A quiet bar sat in one of the rougher corners of the capital.
Old wood, creaky stools, half-drunk regulars slumped over their mugs. The smell of sweat and cheap ale mixed in the air.
"You sure this place is good enough for a living legend?" the Guild Master asked, sipping from a chipped glass. "I wouldn't have minded paying for somewhere that didn't have a brawl every ten minutes."
The old man sitting across from him chuckled. "It's when you can hear a fight happening that you can be sure of secrecy. Besides... I hate fancy things."
The Guild Master looked at him sideways.
"Is that why you refused to live in the capital all these years? Even when the King offered you anything you wanted?"
The old man raised his glass and let the drink wash down before answering.
"The secret of taste isn't how you cook it. It's how you feel when you eat. The more peace you carry, the tastier life becomes."
The Guild Master looked at his own drink.
"Peace, huh?"
The old man waved.
