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Post by Mason McTavish on Oct 22, 2010 13:53:03 GMT -5
“You look like a man who could use a drink. Am I right?”
The barkeeper had good timing, not surprising. So Mason was quick to nod gratefully, glad that he would finally get his drink.
"Aye, you'd be right. Two mugs of your strongest." He slid the proper payment to the barkeep.
Another man walked over, judging from his attire, he was probably a woodsman or Ranger. He wasn't particularly interested, although the fact that he was carrying another man was a bit odd.
As soon as the man left, Mason snorted, leaning over to the barkeep.
"Odd crowd tonight, eh?"
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 22, 2010 20:08:05 GMT -5
The moonlight was bright outside. Stars lit the sky like little torches, the moon almost full and lighting his path. The sun had set and the sky had darkened at least two hours ago, but he had been unwilling to turn in, to seek the shelter of a human establishment and rest. It had been a month, if not longer, since Cados had been within his sight and he was relishing the sight of the large castle in the background, silhouetted by the moon that peeked from behind it enough that the cobbled road he stood on was lit. Too long, he thought. He enjoyed the energy here, the way the place was so full of life at a constant. He turned toward the door to the tavern he'd decided to stay in that night. It had not been his first choice but since he had noticed many Were's in the area, he had decided a place that was more populated and clean would be a better place to rest. He stepped to the door and pushed it open, allowing the warm air inside wash over him in a wave of great smells, a combination of ale and meat and humans. He tilted his head as he stepped inside, his bright bronze eyes looking the tavern over once before he shut the door with a loud 'thump'. His boots made the floor creak as he stepped away, the weight of his hidden weaponry bearing down on the floorboards greatly. He chose a table away from prying eyes (which he noticed there were many) and sat down in the shadows of a corner. The wooden chair wasn't uncomfortable but after this long, what wouldn't be satisfactory compared to a horse's saddle or standing on your feet for hours. He bowed his head as he clasped his hands together on the table. Were there no woman maids here to offer services? He did not like the idea of having to stand and cause notice to himself again just to get ale and maybe food. His nose twitched as he closed his eyes and sighed, lifting a hand as if to call any such services to his aid. He was too tired at the moment to care if no one came. Not that he needed to drown himself in alcohol and meat. It would do nothing for him but cause his senses to dull and bring some of the pain away from his constantly working mind. He would wait, see if someone came, and if no one did, he would request a room and retreat away from the eyes that all stared at him as if he were some hungry monster preying on every one of them in the room.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Oct 22, 2010 21:20:14 GMT -5
Once again, Malcolm’s guess proved correct: the burly man was both amiable, thirsty, and, most importantly, able to cover the tab. Smirking, he swept the man’s money of the table and into his palm, then gave him the usual friendly ‘just a moment’ before heading back to the bar.
He hadn’t even taken one step before nearly bumping into a ranger. He was oddly familiar, mostly because this was the man who’d been in such a rush to leave just a moment ago. Now he was back and toting around a possibly-dead corpse (who was also familiar, thanks to a distinct red cape). And of course, Lady Luck had decided to give him a parting spit-in-the-face; the possible-corpse was dripping a steady trickle of blood straight across the floor.
Malcolm had been just about to tell the man to clean up after his bleeding bad habit (and damn, it was started to stink worse than the were-creatures) when explanation came in the wily disguise of a small pouch of gold. A tip, supposedly plenty enough to buy a round for everyone. Or more likely, Malcolm thought, enough to line my pockets for the night and pay a lackey to clean up the mess.
“Sure, sure,” he told the man, waving him aside. “Don’t you or your friend break anything of mine, or it’ll be your tab.”
Behind him, the customer from before snorted. “Odd crowd tonight, eh?”
Malcolm shrugged, tossing the small bag in his palm a couple times. “I suppose so,” he replied, tucking the pouch in his pocket, “but I’m not awful picky about where my gold comes from.” Grinning softly to himself, he continued back towards the bar and poured out two surprisingly-generous mugs of the strongest liquor the man’s money would cover. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm noticed that the lovestruck-fellow and the object of his affections were both absent. Chuckling to himself, he picked up a mug in each hand and strolled back to the burly stranger’s table, setting the pair of tankards at the table.
