Portly butcher

Ramon stood tall with a lean, muscular build with a bit of belly fat. His skin was a tawny, sun-kissed hue, with a hairy body.

His was a sharp and angular face, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His one good eye was the color of piercing amber, always alert and watchful, with a predatory glint that instilled caution.

Dark black hair that had a slight sheen to it, worn long and wild in a thick, braided style. His sideburns were thick and full of grey hair.

He wore a heavy leather apron with nothing underneath, and relatively loose trousers made from a strong fabric like wool or linen held up by a simple drawstring.

Thick leather gloves to protect his hands and high sturdy leather boots for his legs.

"Seems you won the bet, little crow," Ramon said as he approached.

Gleefully grinning from ear to ear, "I might be entertained for a while."

"Ramon! This better be important!." A tired voice spoke.

The curtains to the abattoir room opened up, and a huge portly man walked out.

With a snout for a nose, his bright blue eyes were scarily discerning, and his square face was a tad unfortunate due to bruising, scars, and wounds.

A balding hairline too cowardly to come forward with strands of dirty brown hair.

Garbed in a heavy leather apron worn over the tunic underneath. Both stained by blood, fat and visceral animal fluids.

Heavy leather gloves for his hands and woolen trousers, which were fitted garments that covered the legs. Tucked into sturdy leather boots.

Javara, Artam thought.

"Oh, it's you?" Javara said.

Artam held out the paper, and Javara took it.

Javara grunted at the writing, though Artam did not think he could read it.

"Yakum" Javara called.

A skinny servant came running, "Yes sir."

Javara shoved the paper in his direction, "Read what it says."

"Yes sir" the servant replied, opening the square paper.

" 'The Castle will require a Ton of meat, which is equivalent to two thousand pounds of meat. And should be delivered the morning before the next fortnight.'"

There were other instructions on the type of meat and the percentage of each type to be provided.

Javara hummed a sweet lullaby in a joyful tone, but the servant wasn't done.

"'The payment would be a hundred and ten silver talents."

"Hmmmggr" Javara grunted with discontent.

"That is no good, little crow." He said pointing a finger at Artam, "You promised a gig from the castle, not a way to cheat me."

He held out seven fingers, "I said seven bronze talents for a pound of meat. That should be a hundred and Forty silver talents for a Ton."

"I might not be the brightest candle in the room, but a hundred and ten is not a hundred and forty."

"Yes, it isn't." Artam replied, "But you'll take the gig anyway because you want to build a partnership "

Javara smiled, "Clever little crow."

"Now time for you to hold up your end of the bargain," Artam said.

Javara waved a hand and the servant left.

Then he motioned for Artam to follow him and Ramon to a quiet room behind one of the pens filled with pigs.

"The snorts of the piggies will cover our conversation here," Javara explained.

"And before you open that foul mouth of yours, Yes I will do it." Ramon said

The portly butcher paused. "But I mean to ask why Pale face would want forty swords."

"I do not know," Artam replied softly.

Javara squinted his eyes, "The truth but not the full truth."

"But it doesn't matter, a promise is a promise," Artam replied.

"Yes, I gave my word That if you could get me a gig from the manor, we would make the swords." Javara said, "And we intend to keep our word."

Artam was delighted with himself. 

Two weeks ago, when he was out on one of the errands the bastard sent him. He was almost beaten to death after he bumped into some ex-legionnares. 

Artam was pretty sure they were thieves. They had been harassing a little boy. Who knew the boy was the Butcher's child.

The butcher and Blacksmith scared them away and from then on their relationship grew.

Artam would refer them to the bastard. Then from rumors he heard they were very strong, and most men would steer clear of them. Even citizens.

He made his plans with Eryk and finally brought it up with them, now they were here.

Suddenly the sound of the evening bells rolled across the city, announcing evening prayers in fifteen minutes.

Burns, Artam cursed inwardly.

"I have to leave for prayers." He said and turned to leave.

But Ramon held his arm, preventing him from escaping.

"Where are you going? We are ardents of the flame." Ramon explained.

"Wait, let us get dressed, and we'll join you to the temple," Javara said before he and Ramon disappeared behind a door.

Several minutes later, both butcher and blacksmith walked out garbed in dark red togas- showing their status of low-ranking ardent.

Two red-haired women stood by their respective sides, each holding a child.

Their wives and kids, Artam thought.

Javara's wife was curvy and plump with fat in all the right places, dark red hair and emerald green eyes framed her heart face.

A cute little boy with his mother's face and green eyes, and Javara's brown hair held on to her tunic as he waddled.

Ramon's wife was slim but shapely, with a soft, comely air around her. She had an oval face, dark red hair, and brown eyes.

In Ramon's arms was a cute little girl with very dark red hair, a small oval face, and piercing amber pupils.

"Blessed evening," Artam said with a bow.

Javara's wife managed a small nod, while Ramon's wife smiled; her slim, slender figure looked ethereal in a black tunic.

Both women wore a long ankle-length tunic. They were covered by a stola (a bit like a dress), which was fastened at the shoulder with a brooch And a see-through shall cover their heads.

"Come." Javara walked past Artam, "Follow us now."

They arrived rather quickly, and the sky was already scarlet when they reached the temple.

Not as large as the grand temple on the other side of the city, but grand enough.

There many temples littered around the city. It was just too big for one or two temples.

Then the sound of the bell could be heard again - This time signaling the beginning of prayers.

They walked in and went separate ways 

The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the hall was vast and dimly lit.

The ceiling towered high above, adorned with intricate carvings depicting stories.

The floor was lined with rows of woven mats, meticulously arranged to demarcate the social hierarchy.

At the very back, closest to the entrance and under a canopy just outside the temple farthest from the altar, lie the mats reserved for the Naldeans garbed in black chiton and sandals, the lowest caste. Their mats were thin and frayed, 

Just ahead of the Naldeans are the slaves, their position only marginally better. 

Next, the servants and a few foreigners found their place. Though they are grouped, a perceptible gap exists between the two.

A few rows further up, the citizens knelt on mats that were noticeably more elaborate. While still humble, these mats were made of finer material, signifying the respect accorded to those born within the empire.

Finally, nearest the altar, the nobility prayed on luxurious mats, embroidered with gold and silver threads. The proximity to the divine space reflected their elevated status. 

At the front of the hall, a grand altar stood, draped in rich fabrics and adorned with offerings. It is there that the priests perform their rituals and preach sermons.

It didn't take long for Artam to reach the Naldean canopy.

He knelt on an empty mat and began reciting his prayers.

"…latom."

Then, the priest began reading scriptures from the Tokan and the deeds of the watchers from the sixteen texts.