Goron unwavering gaze matches Kimroth's gaze. His eyes calm and his hand stilll clutching a tankard and the other banishing a spoon as he begins to speak in a low gravelly voice. Low but clear as it reaches out around the room.
"Aye. I agree that it's your inn. However this one does not seem to be looking for trouble nor is he looking to start one. Most Inn keepers would have put a blade in him but you are not one of them. You are Kimroth and are made of forged steel and not dross metal. I ask that you rise above these petty prejudices.
I have just finished patrols and have seen others like this walking around yet without ill intent. Would you accept and find it in your generousity to allow this one as under my guard?" ( )
Turning to Fomiel.
"Of course with your (Fomiel) acceptance to accept the law of this city and my judgement as a representive of a city militia. It's really too nice a night to be drawing arms. Bar rooms brawls are messy and I do like this place. They serve one of the best stews around."
To everyone in general.
"We don't choose our parents. We all make mistakes. It's what we do from then on that forges what we are. Be it the weak, strong, wise or intelligent, all of us have our own strengths."
( )
"We have a rare occassion to make merry. Let us continue to do so. Shall we?"
Goron calmly takes another sip from his tankard. And waits.
Tess is reassured by Haroon and the lithe elven maiden- she looks somewhat familiar, have I seen her in town?- whose name she doesn't know. And when the large man admits he was actually interested in her knowledge and begins to give her advice, she feels at home again in the tavern, among the strong brutes and the crafty tricksters. I do have something to offer, and it might not be much, but it's more than what many can boast of. The girl returns the man's salute with her own raised cup and a beaming smile.
At his question about the "demon" and Haroon's response, Tess attempts to crane her neck around the many bodies who've clustered at his presence- but she has always been a small girl, and her short stature doesn't give her a very good glimpse. Carefully resting the tiny fox on her shoulder, she tucks her legs under her in the chair and raises herself up on her knees, giving her a vantage point slightly higher than the assorted men and women who'd pooled at the newcomer's arrival.
"So that's a tiefling," the girl mutters under her breath, and adjusts her glasses with one finger to get a better look. "I've read about them before. Why would he come to a town on the edge of the Worldwound so brazenly?" He's not dressed like a fool, but Karl always said money couldn't buy common sense.
"So that's a tiefling," the girl mutters under her breath, and adjusts her glasses with one finger to get a better look. "I've read about them before. Why would he come to a town on the edge of the Worldwound so brazenly?" He's not dressed like a fool, but Karl always said money couldn't buy common sense.
Tiberius moves his head to the side some to not obstruct the girl's view; His own height lets him see the tiefling just fine. "We'd get half-orcs coming to Lastwall sometimes. Probably about the same reason. They chose their human nature. They just choose the side that they're more like, then fight off the other. Literally, most times." He ponders the newcomer through bleary eyes. "Can't say this one is trying very hard to fit in, though. I don't favor his odds."
Kyra turns, her hand drifting to the hilt of her scimitar when Ce-Eshna gives a start and draws her bow. When she spots the tiefling standing in the midst of the inn her eyes widen and suddenly seem to glow an even more vibrant green for just a moment. She watches and listens to the crowd, trying to gauge the intent of the mob... As she waits her right hand slowly drifts off her curved blade and absently begins to rub along her inner left forearm.
She does not necessarily agree with Keldren, but he is a cleric of the Dawnflower and as such would know more of her edicts. For now, Kyra follows with her companions' assessment of the tiefling. The tension in the inn was building like a storm. "Perhaps now would be a perfect time for that demonstration..." she whispers. 'Now, before this turns violent.'
Kyra quickly takes a hefty drink from her glass of mead and dances through the crowd towards the nearby stage. She smiles as she shoos the current entertainer from the stage and takes a deep, steadying breath. With a flourish she draws her scimitar and suddenly smacks the flat of the blade against a nearby pillar, sending the very distinct ring of a steel blade over the crowd.
As some of the crowd begin to look her direction, Kyra begins to weave the dervish dance. Her lithe body spins and weaves as her blade flashes with reflections of nearby torches. Unfortunately the stage is rather small and hampers her dance... The bard knows she will loose the crowds interest quickly. With a shout and a dramatic flourish Kyra tosses her blade into the air before she suddenly performs a forward flip and catches her blade as it comes down.
