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Author Topic: The Courtyard Tavern and Inn  (Read 11326 times)
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Sývaein Sorossa
Scintillating Firestarter
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« Reply #15 on: February 14, 2010, 02:13:28 AM »

Syvaein Sorossa. There might have been a time that the name would have gotten him through several doors with little more than a nod of the head and a "how do you do sir". In Nemerran at least. Oh yes, his brother was a well-to-do merchant princeling out of Nyermersys, but the other two Sorossas had not amounted to much. Eyimon, may he burn, had some measure of power, but he was so... stupid? Was that the word here? No, rather Eyimon was just too good. The idea of treachery, the very concept of corruption had taken a look at Eyimon and decided against having anything to do with him. Granted, common sense had as done much the same, but that was not important. Eyimon was Eyimon.

Syvaein "Singehands" they had called him back in Ximax. Well he wasn't in Ximax. He was in New-Santhala, for all it was worth. New-Santhala was a viper's den compared to Ximax. Syvaein "Singehands" who could juggle fire and spout fireballs from his mouth. Yes, let them enjoy that.

The Courtyard was the name of the inn closest to the embassies where he would want to try his hand at performing, and it was to the Courtyard he travelled. On foot. Sparkworker or not, horses were a little out of his range. As he plodded towards the inn, he saw that there seemed to be some sort of commotion. He didn't think there were other inns in the area and his feet were tired. "Nothing for it I suppose."
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Ylva Rasmussan
Oddball Healer
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« Reply #16 on: February 14, 2010, 03:01:18 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

The envoy watched the dark clouds drift by....No one came to capture him.

Dorian grinned, slowly tiptoeing to the side of the roof to watch the white knight from a safe distance.
The spy was safe. Well, just about. Ferlin didn’t know his name, the guy could hardly remember him even though Dorian drank at the tavern regularly. Still, perhaps it was best to avoid the place for while.

 The darkhaired scraggy man watched as the knight dragged the unconscious Ferlin into the tavern. He felt sorry for the barman, but he wouldn’t sacrafice his own freedom on account of his. Anyway, no way would the guard accuse him. At least he hoped they wouldn’t assume that Ferlin possessed enough spine for the job.

Ferlin wasn’t killer material.

Neither were you once. Ah, there it was. The little worming thought that always squirmed into his mind at times like this. I’m no killer. Dorian firmly told himself. A thief? Once upon a time. An assassin? I failed everytime. A criminal? Always. A spy? It’s in my blood. But a killer? A murderer with no heart? I wouldn’t say so, I have a conscious, I just don’t use it, I let it sit on a shelf gathering dust. I’m a good man really....

Tell that to the 31st man....

The spy sighed and slowly climbed down from the roof.

I’m a good man....

“Dorian!“

The ragged man froze for the second time that day, and frowned, peering around as he elegantly dropped into a large crowded street. Someone had shouted his name. Noone ever shouted his name. Someone would have to know him really well to-

“Dorian Noone!“

There it was again!

His brown eyes bulged out of their sockets, darting around to find his persuer amongst the crowd. Who kept shouting that?! Was it the guard, the knight? Dorian tried to remember all the people he’d wronged over the years, surely they couldn’t have caught up with him. Was it one of the underground? The spy prayed it wasn’t his father, he had hoped never to see that man ever again.

“Dorian!“
The one calling his name came closer through the crowd, “Dor-“ The spy grabbed his persuer. Pulling him through the crowd into a dark alley, he rammed the man against a wall and threateningly held a lockpick up against his throat...well perhaps it wasn’t a very threatening piece of weaponry but Dorian had nothing else up his sleeve.

“Who sent ya?!“
The spy glared at his rather pathetic looking new enemy. Strange. He thought. Most hitmen in the underground arn‘t overweight... Or wearing bright green tights....

“It’s me! Ed!“ Squeaked the green tight wearing individual.

“Ed? Edoreth Beattie?“
Realisation dawned on the envoy and Dorian released his old friend. “You put a lot of weight on these past three years!“

Edoreth dusted off his eye-poppingly green costume. “Not a nice way to say hello, Dorian. I spot a old friend and say hello, and you try to poke me with a knife!”

