The stout, dark-haired patron of the Greyhound Inn noticed the lights were still on at his establishment as he approached it on the Via Appolonia. He had closed the Inn for the day to attend the inauguration of the new Tyrenian Football League, and then tried to think who he gave a key to. His first thought made him grimace as the thought of his brother, Hieronimus, alone in the Inn, made him cringe. His second thought however put a smile on his face, and as he opened the door and entered the old building, he was glad it was the latter. "Mama!" he cried out, as the smells of Helliar cooking enveloped him. "Come in and sit down, Naevi!" he heard from the kitchen. Ah, nothing beats a home-cooked meal.
As the mother and her son were enjoying each others company, and the food, the conversation naturally turned to football. "I'm glad the Helliar have a team," the older woman said, whose cooking could diffuse even the trickiest crisis, "they deserve a chance to prove themselves." Naevius smiled. He did everything he could to aid the entry of the Helliar Brigantes into the Tyrenian Premier league. Naevius clasped his mother's hand. She looked up, directly into his eyes, and smiled. "Your people do deserve this chance," he thought to himself, but instead proclaimed to his mother, "Let me help you with the dishes!"
OOC (sort of): This gives a bit of background on the "villages" outside the city wall. They are Helliar, an ethnic group related to Tyrenians, who have been subjugated by their more powerful neighbor for centuries. However in this more progressive era, the Helliar are becoming just as advanced as the Tyrenians, and both groups live in peace with each other.
- NPO
) as the backbone of the Tyrenian society. Perhaps they aren't the brightest people, and aren't very influential in politics and public speaking. But they are farmers and it is their food that keeps the Tyrenian machine running.