He stood there blankly for a moment at the innkeeps blunt refusal to listen to him. Thankfully a few others too appealed to him about not throwing the poor creature back out into the city. He turned in time to watch The Dervish began to 'dance' on the stage. Their deadly dance never ceased to amaze him, he still recalled half fondly the time when he was just coming into manhood that a few dervishes in training there at the temple offered to teach him their trade. Sister Jalistae refused to heal the bruises he acquired as a lesson to him.
The Dwarven paladin did have the right of it. The innkeeper was free to provide his services to whomever he chose to. Glancing back to his table again he moved to sit back down. He offered a wry smile to his tablemates. "Forgive my sister in faith, We keleshites are known to be a bit brash and exciteable as you can see." He offered as a somewhat lame excuse both for her choice to verbally spar with the Asmodean and for his impromptu choice to speak out over the tiefling.
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"Oh don't apologize for her." Pollux says to Kelden. "In time she will learn that we are in the same boat. It would be wise though if she would stop rocking it lest she drowns us in her prejudices."
He claps and whistles as the dervish tumbles across the stage, making a show of being particularly boisterous as she performs. He quickly glances back at the tiefling who caused the initial ruckus, but turns back toward the stage as if nothing in that part of the bar interested him and gives Kyra his full attention.
Glancing at the dancers antics she again feels a tinge of jealousy but lets it go. She refocuses her attention on the standoff and chews her lip just a bit as she ponders her decision. Wasn't all too long ago it was me who was on the chopping block for outsider blood, can I really hold someone's parentage against him? Kelden has already echo'd my earlier sentiments about redemption. If I choose not to act I dishonor myself... the train of thought flows furiously and her brow furls. A decision made she stands and replaces her bow and arrow into the quiver, placing the dagger into her belt. She slides through the crowd and lays a hand gently on Kimroth's shoulder. Turning her back to the tiefling so that only the left side of her face is exposed to Kimroth she says in a near whisper than only the nearest can hear "You recall the last witch hunt that shed an outsiders blood just because of her parentage right? We really don't need that here today do we? If he causes any trouble he will be dead before he can take two steps. If he means well then we may very well need even his kind in the coming crusade. Please Kimroth you know I have your back any decision you make but I implore you not to give in to the blind zealotry that can cause more harm than good. "
I don't think I like this tiefling fellow. Why even bring up education in this matter?... Alesie ponder, recollecting her time on the streets of Kenabres.
The sylph has a point though. He won't get very far in here if his intention aren't anything but good.
Alesie sneaks up near Kimroth "I've got to agree with these people. Let the man in. He might be an elitist oaf, but every person has the right to be judged on their own character, not the traits given to them by their parents." She whispers to the innkeeper.
Haroon falls into reverie as Kyra begins her dance. He leans back against the bar, cloak held firmly about him as his thoughts drift with the graceful and acrobatic movements. Amazing, so many of them were willing to give a tiefling the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps there is a place for me here... I could help. My wits are quick as anyone else's, and father said I was progressing quite well in my studies. Why, it took me less than a day to master that new vanishing spell...
After a moment he nods to Tiberius. I never thought of it that way. Thank you for your words. I am Haroon, I don't think we've formally met. The slight man offers his hand in greeting to Tiberius.
Kimroth lets out a long sigh. With the distraction of the dervish dance and several customers standing up to ask that the man be given a chance he realizes he truly has little choice in the matter.
"Fine, you can stay. You can sit at the table in the corner there." He gestures to an unoccupied table half hidden by a support beam. "One of the girls will be over shortly to take an order from you. Cause any trouble and I doubt you'll leave alive. You're in the heart of the crusade after all."
Haizi looks around the room as the tension level lowers "Fight ...? Flight?" Little Brother growls.
"No idea. Humans are ...we are ...complicated. Apparently." He turns to Tess. "I think I would enjoy staring at books."
Goron gives a nod towards Kimroth.