The envoy grinned sheepishly and held out the lockpick in his hand. “Not really that sharp a weapon…what’s all this?” The skinny man gestured at plump Edoreth’s luridly coloured ensemble.

The rotund man blushed, “I’m late for my performance, I’m a jester at this big fancy do up at the Nermeran embassy….”

There was an awkward silence, Dorian didn’t say anything. What was the point of mocking the soldier turned court entertainer? Sure, it was an unusual change of direction, but after returning from the Highlands, they’d all had to scramble to find work.

The envoy smiled, “Good for you. Listen if you see our redheaded friend there, don’t say hello…”
He’ll probably try to silence you. “…he’s up there with the bigwigs, they won’t understand, a jester talking to the castellan…”

“The castellan?! Gone up in the world has he?”
The old soldier chortled. “Well he deserves it, after all that happened-“

“-It’s over now, ain’t it? No need to drag it up.”


Edoreth nodded in agreement, “Well, I’ll be seeing you!” The green jester waved and waddled off, heaving deep breathes as he tried to run quickly through the crowd to the embassy.

Dorian sighed, “So long, Ed.”
« Last Edit: February 14, 2010, 09:36:29 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Drea
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« Reply #17 on: February 14, 2010, 06:03:45 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Behrns watched with annoyance as the knight seemed to want to assume control of the situation, and more, the interogation itself.  As he listened to the knight question Ferlin, a slight crease formed on his forhead, and he took a deep breath.

"Oh, this isn't going to be good."  Vyddles whispered to Pella.  "I love it!"

"Marlon, behave," she whispered back.

Behrns stepped between Ferlin and the knight and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I'm not sure who you think you are, but this man is my prisoner, and I'll be an orc's bastard if I let him just walk out of here.  Only place he's going tonight is the city lockup.  Now, if you have a problem with that, I suggest you talk to the Thane."  His voice was low, his words measured and slow.  "Until then, you have anything to ask him, you ask me first.  Is that clear?"  He only waited a blink for the answer.  "Pella!"

She jumped.  "Yes, Boss?"

"Go to Ferlin's house.  See what you can find there."

"Tonight?"

Exasperated, Behrns levelled his gaze on her ands spread his arms wide as well as his hands.  "Well, I don't know.  What do you think?  Next week, perhaps?"

"Right away, Boss."  She hurried from the room.

"You want me to go with her, Boss?"  Vyddles questioned.

"No.  Get the shackles.  We'll take our guest to the cells."  When Vyddles was gone, Behrns faced Nahrvil.  "You got that name, yet?"

"Uhm, yes, Loghin Swerri.  From Marcogg, if I remember correctly.  Just here on business, but I'm not sure what."

Behrns faced the white knight once more.  "Now, if you want to come with us to the cells and talk to him some more, be my guest.  Just make no mistake about who's in charge here!"

Vyddles returned with the large iron shackles and began clamping them onto Ferlins wrists.  As he did, he glanced up and saw the knights missing right eye.  "Whoa!  That had to sting."  He finished with the shackles and stood Ferlin up.  "But the patch looks cool, though.  Am I right?  Gets the attention of the wenches looking for a bad boy, no?"  He grinned like an idiot.
« Last Edit: February 14, 2010, 06:08:54 PM by Drea » Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Eyimon Sorossa
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« Reply #18 on: February 22, 2010, 07:46:50 AM »

Ah, I am sorry neighbour I hope to talk with you later. Eyimon placed one hand on his sword and charged after Berhns. They had always been taught not to turn to the sword unless it was a matter of last resort. Unless they were willing to use it. This was not the time for swords. Eyimon caught up with Berhns and took his hand off of the hilt.

"Captain Berhns, you are a good man and you are doing your duty, so I hope you understand that I'm only doing mine."

