OKAMA, THE OLD STORYTELLER from Chapter Eight, woke with the dawn. He would have preferred to stay in bed, sleep the morning away, ignore the afternoon, then skip the evening all together and start fresh the next morning, but his body wouldn’t allow it. So he rose and began his day.

He didn’t need much sleep anymore, something he felt was more curse than gift depending on the time of day, which was typically in the mornings. Once the sun was down however, when he was the last to leave the tavern of the Inn of the Juggling Halibut, having endured another night of drinking and telling stories, he would often grow cranky at the thought of it all coming to an end. But his bed would call to him, and to his bed he would go.

Once in bed, of course, he couldn’t think of any other place he’d rather be. Sleep was his only true bliss, and once found, was something he did not like to give up.

But despite what the spirit might yearn for, the body often had other plans.

The Inn of the Juggling Halibut was more than just his favorite drinking spot, it was also his home. He had the best room in the house. A spacious suite with two rooms along with a small water closet. Once awake, however, he did not linger long in the room. He dressed quickly and made his way down to the tavern for breakfast.

Despite the heat, Okama wore a long coat and wide brimmed hat, both seriously out of fashion in the city of Haven. But then, Okama didn’t care much about fashion, much less the heat.


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