"Thank you my friend, you have have indeed shown your steel and it is strong."
Fomiel quietly observes the patrons. At least some can see beyond appearances.
If this was what was going to stop the demons, then the world was in trouble. The dreams are more insistent of late, but probably best not to mention dreams of demon lords.
Well that was certainly interesting.
Alesie wanders over to the tiefling after the crowd disperses a bit.
"Hi, names Alesie, welcome to my town. Not sure I like you, but I'm glad that Kimroth let you stay, no man or woman should be judged on their parents. Here's to hoping you make better second impressions." Alesie raises her wine glass, taps it against the glass the tiefling is holding and walks away, disappearing into the crowd watching the dancer on stage.
Fomiel laughs.
[b]"Humans have a nation of devil worshippers, yet I seem to be a problem. And I haven't declared any allegiance but to Cayden. Even he may not save them now."
He fingers his Cayden holy symbol of wood.
Leave. It was always such a foreign idea to him these days. Armasse carries with it purpose, to be sure, and Grommuk understands the need to uplift and provide pronounced respite to those who have witnessed too long the atrocities of the front lines—the Abyss spawned horrors and corruptions of the World Wound. But Grommuk? He can no longer rationalize the frivolity of meandering aimlessly about the city, directed by baser desires and instinct alone; free to pursue whatever vice presents itself in the name of celebration and distraction. Nevertheless, he would stand to be seen among the masses. He would do as he was bid by those of the Abadaran faith to whom he owed his very soul. At the very least, the absence of his armor and blade were a refreshing change of pace, though the throngs and delegations of visitors to Kenabres made getting around the city no less taxing an enterprise. His musings are cut short as his foots carry him finally to what is to be his room and board for the week: The Defender's Heart.
Light from without floods into the inn's common room, only to be just as quickly blocked out by the obstruction of the ogre of a half-orc that fills its frame. He stands tall enough to crane an Ulfen's neck and wears plainly the garb of an Abadaran—tabard, cloak and other richly appointed garments of all whites, golds, and black accents. Thick black strands of hair are pulled back in a bevy of braids, kept firmly secured away from the bestial profile of his face. His knife-like ears and chrysochlorous skin coloration tell all too plainly the tale of his heritage: a bastard spawn of Belkzen. And yet, despite his questionable origins, the young half-orc is able to manage a dignified bearing—a countenance softened by sympathetic eyes that belie more intelligence and humanity than his ferocious facade might otherwise indicate.
His eyes make a steady sweep of the room that sprawls out before him. It seemed a room at odds with itself. Partly seeming jovial and lost in a tide of revelry, while beneath the surface a tension teemed, ready to rear its head if afforded such an opportunity. You are not on duty, Grommuk. The inn is not yours to police. His mental reprimand accomplished, Grommuk approaches the bar, each long stride accompanied by the deep thump of thick soled boots as he finds his destination. Waiting patiently and immobile for the barkeep to acknowledge his presence, he barks out in a voice that, while eloquent, is all gravel and bass, "A stein of Nerosyan Imperial Stout, if you please."
After offering thanks and payment, Grommuk begins to search the room for suitable seating or standing room.
The large man takes Haroon's hand and gives it a brief but very firm shake. "The name's Tiberius Badaxe. It's good to meet you, Haroon."
He glances around as a shadow looms over him. A huge figure stands next to him, taking a stein from the bartender. Orc tusks jut from the stranger's mouth, and Tiberius's hair stands on end, his muscles immediately tensing. He slowly sets his mug down on the bar and turns back to Haroon, cracking his knuckles. "Then again, old prejudices die hard. Most people don't like seeing someone who reminds them of old enemies." He takes time to pick his words. Even drunk, he doesn't want an overheard phrase to cause a brawl.
Haizi looks around the room as the tension level lowers "Fight ...? Flight?" Little Brother growls.
"No idea. Humans are ...we are ...complicated. Apparently." He turns to Tess. "I think I would enjoy staring at books."
"You want to... Stare at books. Well..." Tess looks from the tome in front of her to the feral-looking young man, and back to the tome again, an anxious feeling rising in her chest. It was actually borrowed from one of Linnae's friends in town; what would happen if the man accidentally tore it to shreds in his "staring"?