Strangely enough, they had never been told not to kick people in the groin. Eyimon put his hand on his sword
Logged

For ten years I have been polishing this sword;
Its frosty edge has never been put to the test.
Now I am holding it and showing it to you, sir:
Is there anyone suffering from injustice?
Drea
Dangerous Doxy
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« Reply #19 on: February 23, 2010, 01:52:30 AM »

Behrns scowled at Vyddles and nodded toward the door.  "Let's get him to the cells."

"Right, Boss."  Vyddles began leading Ferlin from the office.  "Not gonna be a lot of drink pourin' goin' on tonight.  Look on the bright side, it's a night off."

As Behrns followed, he was aware that the white knight was following as well.  He sighed.  Complications.  Do gooder knights that felt they had the right to interfere by some virtue of some order.  It wasn't that he was against them; it was just that they usually proved to be more of a hindrance than a help.  They stepped out into the cool night air and the knight called out to him.  He turned and listened to the knight speak, but more importantly, he watched the knight place his hand on his sword.  Was he actually implying he'd be willing to fight?

There was an audible click, and Behrns briefly glanced at Vyddles, who had cocked his crossbow and was loading a bolt.  Behrns raised a hand to his younger subordinate, indicating that there was no need to worry... yet.  He then forced his entire focus on the knight, scowling.  "And just what is your duty?  Do you think I'm going to torture him?  I haven't yet.  I already told you that if you want to help, then you could help.  But if you are just going to whine about where we take the prisoner, take it someplace else.  I've got a murder to investigate.  That is my duty, and I plan on doing it."

Behrns lazily climbed up into the saddle of his horse.  He looked back to the knight.  "Now, you tell me what it is you want to do.  Stay or come with us.  Either way, the prisoner is going to the cells."
Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Eyimon Sorossa
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« Reply #20 on: March 02, 2010, 02:07:19 PM »

"As you value your life neighbour, I would thank you to stop pointing that at me."
Eyimon removed the hand from his sword and placed the patch back over his eye. "I would accompany you for the time being captain, but I think it would be best were I to stay here. The innkeeper and his patrons might be worried." As he turned Eyimon added "My duty, captain, is to protect those who cannot do so themselves. Peace favor you."
Logged

For ten years I have been polishing this sword;
Its frosty edge has never been put to the test.
Now I am holding it and showing it to you, sir:
Is there anyone suffering from injustice?
Drea
Dangerous Doxy
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« Reply #21 on: March 04, 2010, 12:20:16 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

"Pretty cocky for someone with a crossbow pointed at them."  Vyddles knew he could hit the stranger with his eyes closed at this short distance.  A glance from Behrns stopped any further words from the younger peace officer.

The older man nodded curtly to the knight.  "Very well.  Do what you can for the people at the inn.  And peace favour you as well."  Heels dug into the horse's flank, and Behrns started down the cobblestone road toward the guardhouse and cells.

Vyddles left the crossbow loaded, and climbed up onto his horse, a rope tied about the saddlehorn, the other end tied to the shackles that Ferlin wore around his wrists.  He urged his mount forward at a slow steady pace, allowing the prisoner to keep up without too much trouble.  He glanced back.  "Keep up, barkeep, and don't trip."

When Vyddles caught up to Behrns, he furrowed his eyebrows.  "Boss?  You think that knight is gonna be a burr under your saddle?"

"Like you, Vyddles?"

A hurt look crossed the younger man's face.  "Me?  What I do now?"

With his head turned away from his protege, a small smile broke Behrns' normally stern face.  "No, I don't think the knight will get in our way.  It's just the problem with those knights; always trying to do good, even when the people they are helping aren't deserving of it."

Vyddles glanced back at Ferlin, who walked head down behind them.  "What about him, Boss?  You think he's guilty?"

"Of being scared maybe.  Not of murder."

"Then why are we bringing him in?"

Behrns turned his head towards Vyddles.  "There have been two deaths connected to the Courtyard this week.  I don't like coincidences.  He knows something, and I damned well want to know what that is.  But he's scared of something, or someone.  And I want him more scared of me than whoever is threatening him."