“And there you are,” he said. “Anything else–” He paused, catching a meek hand raised out through the crowd. Some introspective fellow who, in contrast to the gregarious nature of most bar patrons, thought that just raising his hand would make him more noticeable through a crowd of gambling, chattering, glass-toasting men. It had worked in this case, he supposed.
“Well, if you need me, just ask,” he told the previous customer before strolling over to the darker corner of the bar. (This side, Malcolm noticed, needed a few extra candles.) He stopped at the recluse’s table, staring down for a moment before speaking. “You know,” he said, tapping his foot, “if you want something, yelling is usually far more effective.”
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Post by Valcyn Amora on Oct 22, 2010 21:39:52 GMT -5
Valcyn, having her fill, stood and left payment on the table. She decided to just rent a room for the night and go back to Naulus in the morning....or stick around in Cados. She just wasn't sure. She walked over to the barkeep and said," I'd like to get a room for the night. How much would that cost?" She waited for a reply, knowing that the barkeep was busy with all the customers in the pub.
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 22, 2010 21:59:38 GMT -5
"I really did not feel like yelling through this crowd," Draven responded, his eyes still staring at the table where his hands were resting. "It is not like I will starve or go thirsty while I wait. And I was figuring that if I had less notice, the better." Finally, he lifted his burning eyes to look at Malcom, a slight smile on his lips. He was amused by the man's tapping foot. Had he really irritated him or was this just a habit? With a soft chuckle, he leaned back in his chair and brandished a handful of gold coins from somewhere beneath his black cloak. "Something strong to drink," he said, dropping the coins on the table. "That is all I want for now." He raised a brow, studying this man for a moment before he clasped his hands together, attempting to keep his cloak around him well enough to hide the multiple weapons strapped to his body. He noticed (and it frustrated him as he thought about it) that one of his knives had glinted in the light from the opposite side of the room. Damn, he thought, hoping it would not be noticed by the other vampire, though that was practically impossible to expect.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Oct 22, 2010 22:53:02 GMT -5
“How modest,” Malcolm said, coming ever-so-close to rolling his eyes. He couldn’t completely criticize the stranger’s logic, however; using the hustle and bustle of the bar as cover was that let a vampire keep his job as owner of the best bar in Cados. Nevertheless, there was a difference between inconspicious and attempting-invisible.
Then, for the second time that day, an odd stranger tossed gold coins his way. (Maybe this was Fate’s apology for tossing a little pack of his mortal enemies into his bar.) “Something strong,” Malcolm repeated, tossing the coins into his now quite-heavy pocket. He caught a glimmer of light from under the stranger’s cloak that he recognized from experience as a hidden knife. “Very well. I’ll go get your drink, and you try not to start any fights.”
He had just turned back to the bar when deja vu struck again: he was stopped by yet another room-seeker. This encounter wasn’t nearly as pleasant. For one, she (or someone else in the general area) smelled like dying embers, and she wasn’t offering as nice a tip as the last man.
“A room?” Malcolm echoed, continuing past her and motioning her to follow as he spoke. “Well, for you I’ll call it...” He paused mid-sentence to climb over the counter and start on the Recluse’s drink. “...seven silver coins,” he finished, topping off the mug and hopping back over the counter with practiced ease. Once again, he strode straight through the crowd and expected the girl to follow. Back at the table, he slid the mug over to the recluse before turning back to the woman. “Sound alright to you?”
((Quick apology 'cause my focus was scattered and I didn't juggle both conversations well and I'm clueless on medieval economy.))
