fractions rework

location/tavern-overview.md

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@
 
 The Nether Inn has stood on the corner of Žlutá Street and Popelová Alley for over forty years. It started as a safehouse, became a flophouse, and eventually settled into what it is today: neutral ground. The name comes from where it sits — half-sunk below the street, so you step *down* into it, into the nether dark beneath the city's notice. What happens here stays here; talk of it elsewhere and you may lose the tongue that spoke of it.
 
-Fifteen years ago, **Orenn** and **Mags** took ownership — not by buying it, but by *earning* it. They were **fixers**: the people the city's underworld called when a problem needed to stop existing — a rival crew, a blackmailer with the wrong ledger, a gang war about to spill into the merchant quarter. Not heroes. The last job of their working lives was this very building: a den of summoners had been operating out of it, calling things up through the fault in its cellar, and it had gone bad enough that someone paid well to have it cleaned out. Orenn and Mags did the cleaning and took the house as their fee. They told the world they'd retired. Running the most dangerous bar in the city was, somehow, the quieter life — and the summoners' leftover work, sealed and silent in the dark below, was a closed case they never expected to reopen.
+Fifteen years ago, **Orenn** and **Mags** took ownership—not by buying it, but by *earning* it. They were **fixers**: the people the city's underworld called when a problem needed to stop existing—a rival crew, a blackmailer with the wrong ledger, a gang war about to spill into the merchant quarter. Not heroes. The last job of their working lives was this very building: a den of summoners had been operating out of it, calling things up through the fault in its cellar, and it had gone bad enough that someone paid well to have it cleaned out. Orenn and Mags killed and scattered the owners; **Haddon and Mother Vyre**, then legitimate planar scholars, handled the failing containment afterward. During that work Haddon entered a collapsing circle and took its living-anchor binding from Orenn, saving his life at permanent cost to his left arm. They took the house as their fee and told the world they'd retired. Running the most dangerous bar in the city was, somehow, the quieter life—and the summoners' leftover work, sealed and silent in the dark below, was a closed case they never expected to reopen.
 
 Under Orenn's rule, the Nether Inn became sacred ground. Assassins could drink next to their marks. Cultists could study next to inquisitors. The rule was simple: **no killing**. Orenn enforced it not with threats but with the calm certainty of a man who had killed worse things than you, and everyone in the room knew it.
 
@@ -68,7 +68,7 @@ The noise level before the brawl is a low murmur punctuated by occasional harsh
 │  [Cultist                               └──────┬───────┘    │
 │   Table]       [Center tables,                  │            │
 │                 stools, debris]        ┌────────┴────────┐   │
-│  [Tallow's                             │ Door to Kitchen │   │
+│  [Curtained                            │ Door to Kitchen │   │
 │   Booth]       [Vetch, near stairs]    └────────┬────────┘   │
 │                                                 │            │
 │  ┌──────┐                              ┌────────┴────────┐   │