Chapter 72 - Drunken Griffin

The stale scent of ale and pipe smoke still lingered in the small, cramped room above The Drunken Griffin. I lay on a rough cot, the thin mattress doing little to cushion my aching body. My muscles, accustomed to the hideout's spartan conditions, still protested the unfamiliar softness. The sounds of the city, even at this early hour, filtered through the grimy window: the distant rumble of carts, the muted shouts of vendors, the occasional bray of a beast of burden. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, almost sterile elegance of the Sapphire manor, and the absolute silence of Herald's underground lair.