Rust of Coming Ages
The Prince Chanik
There’s nothing like a classy joint, and that’s exactly what this is: nothing like a classy joint. Dim lanterns have been carefully placed to give just enough light without spending a clip they don’t have to. Tattered rags nailed up over gaps in the boards mute, but don’t eliminate, a draft — which is just as well given how much more smoke would fill the place if it had nowhere to go but the obviously clogged chimney.
The floorspace is dominated by long tables mostly filled by sailors, but smaller tables dot the perimeter of the place. A staircase leading upwards is roped off. The crowd is rowdy, and boisterous — the bouncer assures they are enough so to muffle private conversations, but not so much as to provide a hazard.