"Um... You may stare at this book, but..." Suddenly she caught sight of his grubby fingers and palms. "Would you please wash your hands first? Stew isn't really good for books, you see." She tries to be light-hearted, but she's almost certain those nails have more than stew embedded under them.
She lowers herself back down in her chair as the two men nearby shake hands, then chokes back a giggle when the larger man gives his name. Tiberius? Oh please. It gave her the image of a younger lad, hair freshly combed back, standing pompously like a little general, addressing a new governess. 'My name is Tiberius Badaxe, and you will refer to me as such,' sniffs the imaginary child haughtily, and Tess covers her mouth with a hand quickly to stifle the snorts of laughter building up.
As Tiberius realizes the parentage of the newest bar patron and begins to loudly crack his knuckles, Tess leans toward him. "Hey Tibbers, that guy's bigger than you. I recommend not punching him," she half-whispers, still holding back her laughter.
Neither balking nor blanching at the remark uttered just beside him, Grommuk instead calmly offers a quick appraisal of the older gentleman beside him. He flips the lid on his stein closed quietly and sets the drink atop the bar, then turns to politely regard the fellow who has chosen to speak of him if not at him. Drawing a heavily scarred forearm across the creamy foam that has collected on his upper lip, he clears his throat to formally announce both his presence and intention to speak.
"It has been my experience that slaying old prejudices yields more reward than the staunchest of enemies." Grommuk inclines his head in a slight nod, a polite gesture by way of greeting to the Lastwall man. His posture remains upright, but decidedly nonthreatening. Eyes continue to peer out from the caverns of a thick, prominent brow in study of the warrior before him.
"I am Grommuk Doomscowl. Faithful servant of Abadar; citizen of Kenabres; would-be soldier of the Fifth Crusade; bastard-spawn of the wastes of Belkzen." The half-orc adjusts the slightly skewed position of his thick belt and straightens out his well kept tabard before speaking further. "We unite here in common purpose, despite our many handicaps; be they the curse of questionable heritage, a tarnished soul, or stubborn prejudice. Such is our foe that it unites so disparate an assembly. I should hope that those willing to lay down their very souls in the name of so righteous a cause deserve more than a grudge borne of tradition."
Okay, she has skills. Alesie admits as she watches the dancer acrobatically move about the stage. Using the crowd as an escape more then anything, Alesie quickly loses interest and saunters back to the bar, her wine glass almost empty.
Hearing the proclamation of Grommuk, Alesie rejoins the group at the bar.
"A fine toast if I have ever heard one." She says raising her glass, and looking up at the half-orc, and the large man. "Shall we make it official? A toast; To laying down past prejudices and uniting against a common foe!"
We certainly seem to have drawn quite the gathering here for the crusades I see. Kelden began as his eyes wandered the room and he awaited the Dervish to rejoin them. He hoped that somehow She and the Asmodean worshiper could perhaps for a while quit trading barbs. "Tieflings, orc blooded, dwarves, elves, faiths of all kinds here." He mused aloud his eyes wandering over the grouping still.
"The young and the old, experienced soldiers to those yet to wet their blade. I wonder what fortunes the gods have for us. He could just over hear the elf female who had moved closer to the orc-blooded and large man at the bar and her toast.
"Shall we make it official? A toast; To laying down past prejudices and uniting against a common foe!"
He glanced to his table companions and nodded. [b] A fine sentiment indeed wouldn't you agree?" [b] He said to his tablemates.
'Tibbers? No one has called me that for years.' He startles suddenly at the girl's amusing nickname. 'Not since...' His musings are cut short as Grommuk correctly guesses that the previous comment was about him and calls Tiberius out.
He stands up, grasping his tankard again as he turns to the even taller half-orc. He stares at his ale as he ponders for a moment. All of this thinking seems to have sobered him up some. "I was not born hating orcs," he says after some thought, "and what was learned can be unlearned. But for now I'd consider your company to be... an acquired taste." He raises his tankard as well and his voice rumbles like thunder. "To cooperation against the real enemy."