Vyddles turned his head away and down, while scratching the back of his head.  "Shouldn't be too hard," he whispered to himself.
Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Markus Boadicea
The Lonely Wanderer
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« Reply #22 on: April 04, 2010, 03:43:42 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

An exhausted sigh escaped from Markus as he fell against a stone wall.
...This is bad, my vision is beginning blur. If this keeps up then I am going to pass out.

Markus tensed as another jolt of pain passed through his body.
The stinging has dulled significantly since that bastard trusted his dagger into my thigh. Why do the young ones have to try and be heroes? I guess it's laziness, but I just really hate getting gore on my blade. I simply can't be bothered with doing such trivial and repetitive actions every time I have cut down some young idiot masquerading as freelance adventurer.

Markus shifted slightly as another wave of blunt pain melted into the next.
Well, at least the bandages seem to be helping, but...

Markus brushed his coat aside revealing a bandaged portion of his leg. The blood had begun to seep through colouring the normally white fabric a metallic bronze.
Dammit, I need to change these bandages quickly... I need to get back to the tavern...

After a couple moments of collection, Markus pushed himself off the wall and began to limp down the alley.
...Times like this remind me of my own mortality.

Just as he began to recognize his surroundings he was forced to stop dead in his tracks. There seemed to be some kind of commotion going on outside the Courtyard Tavern; the inn which he had chosen to use as a rest stop before and after his heists in this specific area. Out of instinct he pushed himself against the wall of a rather unsanitary section of backstreet. He refused to be seen in this condition by strangers. Especially, strangers who are on horseback and have their weapons drawn, who knew how dangerous they were. Markus decided that he would wait for the bulk of them to leave before trying to enter the inn.
« Last Edit: April 13, 2010, 03:39:41 PM by Markus Boadicea » Logged

No one holds command over me. No man. No god. No prince. What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal? What is a claim of power for ones who defy death? Call your damnable hunt. We shall see who I drag screaming to hell with me.

http://www.santharia.com/adv/index.php?topic=7491.0
Eyimon Sorossa
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« Reply #23 on: April 08, 2010, 09:21:12 AM »

Eyimon re-entered the inn, his spirits slightly dampened. The innkeeper, now what had his name been? Ah yes.
"Goodman Nahrvil?" Eyimon walked over to the inkeeper in as nonthreatening a way as he could manage while he readjusted the eyepatch. He would have to place that false eye in soon. He was starting to get stares. "Might I have a word with you?"
The patrons of the inn would not take kindly to a murder and an arrest, it might help to offer his services to the innkeeper before they started to leave.
Logged

For ten years I have been polishing this sword;
Its frosty edge has never been put to the test.
Now I am holding it and showing it to you, sir:
Is there anyone suffering from injustice?
Drea
Dangerous Doxy
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« Reply #24 on: April 09, 2010, 12:59:22 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Eoghim Nahrvil was not sure what to think.  On one hand, he was glad that Behrns was gone, taking with him all this unpleasantness.  He did not want the murder of one of his patrons to be investigated here in front of all the prying eyes of customers.  That was not the type of establishment he had here.  The Courtyard Tavern and Inn was a respectable place that catered to mostly a better crowd than most of the inns about New Santhala.  On the other hand, he was now short a bartender.  Short term, he could fill in himself without it affecting too much.  Long term, he'd need a new bartender.  Not that he believed Ferlin was capable of such an act of depravity as murder.

He ran a hand over his bald pate.  Well, no time like the present to get behind the counter.  He hoped he still remembered how.  He began to roll up his sleeves and started toward the bar.

He then heard a voice call his name and he looked to see the one eyed knight approaching.  He smiled warmly.  "Yes, Master Knight.  I'm sorry if I've forgotten your name.  Twas a little intense in there.  Behrns can be that way.  Comes with his position, I guess.  Please don't hold it against him.  If there is a better constable around, I don't know of him.  As for Ferlin, he'll be safe with Behrns.  The man has a loud bark but his bite..." he reconsidered the words he was about to speak.  "Well, okay, his bite is actually worse than his bark.  But, he will make sure Ferlin gets a fair shake on this."

