During his many years of farming, Marcus would occasionally reward himself after a particularly grueling day with a thimbleful of crude whiskey, the kind that made him hiss after every sip. He'd sit by the small fire and put up his aching feet and nurse that thimble and review the day's work, feeling a sense of rightness, of being where he should be, of having done what needed doing, and having earned that drink through the sweat of his brow.
Since his... elevation, however, alcohol had become something else. To many of the nobles he'd met, it was an escape, or an artform, or a means to numbing pain, or a way to boast of their wealth, or a thousand other variations he'd not bothered to try to understand. He'd quickly learned to not drink with every toast, to hold onto one goblet, and at the end of the night he'd often ridden home stone cold sober, lost and alone and tired.
Heading out now with the group, he feels that same sense of detachment. What had they done to earn this drink? What land had they plowed, what deeds had they accomplished? He can't think of anything worth celebrating. Can't think of how he's earned this round. So, not caring where they go, not caring what they buy, he resigns himself to another night of false carousing. Another night subjected to over-hearty toasts, boisterous laughter, and declarations that would be proven false come the light of dawn.
Following along at the back of the group, lower jaw jutting out, fists pushed deep in his pockets, he resists the urge to sigh. A profound sense of homesickness passes through him. He'd give this all up in a moment just for a chance to sit on his old chair by his fire, with that thimbleful of crude whiskey and that dull familiar ache in his bones of a day well spent out on his farm.
"Shorline it is then! Lead on young squire!" As they walk, Tellis has notticed how the pesant hero seems disorentied by their banter and the societal differences. In an effort to include him, Tellis sidles up beside Marcus and takes his arm in the fashion of a close comrade.
"Now Marcus, while we are all here to protect her Ladyship, you are the only one who has successfully saved her life so far. The rewards you have been given are thus well deserved, but I can only imagine that your sudden elevation in Society has left you somewhat dizzy... so I let me give you my word: While we travel together, you may trust me as friend and brother-in-arms. A blade drawn to you is drawn to me as well. I hope I can earn the same from you."
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"You figure it out," he gruffs back. "Is that not your job?"
Mr. Ruttle gives Hiram a wry smirk. "Of course it is. Consider it done."
He leads the group to the Shoreline Drinkhall, close enough to home, and close enough to parties of interest. Along the way, he explains some of what he knows about the house. "Just so you know, the previous owners were discovered to be... friendly with improper company. When they left in a hurry, the house became available at reduced prices. This does allow us the extra space and amenities that you have no doubt noted, but yes, indeed, there are a few... unregistered renovations that needed clearing. The basement door, for example."
Upon reaching the Drinkhall, Edmund walks in head held proud, and looks around for a table large enough to suit all of them. Eschewing the traditional adventurer's corner dark booth, he spots a table out in the open, in the most well lit area of the bar. With a swipe of his tail the chair is out, and the young tiefling drops to a comfortable seat, feet up on the table, calling out, "Thirsty men with good coin here, and we can use some service!"
Holding onto Marcus' arm is akin to holding onto a tree branch or a sack filled with rocks. There's no fat to the man, just tremendous strength as if the years spent tilling the soil had given him some of the earth's own power. Marcus doesn't pull his arm away, but nor does he lean in; he simply walks along at the same pace, listening gravely to the finely spoken Tellis.
"Thank you for your generous words," he says. There's a pause as he searches for what next to say. "We are both bound to serving the Lady Dressarosa." As a statement of fact it seems safe. Again he searches, face grim, and finally finds a concluding statement. "Let us hope there is no need for drawn blades at all."
The main difference between Tellis' assurances and the bold statements he's heard from other nobility is that Tellis is making his before the drinking starts. So that's something, he figures. But as to how much his fine words will be worth when blades really are drawn? That remains to be seen.
They walk a dozen steps, Marcus growing ever more uncomfortable with having his arm held. Their arrival at the entrance to the tavern gives Marcus the opportunity to subtly shakes Tellis free if the other hasn't let go already. As he follows Edmund to the table, he turns back to Tellis, knowing it polite to continue conversation. "What brings you to the Lady's service?" It's a good question, and one that's served him well. Intelligent and proud men always like to speak of themselves, given a chance.
He doesn't yet sit. He'll wait to let the nobles take their preferred chairs.
Along the way, he explains some of what he knows about the house. "Just so you know, the previous owners were discovered to be... friendly with improper company. When they left in a hurry, the house became available at reduced prices. This does allow us the extra space and amenities that you have no doubt noted, but yes, indeed, there are a few... unregistered renovations that needed clearing. The basement door, for example."
