Being Marked!
Logan trudged wearily up to the fifth floor, his muscles aching from the day's exhaustive errands. The city's streets had seen his shadow flicker in and out of nearly seventy liquor stores, a testament to his determination.
"The findings are remarkably similar across all fronts," he muttered to himself, scanning the notes on his leather-bound pad. "Only three types of wine throughout the city, fermented, every single one. No distilleries, just these monotonous varieties shipped from afar by relentless merchants."
The intricate web of middlemen and the lengthy routes of transport inflated the prices to exorbitant levels. Most ordinary mercenaries, those rough-and-tumble souls who frequented the taverns, could scarcely afford a swig more than a few times each month.