Snippet #2507299

For Gar, mid November was hardly the brightest, sunniest time of year. Bitter winds carrying snow blew across the whole nation, and in particular through the streets of the seaside city of Davonport. Davonport lay on Gar's southeast coast, a position that made it perfect for trade with nations farther south, such as the new and developing Dharan League. Merchant ships were constantly going to and from the city, and brought with them many travellers. While Gar was not particularly cosmopolitan as a whole, Davonport certainly was. Most of the city's residents were Garian, but travellers from lands farther south would set up stalls to sell their exotic wares before taking a ship home, some even stayed for good. However, southern merchants no longer considered Davonport a good venue for trade now that winter had drawn in, and the streets were now filled with children shrouded in warm coats hurling snowballs at each other. However, the docks were still as lively as ever; sailors and dock-workers hauling cargo to and fro between their ships and various warehouses, whistling to themselves and rubbing their arms to warm up as soon as they deposited their loads.

The snow only fell harder with the coming of night. The streets were no longer filled with excitable children, nor many other people for that matter, all of whom were huddled under clothes of their own. Sailors were no longer bustling around the docks but sleeping aboard the ships, or more likely, getting pissed senseless in one of the local taverns.

One such tavern was The Osprey. It's owner was well known as a lover of music and could barely go a week without hiring some musician to play in his tavern. Tonight's musician was a young man named Richter Thorne, who was sat on a stool at the front of the tavern, plucking his lute. The piece he was performing was rather slow and peaceful, and probably not very suited to its audience, which was a rather rowdy, drunk group of sailors. This became particularly evident when a beer glass narrowly missed his head and shattered upon impact with the wall behind him, spilling shattered glass and ale over the wall and the floor.
"Play shumfing livelier!" A drunken voice demanded from the back of the tavern.
Richter only had to cast a backward glance at the remains of the glass behind him before realising that it would be a good idea to oblige. He assumed that they'd like sea shanties, but he only knew a few. However, there was one shanty that almost everyone throughout Gar knew, and Richter was certain everyone in the tavern would know and appreciate it. So, he took a moment to check that his lute was in tune, began stamping his foot against the floorboards, strummed his lute and burst into song:
"What do you do with a drunken sailor,
What do you do with a drunken sailor,
What do you do with a drunken sailor,
Earl-eye in the morning?"
A cheer burst out from several of the bar-goers, many of whom joined Richter in the chorus.
"Heave ho and up she rises,
Heave ho and up she rises,
Heave ho and up she rises,
Earl-eye in the morning!"
Soaking in the new-found praise, Richter began to raise the tempo of the song.
"Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Earl-eye in the morning!"
The raucous singing of Richter and the sailors could now be heard from outside the tavern, and Richter's lute was almost drowned out by the din, and he was struggling to keep his voice above those of the drunken sailors.

By the end of the song everyone in the tavern was belching out the song at full blast, most of them also roaring drunk. Upon the finishing "Earl-eye in the morning!" an even louder, unintelligible cheer arose, and at least one person yelled out: "A pint for the bard!". Richter collected his pint and downed at quickly as he could so that he could continue his performance, immediately going into the next shanty that he could remember.

Richter was surprisingly sober by the end of his performance, as most of the sailors were too drunk to be able to order him any more alcohol. In desperate need of some fresh air, Richter decided to go for a walk to find an inn that wouldn't keep him awake all night, and wouldn't leave him with a splitting hangover. He whistled the tune of "Drunken Sailor" to himself as he went, trudging through the inch thick snow that covered the docks.