Hiram listens intently, nodding at the mention of the door.
"It may become useful," he states impassively. "Is there sewer access?"
Upon reaching the Drinkhall, Edmund walks in head held proud, and looks around for a table large enough to suit all of them. Eschewing the traditional adventurer's corner dark booth, he spots a table out in the open, in the most well lit area of the bar. With a swipe of his tail the chair is out, and the young tiefling drops to a comfortable seat, feet up on the table, calling out, "Thirsty men with good coin here, and we can use some service!"
Hiram sighs wearily and sits down next to Edmund.
Leandric didn't immediately join his fellows, instead heading for the bar. There he spoke to whomever stood behind it, lowering his voice so to such an extent that nearby patrons would still hear him, "Could you do me a favor add a part water to whatever the tiefling orders? I'm afraid my friend there has had a bit too much already and I don't really feel like carrying him home yet again."
As he follows Edmund to the table, he turns back to Tellis, knowing it polite to continue conversation. "What brings you to the Lady's service?" It's a good question, and one that's served him well. Intelligent and proud men always like to speak of themselves, given a chance.
He doesn't yet sit. He'll wait to let the nobles take their preferred chairs.
Looking at Marcus squarely for a moment, Tellis seems to ponder something then speaks. "Direct, yes. I like that. Well Marcus, I will be honest with you. And know that this sort of honesty is rare between men of our stations, but since we are companions I think it is correct."
"Among the nobility there are two things that are valued above all, bloodlines and wealth. My bloodline is strong, nearly impeccable. Unfortunately, wealth is something that my family lost several generations ago. In truth, I am half a nobleman. Were I a woman, I would likely be married off to a rich merchant with delusions of having children in the nobility. That rarely works out as intended. For me, I have to change my own position in the world. For that, I have my wit and my skill with a blade."
"In truth, your circumstances are exactly what brought me into the Lady's service. You have been rewarded for heroism. However, should I have done the same my bloodline would create a greater result. Had I done the exact same act as you under the same circumstances, I may have been granted new lands and titles, along with honors and celebration."
"Simply put, coming here with her Ladyship in this manner puts me in a better position to be a hero. It is a mite bit mercenary and surely a gamble, but one where the rewards might just outshine the risks. And even if nothing truly exciting happens, my willingness to take on such a task will gain me prestige and reputation at home. Such things can be currency among the nobility."
"And know this Marcus... I am one who understands the value of friendship. My companions in such a venture would likewise be well rewarded for their continued heroism, in fact the perception of the nobility and common man working together could increase the prestige and reputation we gain. You could even find yourself elevated to the Peerage under the right circumstances. It can be a matter of being the right person in the right place at the right time."
Marcus listens with the sober gravity that he affords every member of the party when they address him directly, not making eye contact but staring fixedly at the floor, brows furrowed with concentration.
This time, however, Tellis' words elicit a couple of surprised glances up to his face; Marcus raises an eyebrow halfway through Tellis' revelation, and it only lowers again toward the end.
There's a moment silence between the two amidst the clamor of the tavern, Marcus nodding slowly as he stares at where his hands clasp the back of a chair. He looks at Tellis as if seeing him a new light, or perhaps really looking at the man instead of seeing his own assumptions about all nobility.
"You're... more honest than most, Mr. Tellis." He rubs a thick thumb across his chin. "And I appreciate that." Each sentence is like a stone dropped into a well. "I aim to do little more than keep Lady Dressarosa safe. If I can accomplish that for as long as I'm charged with that duty, then I'll declare myself content and not need any further reward."
He hesitates, unaccustomed to such long lines, and then impulsively extends his hand. "Let's shake on shared goals. Ensuring the safety of our Lady." His hand, as can be expected from a lifelong farmer, is thick, callused, and strong. "And to keeping things honest between us."
"Yes, Tellis is honest, of that I am appreciative. His mannerisms seem to hide a much deeper man than the mask he shows the world...feinting, dodging, and parrying are more than physical maneuvers to my old friend...which is a good thing, since when he does stop dodging, he goes down like a sack of potatoes. Still, he's a reliable man to have at your side. He once challenged the son of a Duke...I'll not say the name for sake of the strangers present at the bar...to a duel when he threw a glass of wine in my face and called me a monster. This was of course while I was processing my options, just before I decided get up and properly address the situation myself vis a vis my teeth and his face. I've counted him an ally since, as I'm sure my mother would have had a little trouble soothing over my digestion of a higher station. Do you know if that young man able to walk again, yet, Tellis?"