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Post by Valcyn Amora on Oct 23, 2010 9:29:45 GMT -5
Valcyn noddded. She handed over the silver as well as a gold coin, as a tip. Then, she started upstairs to the room she had rented. She sighed as she went in and closed the door behind her. //Sorry about the shortness.//
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 23, 2010 10:47:13 GMT -5
Draven raised a brow, looking somewhat amused by the tender's warning. Why would he even consider starting anything? Fighting would only expose him for what he was and then he'd probably end up being hunted by the Were's he knew were nearby. The woman asking for a room was definitely one of them, though he was clearly relieved she had wanted nothing to do with him or the vampire that ran the place. He grabbed the mug with one fluid, careful motion and drank, sighing as the contents left a bitter taste in his mouth that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Now that he had gotten what he'd wanted, he decided to look around the room. There were many there and the scents that mingled in the tavern made his nose sting, lightly. The combination was disgusting and yet comforting, he thought. Might as well find some form of intelligent conversation. With a sigh, he picked up his mug and looked toward the man who had commented on the odd crowd. He might have something of worth to listen to. He stood, walking toward him (Mason) and hovering around the table before dropping into a seat. "I must agree," he said, raising a brow, wondering how his rather blunt entrance would be taken.
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Post by Mason McTavish on Oct 24, 2010 0:48:36 GMT -5
"I must agree."
Who the devil was this guy? This, among other thoughts, fluttered about in Mason's head. He kept his face neutral, however, taking a long gulp from one of the mugs. Still wary from the fight, the blacksmith took a moment to size up the stranger. Pale, possibly armed, and somewhat creepy, although he wasn't quite able to put his finger on why.
Taking another drink, he looked over to the man in question. "And who might you be?"
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 24, 2010 8:18:48 GMT -5
"Oh, no one of importance," Draven answered, giving Mason a rather amused smile. "You may call me Draven, if you need a name to put to my face." He chuckled, drinking from his own mug. Another exhale after the strength of the drink and he was watching Mason with burning eyes. He leaned back in his chair, ruffing his hair with one hand while the other held closed his cloak as best he could. He could feel he wasn't a welcome guest of conversation with the other man. Or at least, that was his opinion. "Who are you, then?" he asked, tilting his head as he sat forward, his arms crossed on the table in front of him, eyes still studying Mason with curiosity.
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 24, 2010 8:19:53 GMT -5
OoC: Um, let me know if I need to delete my last post. I forgot to wait. I can save it if I need to get rid of it for someone else to post first.... Sorreh...
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Post by Mason McTavish on Oct 29, 2010 12:30:09 GMT -5
Still wary of the stranger, the blacksmith took another gulp of his ale before responding.
"Mason. I'm the local blacksmith." He replied, resting his arms on the table. He heard the quiet clinking of metal from the stranger. Either he had loose change or he was armed. Neither was exactly reassuring.
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 29, 2010 12:52:58 GMT -5
Draven nodded. That was a turn in events. Mason could be useful then; he'd been needing to look into getting some better steel to carry. He glanced at himself for a moment, then back at the blacksmith. "I could use your services," he said, tilting his head. He had by then released his cloak and was leaning forward, arms on the table as well. Conversation about work was always something he could get into. "I pay well," he added, watching, waiting.
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Post by Mason McTavish on Oct 29, 2010 13:23:25 GMT -5
"I pay well." 'Draven' said, the man now leaning on the table. Again, warning bells were sounding off in Mason's head, now noticing the numerous weapons concealed under the stranger's cloak. Still, he always could use work, and money didn't just drop out of the sky (Unless you were the bartender, apparently. The man was getting gold left and right.)
"Well, that depends. What were ye' looking for?" He responded, his tone saying that he wanted no jokes or tricks. He leaned back, putting some space between himself and the stranger.
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Post by Draven Hunter on Oct 29, 2010 15:46:10 GMT -5
Draven was glad this conversation hit off so well. He meant business; it wasn't often he ran into a blacksmith he could tell was extremely skilled. He explained that he needed to have made a few daggers, a sword... His had all begun to dull and chip and he was not happy with their edges anymore. "I have some special requirements for the metal," he continued, looking down at the hilt of one of his swords. "Black steel. Can you work with it?" He looked up, his bronze eyes hopeful. If he could get his swords replaced, and have them the way he wanted and liked them, he would be perfectly happy.
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