His ruddy cheeks glowed.  "Oh, my, sorry.  You were wanting something?"
Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Eyimon Sorossa
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« Reply #25 on: April 09, 2010, 03:13:01 AM »

"It would seem to me that you have a need to assure your patrons of their safety. A murder under your roof is not a pleasant event. I would be happy to remain and watch over you and your patrons, neighbour. If it would not trouble you, of course."
Eyimon reached for the pouch at his belt and extracted some coins. "How much for a room?"
Logged

For ten years I have been polishing this sword;
Its frosty edge has never been put to the test.
Now I am holding it and showing it to you, sir:
Is there anyone suffering from injustice?
Raworaan
Smart Alec
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« Reply #26 on: April 10, 2010, 12:06:11 PM »

Date: 30th Singing Bird: 2nd hour of Daybreak (7:00am)

"So what happened to all that rain that blocked the trading route down from Naios?" Raworaan asked his uncle, after they had set out again. They had been forced to see out a couple of day's in a farm house, which was a bit different to what they were used to, but neither Raworaan or Cyradin had seen fit to complain about.

It was shame, too. They had been making good time, but then, they judged it to be just a few hours of travel by wain to New Santhalos before they reached the capital city of the United Kingdom.

"More than likely got blown out to sea," Cyradin replied, "but at least its nicer today ... not even a breeze, not a cloud in the sky. Doesn't like as though there'll be rain to me. Just keep to our side, Raw."

Raw's attention returned to where it should be and he righted the wain once more, "at least they fed us, uncle," he commented, "I only wish they had given us rabbit."

"I'm pleased they didn't, the other meat and the eggs and the bread was enough," his uncle replied.

Raworaan grinned and they returned to the journey towards New Santhalos.

* * * * *

Date: 30th Singing Bird: 2nd hour of Sunblaze (10:00am)

They had finally made it! Cyradin had taken over from Raworaan when he judged the boy had had enough and the two of them were bantering back and forth as they continued the trip. New Santhalos, capital of Santharia and home to the various embassies from powers both within and outside of the Kingdom, and the petty bickering and the maneouvering and everything else that went along with such an environment. They were last here two months ago, give or take a day or two. And he could see some changes. A new embassy had been finished, and another one was being built. The guard house was still in evidence and the courtyard inn was well and truly in operation at this stage of the day.

Raworaan watched his uncle. Although he wouldn't ever admit it nowadays, he greatly admired the guy. He had taught him so much as to what it meant to be a merchant, and he was thankful for that. Still, it seemed to be expected that he would disagree with everything his uncle said or did, and so he played along with that role.

"Raw, see to the wain and Braan," Raworaan was told by Cyradin, "I'll see to rooms for us and something to eat."

Raworaan nodded to his uncle, and after he had gotten down, Raw led Braan around to the stable alongside the Courtyard Tavern and Inn. Raworaan saw to Braan, checked the wain was locked and stored safely and left for the tavern as well, the bags of himself and his uncle across his back.

When he had entered, he saw his uncle talking to an older gentleman who was apparently the owner of the inn.

"Eoghim, this is my nephew, Raworaan Chesabaltt," his uncle said to the man, "Raworaan, this is Eoghim Nahrvil, owner of this place."

Raworaan nodded to the old guy and then said to his uncle, "there's your bag, Braan and the wain are taken care of. Your bag's heavy, by the way."

Eoghim held out a hand to Raworaan who took it and shook it, feeling his hand almost crushed in the process. Eoghim let go, and Raworaan shook his hand, noting darkly the grin that his uncle gave him. He then motioned to the two of them to follow and they did so, although Raworaan was more interested in seeing who was around the tavern and inn than anything else.

"We need a room for three nights," Cyradin said, in response to the look Eoghim gave him, "a private room. I can pay. We also need something to eat now ... I'll have an ale with it, the boy will have milk."

"Milk," Raworaan protested mildly.