Edmund leans back and looks around the bar. "It cannot possibly be that busy that good coin is being refused. Where is our service?"
Very good! Tellis shakes Marcus's hand as an equal, hoping to set the stage for a fruitful partnership.
Turning to Edmund he smiles, nods, and answers, "His uncle was a high level church official, and so they had access to remedies that returned him to fitfulness. Next time we might need to take more permanent measures."
"In the mean time, let me check with the barman about what is going on..." Tellis heads to the bar to examine the situation and engages patrons and staff in light conversation, taking his time to wander the paths of interaction and trying to glean what news there may be in the city.
Even for being in the later part of the afternoon, Shoreline Drinkhall is surprisingly busy. As with most of Korvosa, most of the individuals present appear to be of Chelexian descent. However, unlike most of the rest of the city, there's also a smattering of Varisians and Shaonti here as well. Roughly a dozen of those present are still dressed in the uniform of the Korvosan Guard, while there's even a few people dressed in noble finery. It seems that all sorts frequent this place. And much to everyone's credit, nobody stares at Edmund for more than a few seconds. Some even manage to suppress the shudders of revulsion.
Meanwhile, the words are barely out of Leandric's mouth before the bartender gave a nod. He gave a quick motion to one of the servers, a blonde-haired young man of mixed Varisian-Chelexian descent that would quickly scurry to the table that the group was occupying.
"G-g-good afternoon to all of you," he said, unable to take his eyes off of Edmund the entire time. However, he swallows his fear and gives you all a wide (if somewhat nervous-looking) smile. "I'm Beto, and I'll be taking your orders today. What can I... Ummm... Start all of you off with?"
Leandric takes a seat next to Edmund and leans in to whisper to the tiefling, "I got the bartender to turn a blind eye but that likely means your drinks will be watered down. Just tell me what you want and you'll get my orders instead. And smile, trouble now reflects badly on our charge."
He then sat back and relaxed, turning to the server, "Good day Beto. Don't worry, my friend here has already eaten. You are safe." The smile in Leandric's eyes suggested it was a jest but his tone was dead serious.
"I will take a brandy, something dark and heavy, with a fruity body. Something local, if you have anything of the like; I'm interested in the Korvosan fare, so bring me something from the sea that put up a damn good fight and lost. The man over here..." he points to Marcus, "...Is a hero, genuine, and I want him to be given a hero's meal! I want to see a meal that would feed a bugbear, hearty, earthy, and enough ale to drown one...none of the pisswater, either, got it? Our companion seems to not like 'anything fancy', so I suppose that means lay off the spice and making it look pretty, and give him plenty of substance and quality, hearty cuts." Edmund nods to Marcus, pretty sure he got it right.
"And, boy, if you keep staring at me, I'm going to think you have a crush. I'm flattered, but you're not my type, you understand." He grins, and his sharpened fangs are visible...The intent is not to frighten, but, hey, it's a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, so what are you gonna do?
Edmund drops his head and shakes it after hearing Leandric a split second too late.
Leandric smiles, "Give me the same drink as my friend here. As for food. Do you have some sort of beef stew perhaps? If you do I'd love some, preferably with bread and not potatoes or something."
Hiram orders green mint tea, or the closest equivalent. He eats nothing.
Marcus lowers himself into the chair across from Edmund, and says nothing as the tiefling places his order. When he's done, he simply nods, and then leans back, both hands resting on his thighs. He glances about, letting his eyes linger on the Korvosan Guard, then simply taking in the crowd, watching the front door, curious but content to sit quietly as he awaits the food.
In truth, he has a powerful hunger, and Edmund's description of what's to be served had only whetted his appetite.
(Edmund is now missing 20 gp)
From a nearby table, Marcus, Edmund, and Leandric can hear a braod shouldered Shaonti chuckle at them before going back to his drink.
"Y-y-yes sirs," Beto would say, going crimson and then pale at Edmund's statements before rushing off to place their orders.
Edmund perks an eyebrow up at the laughter and turns his head towards the chuckling Shoanti, and stares at him for a minute.
Like Edmund, Leandric turns around to face the Shoanti. He ignores the words in Infernal and instead sticks to the common tongue, "What's so funny big man? You know, it's awfully rude not to share a good joke."
Hiram glances at the foolish Shoanti. He had heard of their people. Their ferocity in battle was told of far and wide, as was their savagery. The mercenary had never faced one of them in a fight before, and he did not intend to do so unless he had to. More importantly, not unless he was ordered to. Lady Dressarosa would not be happy if they caused a public incident within hours of arriving in the city...
