demon and out into the rapidly cooling air of the travelers quarter, closely followed by a very excited Meygan. The city was split into various quarters built to accommodate certain activities and peoples. The travelers quarter was made up mostly of various merchants houses; not the grand ones of resident merchants but the small, if comfortable abodes used when they stayed for a while in Akhara on trade missions. Other than that there was a platitude of inns and stay houses for the less wealthy and less frequent visitors to the city. The sheer number off outsiders here reduces the likelihood of hunters being noted by anyone and the influx of travelers brings work and valuable information to the guild.

The location noted in istvans note is in the ale quarter, where most of the breweries of the area exist along with a good number of public houses frequented by farmers who sell their hops to the brewers. The sun is half setting and the city is not the safest place to walk at night, not all hunters are killed by monsters and ghouls.

Navigating the crowd as best he can, Istvan keeps one hand on his pouch and the other holding the crook he used as a walking stick. Despite his limp, the man made good time, not bothering to look back for the girl. If she was going to make it as a hunter, she needed to be able to take care of herself, even in towns.

The Smiling Lady was a few districts over and so he took a turn into a less well traveled lane, intending on cutting back after a few blocks. He could see the lamp lighters beginning their work and quickened his pace to reach the tavern before it got too dark.

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Istvan stops as he notices he has already lost the girl in the crowd. Feeling magnanimous, he tells her to wait back at the bar and he will meet with her after talking to the client.

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It takes about an hour to make it to The Smiling Lady, fortunately an uneventful Hour. By the time you reach the tavern the sun has just finished dipping below the horizon. The pub has a pleasant air to it, it isn't the largest or grandest building around but it has an air of being well taken care of and welcoming. Inside you can hear the raucous noises of many farmers starting to fall under the sway of their ale. About this point you realize that you aren't sure what your potential client looks like nor even what time he was to meet you here.

Istvan stops inside the door and lets his eyes adjust to the difference in lighting. This was a place of boring farmers, toiling out their lives with the earth. A necessary occupation and one that the ranger would have gladly partaken of as well not so long ago.

Turning his gaze to take in the area, the man looks for one farmer in particular. One sitting alone and nearly shaking in his dung-covered boots.

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You spot a potential potential Mr.Higgins sat with his back to you facing the fire. He stands clearly out of place in the cheery environment thanks to the fact he has only bought one ale, and it sits barely touched next to him. The slump in his shoulders suggests that he is very depressed and quite clearly desperate. He's of typical country stock, not particularly tall but very stockily built, with messy black hair and a slight layer of muck around him, along with stubble. However the fact that most of what he wears was fairly recently mended it suggests that he has a Mrs.Higgins at home looking after him, however no farmers wife lets her husband off the leash without at least making him scrub behind his ears. There is a seat empty next to him which he looks like he is expecting someone to sit down in.

Istvan wastes no time, making his way to the man and moving around him, sitting down without a word and taking the man in. After a moment of silence, he finally speaks, "Mr. Higgins, I presume? I was told you might have need of my services."

Meygan peaked out from behind Istvan with a wide grin. She was so excited to be out doing something that she could hardly contain herself. Diligently, the young woman had her quill to her paper, ready to write at a moment's notice.

The farmer started, turnign around to face Istvan. "Oh! Er blimey....that were fast!" he said in a surprised tone. You could immediately tell just from his voice that he was accostomed to simple friendliness and being friendly. Not a man to usually be depressed.

"So your the....wayfarer...?" he looked troubled over again.
"....who is the lassie?"