<em>Gods above and below, it's been a long day</em>, thought Enoch as he wove his way through the crowds that would plague the city well into the night.  His body ached from loading wagons with bags of grain and flour for hours on end; not the most glamorous work, true, but it at least paid honest coin.  He might have gone out sooner had he not stopped to clean the dust and dirt off, changing into simpler clothes while home.  He approached the Rusty Shield, a place for others like himself, people of all walks who made their money at the edge of a blade and those who flocked to them for tales and the like.<br/><br/>Enoch pushed the door open and entered.  For a moment the roar of conversation and laughter dimmed, as those within took in his unnaturally pale skin and horns that swept back along his head, but only for a moment.  Since discovering the tavern a year ago Enoch had become something of a regular.  In time the stares and uncomfortable silences had diminished, and now it was only the newcomers who made much of a fuss about it.  Having worked with some of the other regulars from time to time had helped; Enoch nodded at those he knew in greeting as he passed, making for the bar.<br/><br/>Once seated at the bar Enoch order what had become his favorite drink, applejack brandy, and threw back the first glass when it arrived before ordering a second.  And a mug of the house's own ale, which to Enoch had always had a nutty taste.  It had, after all, been a long day...<br/><br/>