Emile Lyman Dupierre drank deeply from his ale trying desperately to ignore the stench of the woman who sat on his lap. Worse than the strong smell of sweat and onions that wafted from her was the cheap perfume she doused herself in an effort to hide the smell. She had spent good money on perfume, money that Emile would have rather her spend on a bath. But he could overlook all of that because she felt good in his arms and it had been weeks since he had a good tumble or a job for that matter.
Not that he could particularly blame the guild for turning their back on him. Since his wife had left him and took their son with her, Emile’s work had declined as rapidly as his drinking had increased. Nor could he blame Brigid for leaving. The life of a cartographer’s wife is not for everyone, especially not Brigid who needed a husband who fawned on her. No, he chided himself. That was not a very fair statement. He had taken her away from both her family and her home and brought her here to Erat after marriage. In his defense Brigid knew what his occupation entailed but looking back now, he saw that she only thought she understood. But none of that mattered now as she taken their son Renoir and returned to Vitalis.
Emile’s eyes scanned the common area of the inn. The Gutter Mug was your typical den of iniquity and even then on the lower end of the scale. But Emile didn’t particularly have any other choice. He was running low on funds and unless he found a job soon, he was going to be begging in the streets. The denizens of this particular establishment were more Kypiq than Neran and he preferred it this way. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for conversation and most Kypiqs weren’t interested in conversing with a drunk Neran. Emile’s thoughts were interrupted by the feel of his companion’s warm lips on his neck. Her instant kisses caused a sudden annoyance to build in him.
“Let’s retire to your room and allow me to relieve you of some of your stress,” she cooed in his ear.
“And I’m sure you’ll relieve me of my purse as soon as I’m snoring, dear,” he replied as he shifted her off his lap. He dusted off his coat in disgust and walked out into the street. Erat was a fairly prosperous town located on one of the major trade routes of Callambea and one of the most Neran cities in Ellylon county though hints of it’s Kypiq origins could be gleaned from the fact that their buildings tended to stretch towards the heavens rather than the horizon.
After the war, many Nerans moved into west Ellylon looking for adventure. Some like, Emile, sought profit in mapping the surrounding wilderness and cities. Emile had always been fascinated by books and maps. From an early age, his mother would often have to drag him away from the one book he owned to help with the chores. Emile patted his coat pocket fondly and pulled out a book.
The cover had long worn off of “The Legend of Morgan Dupierre” but he nevertheless kept the book with him at all times. The book told the tale of his ancestor, the legendary cartographer and adventurer, Morgan Dupierre. Once he picked up the book, it never dawned on him to be anything other than a cartographer. Young Emile devoured the book with an intensity that did not diminish upon rereads. This was his fate. This was his destiny.
And yet, here he was almost penniless, definitely jobless, and unfortunately sober. Lost in thought, he almost didn’t see the horse and stepped out of the street just in time. The rider didn’t slow for a moment, not even when a parcel slipped out his satchel. Emile picked up the parcel, which bore the insignia of the Auctrix, a band of travelling scribes. The Auctrix were notoriously select in who they inducted into their ranks. Emile had tried some years earlier to join them to no avail. The council of scribes had deemed him too young and inexperienced. But now, almost a decade later, with this lost parcel in hand, perhaps they would give him a second look. Maybe Fortuna hadn’t completely abandoned him.
“Qui scribit historia, historiae formas,” he said as he straightened his hat and sauntered over to his horse.