"Yes, milk," Cyradin confirmed, placing a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"Can you help us, Eoghim?" Cyradin asked.
Logged

If anyone out there calls those two 'teenagers' I'll turn them into frogs. The correct term is adolescence and the only good thing that comes out of it is that most everyone grows out of it. (paraphrasing David Eddings)
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Markus Boadicea
The Lonely Wanderer
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« Reply #27 on: April 10, 2010, 01:06:28 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Markus watched intently. These strangers who blocked his path seemed to be at a disagreement of some kind. The wound on his thigh was now beginning to sting. As Markus glanced down to check his bandages he noticed a small pool of crimson liquid.
"Blood... my blood..."

Markus had endured stabs wounds before, but none this deep. If he had to guess, it probably went in about 6 nailbreadths. He cringed as the pain spiked then relaxed as it dulled back down. The wound had left an impression on the bandages. The wound was in his thigh. It had to be at least two to three nailbreadths in length.
"It was an approximation, all the blood made it difficult to accurately determine the exact length and width, but it does give me the general idea"

Markus torn his gaze from the slowly growing pool of blood back to the argument taking place only a handful of peds away from him. The horsemen had ridden off, but a single man remained. Markus instantly recognized that this was probably his best chance to get to his room without being noticed. Anyway, Markus cannot tell how many people are actually inside the Inn nor can he determine how many of those people will be aggressive enough to risk provoking a riot among the tavern other occupants. Additionally, he has a good chance of overcoming his obstacle now that there is only one stranger left blocking his path into the tavern.

With a grimace, Markus pulled his coat back over his wound and hid all exterior evidence of it. He would have to move cautiously. If he moved too quickly he would bleed out and he he took to long he would probably collapse. After he was convinced that nobody would be notice his wound he pulled himself off the wall, straightened his stance as much as possible and begun to walk towards the tavern, struggling not to limp. A couple painful moments later Markus had reached the tavern door, he just hoped that he would be able to endure the pain just long enough to acquire a room and escape the prying eyes of the nosy drunkards that surely occupy the tavern.
"Here we go..."

Markus pushed open the door and stepped through the mantle.
« Last Edit: April 21, 2010, 07:09:00 AM by Markus Boadicea » Logged

No one holds command over me. No man. No god. No prince. What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal? What is a claim of power for ones who defy death? Call your damnable hunt. We shall see who I drag screaming to hell with me.

http://www.santharia.com/adv/index.php?topic=7491.0
Cyradin Lawabel
Masterful Merchant
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« Reply #28 on: April 13, 2010, 04:30:59 PM »

Date: 30th Singing Bird: 2nd hour of Sunblaze (10:00am)
The innkeeper nodded to Cyradin, "aye, one milk and one ale coming up. Beef stew ... left overs from last night and bread is on offer right now. We've got a room for you, upstairs along the corridor, last on the left. Take a seat, she'll take it to you."

The innkeeper motioned to one of the serving girls, and Cyradin nodded. Money changed hands and Cyradin led the boy to a nearby table.

"Impressions?" Cyradin asked Raw, looking keenly at his nephew. It helped keep the boy sharp, and being sharp would only help him in his future as a merchant.

"There's something going on ... or has happened ... one of the two. There is a dreariness about this place, that doesn't normally get experienced in a tavern or inn. He seems a bit worried," Raw said, pointing at the innkeeper, "and it almost seems as though people are waiting for something to happen."

Cyradin nodded, "and what impact might it have on us?"

"Well," Raworaan replied, "people might be unwilling to deal openly with us. The concern about whatever has happened might make us look suspicious. Prices might be reduced, and of course, we didn't make the deadlines this time."

Cyradin nodded again, "so, what do you think migt have happened?"

"Something was lost or stolen, someone was kidnapped, someone died or someone was murdered, some kind of crime ring was busted, someone was taken away for questioning, or they got news they will have to close down," his nephew said.

The older Kyranian nodded, "all possibilities, I didn't think about the crime ring being busted," he admitted, "good thinking, Raw."

One of the serving girls came over with the food and drinks, and both Cyr and Raw fell hungrily onto it.

"What will we do after this?" Raworaan asked.

"Well, we'll have to visit the embassy," Cyradin replied, "and no doubt cop a sherlacking for being late. And at some stage look for more deliveries."

Raworaan looked at his uncle, "and for the other two days?"

