Sweet scents of
barley beer greet everyone at the doorless threshold.
This mudbrick building was a tavern, but now only
purposeful Ashur Kan drinks at a desk near the
entrance. Give him your money and your message
and he will direct your message to Serah or
Shadrak, two well-paid and indignant psionicists
standing behind an empty bar; they hate the work,
just not enough to quit. It’s not clear what hold
Ashur has over them.
One silver piece buys one message that must be
voiced in one breath and can travel anywhere in
the city. Writing is not accepted. As long as he
hasn’t fallen asleep, Ashur remembers
conversations; and he adores Hamanu.