No minstrel would ever sing the praises of the street food of Ul'dah, and as far as Verad was concerned that was a crushing blow to their merits as entertainers. They might sing of the sumptuous feasts of the Sultanate or the simple and rustic fare of the Shroud, but he had yet to meet one that could fully articulate, beyond a dirty limerick, the pleasures of a good (to use the term loosely) shrew-on-a-stick.Â
The stringy-yet-mushy texture of shrewmeat roasted over a small brazier and spiced with a mixture of paprika and powdered dragon-peppers to hide the sour aftertaste was an experience Verad was likely not to forget anytime soon, and not merely because Ul'dahn food regulation was inconsistent at the best of times and food adulteration was common. Verad was sure he'd seen cactuar, ant, and in at least one instance hunks of painted granite all passed off as shrewmeat. Extra-meaty, that last one had been called. He'd nearly broken a tooth.
Even so, Verad made a point of buying a half-dozen pieces of roasted and skewered "shrew," refilling a waterskin nested among his pouches for the price of an extra gil as a necessary precaution given how wildly the heat of the spices could vary. His current meal was of but a moderate piquancy, and so he could still feel lingering traces of the sour on his tongue after suffering the act of chewing and swallowing, leaving him with the feeling he had just sucked on a meat-lemon before a swallow from the skin could cleanse the palate.Â
As food went, it was abominable. But it had its advantages. The smell burned the nose, so the before was unpleasant. The aftertaste? Atrocious. But in the moment of eating, the act of chewing and swallowing, Verad was sure that there was nothing finer. However awful what may have come before, and what may come after, it was to be enjoyed, however dubious. As in food, so too in life.
Aside from the philosophical benefits of such questionable comestibles, there were more practical ones - namely the presence of shrew-vendors and other such purveyors of dubious foods throughout the city, giving a person a reason to linger in any spot they were near while they ate. And if one particular vendor happened to be near one particular warehouse belonging to one particular Taeros? Well, thought Verad, squatting down on a stray piece of stone architecture to enjoy his meal, so much the better.
He was able to manage a mere glance at the building before a woman, an Elezen from the Wildwood by the clasps she wore, passed by. Verad stopped her, and made his sales pitch. Five minutes passed. She left. He sat down again, rubbed the welt on the side of his cheek from where she slapped him, and returned to examining the building. This he repeated with all customers to cross the shipping quarters of the Exchanges, and between dubious foods and dubious goods, he had every reason to be there. So he thought.
Between bites of shrew and the occasional customer, he was able to piece together at least a little. There was more security, as befit a place closer to the Exchange and, Verad supposed, more relevant to Taeros' interest. The half-dozen or so guards he could see at the front of the building appeared off-duty, as had those in the Lane, but every so often a Blade would pass by to stop and joke with someone on-duty. The knowledge brought a frown across weathered lips, which he passed off as working a particularly chewy piece out from between his teeth.
More guards, and more interest from the Blades in an official capacity, then. Without knowing a paper trail, he was at a loss as to why. Something valuable? Heightened security after the last robbery (surely not; he flattered himself, and knew it)? Or a simple proximity to higher property values? He couldn't say.
To the architecture then, he thought. The loading bay, if there was one, did not face the main street - making the presence of so much security for a mere pair of double-doors all the more puzzling. Perhaps the offices were more extensive out front. As for the bay itself, likely on a back road he wouldn't be able to see - shrew-vendors were not so often found in the bylanes where commercial traffic could be found. And that would have similar security to spare.
So, a larger contingent, with the attention of Blades. A bigger facility. Verad picked at his teeth with the remains of the skewer as he considered the problem. This wasn't something he could crack alone, or with Miss Tabrisviel. There was risk, and there was foolishness, and he knew the latter when he saw it.
He was probably going to need more firepower for this one.
The stringy-yet-mushy texture of shrewmeat roasted over a small brazier and spiced with a mixture of paprika and powdered dragon-peppers to hide the sour aftertaste was an experience Verad was likely not to forget anytime soon, and not merely because Ul'dahn food regulation was inconsistent at the best of times and food adulteration was common. Verad was sure he'd seen cactuar, ant, and in at least one instance hunks of painted granite all passed off as shrewmeat. Extra-meaty, that last one had been called. He'd nearly broken a tooth.
Even so, Verad made a point of buying a half-dozen pieces of roasted and skewered "shrew," refilling a waterskin nested among his pouches for the price of an extra gil as a necessary precaution given how wildly the heat of the spices could vary. His current meal was of but a moderate piquancy, and so he could still feel lingering traces of the sour on his tongue after suffering the act of chewing and swallowing, leaving him with the feeling he had just sucked on a meat-lemon before a swallow from the skin could cleanse the palate.Â
As food went, it was abominable. But it had its advantages. The smell burned the nose, so the before was unpleasant. The aftertaste? Atrocious. But in the moment of eating, the act of chewing and swallowing, Verad was sure that there was nothing finer. However awful what may have come before, and what may come after, it was to be enjoyed, however dubious. As in food, so too in life.
Aside from the philosophical benefits of such questionable comestibles, there were more practical ones - namely the presence of shrew-vendors and other such purveyors of dubious foods throughout the city, giving a person a reason to linger in any spot they were near while they ate. And if one particular vendor happened to be near one particular warehouse belonging to one particular Taeros? Well, thought Verad, squatting down on a stray piece of stone architecture to enjoy his meal, so much the better.
He was able to manage a mere glance at the building before a woman, an Elezen from the Wildwood by the clasps she wore, passed by. Verad stopped her, and made his sales pitch. Five minutes passed. She left. He sat down again, rubbed the welt on the side of his cheek from where she slapped him, and returned to examining the building. This he repeated with all customers to cross the shipping quarters of the Exchanges, and between dubious foods and dubious goods, he had every reason to be there. So he thought.
Between bites of shrew and the occasional customer, he was able to piece together at least a little. There was more security, as befit a place closer to the Exchange and, Verad supposed, more relevant to Taeros' interest. The half-dozen or so guards he could see at the front of the building appeared off-duty, as had those in the Lane, but every so often a Blade would pass by to stop and joke with someone on-duty. The knowledge brought a frown across weathered lips, which he passed off as working a particularly chewy piece out from between his teeth.
More guards, and more interest from the Blades in an official capacity, then. Without knowing a paper trail, he was at a loss as to why. Something valuable? Heightened security after the last robbery (surely not; he flattered himself, and knew it)? Or a simple proximity to higher property values? He couldn't say.
To the architecture then, he thought. The loading bay, if there was one, did not face the main street - making the presence of so much security for a mere pair of double-doors all the more puzzling. Perhaps the offices were more extensive out front. As for the bay itself, likely on a back road he wouldn't be able to see - shrew-vendors were not so often found in the bylanes where commercial traffic could be found. And that would have similar security to spare.
So, a larger contingent, with the attention of Blades. A bigger facility. Verad picked at his teeth with the remains of the skewer as he considered the problem. This wasn't something he could crack alone, or with Miss Tabrisviel. There was risk, and there was foolishness, and he knew the latter when he saw it.
He was probably going to need more firepower for this one.
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