Turning his perpetual frown towards Edmund and Leandric, he growls, "ასეც იყოს. ჩვენ არ მოდის აქ ბრძოლა."
"Let it be. We did not come here to fight."
Nevertheless, he shifts slightly so that he can more easily draw his weapon if a brawl breaks out.
The Shaonti chuckles for a while longer, then responds to Leandric in a deep voice.
"Gaekhen finds amusement in the tshamek being robbed by a child is all." The Shaonti man would chuckle one last time before going back to his drink, seemingly content to once again ignore the lot of you.
Leandric offers the man a smile and a nod at his comment before he turns away to check his purse, finding all his money accounted for. "Check your purses. Don't do anything rash."
Meanwhile Leandric looks around, looking for this supposed "kid". It could be Beto but the boy was shaking in his boots and would most likely be sacked if he ever was caught stealing.
Edmund, noticing his coin purse significantly lighter, probes in it with his tail. He stands up from his table, slowly, and looks to the Shoanti, and nods. "Despite the method of which you chose to share the information with me, I thank you for it. I would thank you further, perhaps with another round of your drink, if you point the child out to me."
Marcus doesn't get up. He watches this unfold, from the laughter to the interrogation to Edmund's rising to his feet without any expression. Simply watches, face as neutral as if carved from stone.
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Mr. Ruttle strokes his chin, then turns to the Shoanti.
"Gaekhen, is it? Robbed by a child? Hmm, well, yes, that would carry with it quite the level of amusement. Certainly, it would be the sort of activity to sully the reputation of a fine establishment such as this. But as the harmless act of a street performer, why, that would add to the delightful Korvosan ambience. Surely, there'd be no need to chase after a street performer merely demonstrating his skill. I'm sure this child would like to be rewarded for such activity."
Leaning in slightly, he finishes, "If only we could find him."
Mr. Ruttle leans back. "Oh! And while we're on the subject of plying trades, I find myself curious about yours. No doubt you have quite the measure of skill. May I buy you a round whilst we discuss?"
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As he looks around, Edmund is able to spot a blonde-haired child slipping out of a crowd of Varisians towards the tavern door. It would be a simple matter to chase after him, though whether he could so without drawing too much attention is a good question.
"Gaekhen cares not about what you tshamek do to each other," the Shaonti man said in response to Sclivian with a shrug. "But it seems the child is trying to head outside."
With a swipe of his tail, 10gp are in his hand and he drops nine on the table (should easily cover even a very elaborate meal), and flicks one to the table of the man. Edmund gives a nod to the man in thanks, and before turning and sprinting after the child. "Come back here, you little thief!"
Hiram gets up and moves after Edmund, if only to keep anyone from interfering.
Marcus sits back and watches, face impassive. Edmund does not need help with catching a child.
As soon as the child hears Edmund, it bolts for the door. While it may not be as fast as the tiefling, it was apparently ready for trouble. It's out the door in an instant.
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Edmund books it, prepared to snatch the little bastard up, and intent to drag him back to the authorities, and none too comfortably.
"So help me, thief, you're just gonna make it worse when I catch you!"
Edmund makes sure to constantly assert he's chasing a thief; a Tiefling chasing a child through the city probably doesn't look good to most folks...
Leandric moves after the tiefling, even if only to make sure the child survives and Edmund doesn't get caught by a lynch mob.
The tackle attempt falls just short of the child, and leaves Edmund slightly off balance. The child doesn't even slow as it continues to run.
"You can't outrun me, you dirty little pickpocket!"
I'm letting my annoyance get the best of me. He can't possibly outrun me. If I can't snatch him this time, maybe I can trap him? Is that Hiram behind me? Excellent.
Edmund still attempts to chase down the child, and since he no longer needs the added speed to catch up, attempts non-charging grappling.
Edmund snatches the kid by the hair, gripping an entire fistfull so it doesn't break, lifting him/her with one hand off of the ground by it and turning to face him. "I told you I would catch you, you dirty little thief. Now, I'm going to give you a choice: if you give me back my money right now, I will drag you by the wrist to the guards. If I have to wait so much as a minute, it will be by your ankle."
Hiram quickens his pace as he hears Edmund call out, and sees him finally get ahold of the thief. As he approaches, the warpriest grabs the pair of manacles hanging from his belt.
Marcus watches his friends disappear into the crowd, surging through the people in pursuit of the thief. He places one fist inside the other hand and watches intently, but does not yet rise from his seat.
Edmund finally manages to catch the little brat outside, with the girl struggling as she's hauled into the air.
Some people in the street begin to look over at Edmund with distinct looks of concern. However, none are interfering.