"See the sights of this place," Cyradin replied, "see what we can find out. You may have to do business with New Santhalos yourself one day, and become acquainted with the place would help out with that."

Raworaan nodded, "do you suppose they have any good fishing spots around here?"

Cyradin laughed at the question, "I suppose we'll have to find out, won't we?"
Logged

Chasing Rabbits!
Cyr's CD
Markus Boadicea
The Lonely Wanderer
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Human, Erpheronian


« Reply #29 on: April 13, 2010, 06:15:46 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

The first thing that Markus noticed upon entering the Courtyard Tavern was a smell, it bothered him and yet was so familiar.
The lights within the tavern blinded Markus, so he put eyes to rest while they became used to the light tone. His subconscious took this time to question his judgement. However the product of his own personal experience had taught him that the subconscious was logically weak and as such he had learnt to ignore it in essentially all situations.
A moment later his eyes adjusted to the lights, as Markus reopened his eyes he was surprised to see how dim the lights actually were.
"Was I in the darkness for so long that my eyes would react so violently to the slightest ray of light?"

Markus squinted.
"I couldn't have been without light for more then 3 or 4 hours..."

Ignoring this queer happening, Markus quickly scanned the room with a single fluid movement of the eyes. Yet another habit he had derived from his trials and tribulations.
"...Mm, for the most part it seems like there is nobody here that I should be particularly worried about, except..."

Markus' gaze fell of a figure at the bar talking to the inn keep.
"...Him... the man that was outside. I don't want him to see me."

He focused on the sword that hung by his waist then moved his view to his back.
"...What a strange cape, it is branded with a symbol of some form. Perhaps a clan emblem, yeah, that seems probable."

Markus' gaze fell back he stood there for a moment, considering his options, then he paused as he noticed that several of the tavern's occupants were beginning to notice his presence.  
"Damn, them. I need to get the key from the innkeeper, but what if that caped man spotted me in the ally before. It could lead to unnecessary complications; worse case scenario is that my bandage bleeds through again, he notices and investigates. But then again I can't just stand here."

Markus lowered his head trying to be as nondescript as possible and took the first step. As his foot touched the floor a surge of pain vibrated through his body, but he managed to hide signs of pain fairly well and landed the step without a limp. He managed to do this again and again without his legs giving out and with out drawing too much attention. He had almost reached the bar when he noticed the corners of his line of vision was starting to blur. An all to human feeling of panic began to seep into his mind causing his thoughts to become muddled and incoherent. The shadows in the corners of the tavern began to creep towards Markus, the faces of the drunks who had begun to notice his stumbling movements became warped and grotesque. Hastening his stride, Markus made it his only priority to make it to the bar, redirecting the energy he invested into being nondescript into movement.
In hind sight this was a lack of judgement, because once again, the panic that previously had shrouded his thoughts was still in effect.
While this method was effective, allowing him to make a massive amount of progress in the first couple steps there was a drawback, namely that each step Markus made took a significant amount of balance and energy, even if he didn't notice it yet.
By the time Markus had made a third step and did notice these effects it was too late. He was completely disorientated and this was accompanied with the sudden failure of balance. As his legs gave out placed the last of his energy into turning his body so that an unoccupied table broke his fall. In those last moments before his strength left him and the darkness overcame him he managed to decipher the fractured scenes of his fading consciousness. His vision dimmed dramatically turning the startled figures into dark blurs and then the image sharpened with a slight red hue to it then faded into blurs once again. The sounds of feet hurrying in his direction. There was yelling as well, but the sound was strange, it twisted in his ear. Markus managed to gasp one final breath of humid air, but before he completely blacked out he know what it was.
" That smell... the faint aroma of asbestos and formaldehyde which lined the walls in that old Tavern, back then, when I was a kid...
Huh, Nostalgia, that isn't like me..."

« Last Edit: April 16, 2010, 08:38:54 PM by Markus Boadicea » Logged

No one holds command over me. No man. No god. No prince. What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal? What is a claim of power for ones who defy death? Call your damnable hunt. We shall see who I drag screaming to hell with me.

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