Brusen, thick-limbed and of middle years, sat heavily at the rough table.  His hands, battered and scarred from rough stone and years-old tavern brawls, gripped the heel of yesterday’s bread as his mind, slowly but inexorably, awakened to face another day.  The still air of the apartment was already hot in his throat, promising another brutal day of sun beating on him like Bas’ own foreman.  It had been a week since the sea breezes had refreshed the city of Goredock, let alone stirred the foul air of the Gutters, the district of laborers, beggars, and whores.  Sails hung limp in the harbor atop stranded ships and the tempers of the sailors and cityborn alike were shortening by the day.

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