Giving Kimroth a sympathetic pat on the shoulder she rejoins the table as Kelden speaks but the encounter seems to have taken the wind out of her. She seats herself quietly, raises her glass to the toast and downs contents before refilling it from the pitcher. In a husky whisper speaking of the emotional toll this has wracked on her good cheer she quietly adds. "The fellow could have been less of an arrogant @$$ about all of this, he clearly knew full well what effect his presence and manner would have on the crowd. He practically invited a lynching just so he could feel superior." She downs another gulp of her wine and licks her lips, clearly trying to bring volatile emotions of her own under control.
Looking at the glass she slowly places on the table and takes a deep breath, "Perhaps I've had enough to drink. So what are your homelands like? I've grown up here and my only experience outside of the city is hunting the demons out over the border. I haven't even spent much time talking to people from other places."
After the innkeeper agrees to let the Tiefling stay, Carilain finds a spot next the wall, where he can keep an eye on the tiefling.
As he was one of the ones asking Kimroth to let the tiefling stay, Carilain feels a bit responsible for him. Besides Carilain really doesn't want to spend any more on ale, he has little enough money. So Carilain leans against the wall, the mug in his hand only a quarter of the way full.
His eyes drift from the dancer to the Tiefling, then to the tall half-orc that enters. He wonders if Grommuk and Tiberius will come to blows. He wonders if he cares who wins it. Carilain smiles a bit when the girl with the birth mark, so similar to his, but on her face instead of shoulder calls Tiberius, Tibbers. The elf imagines that most anyone else who called the tall man by that name would probably get a fist to the nose.
Carilain makes a mental note to speak to the elf girl who talks to the tiefling, it would be good to speak to someone from home. Or to hear news from other elvish settlements.
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He glanced to his table companions and nodded. A fine sentiment indeed wouldn't you agree?" [b] He said to his tablemates.
[b]"My cup runneth over already," Pollux says to Kelden, " but I agree, there is an enemy far more deserving of our ire than any poor devil that has thus far walked through that door."
Looking at the glass she slowly places on the table and takes a deep breath, "Perhaps I've had enough to drink. So what are your homelands like? I've grown up here and my only experience outside of the city is hunting the demons out over the border. I haven't even spent much time talking to people from other places."
Pollux gets a distant look in his eye, "Maybe that's why they called those sweet old ladies devil nuns." he shudders and looks back up at Kyra, then to Ce-Eshna again. He taps her glass with his empty one and says with a smile, "Your turn."
"Wash my ...hands. Of course. I mean, we always need to wash our hands before staring at human books."
A figure unfolds itself from where he had been sitting, on the fur rug by the fire. He's a lean and muscular man, with a greatsword strapped to his back and hide wrapped around his body. His golden eyes glint in the firelight.
So many crusaders. I wonder if one of them could put me out of my misery...or help me find the answers I seek, at least. He surveys the crowd. Not them...not that one. Not the one with the wolf... He shudders slightly. Gods, is that what I'm destined to become? Some half-human...thing? A freak? Well, more of a freak?
His eyes settle on Grommuk. A half-orc, yes...but a paladin still. And to be a half-orc, or even a full orc, is still perhaps better than my curse, so who am I to judge? He crosses to the bar and squeezes in by the hulking paladin.
"That was an excellent toast you made, earlier." His voice is hoarse, as if disused, but melodic and gentle. "Sir paladin, I heard you say that you are a citizen of Kenabres. I seek the paladins and inquisitors of the crusade, both to aid them and for their aid in return. I just arrived in the city yesterday. Is there anywhere that you would tell me to begin?"
Overhearing Jokum as he makes his way back to the bar Kimroth interjects."Any seeking to join the crusade need to speak with Eterrius Sunnestier or one of his subordinates. He holds the command at the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell. Like as not though you wont get a chance to meet with anyone worth speaking to till after the celebrations begin." He pauses in thought for a moment. "Though rumor has it there will be a small turney he'll be attending soon. Might be able to get a word in then."
Kyra sheathes her sword and ends her dance with a graceful bow to the crowd, thankful that it perhaps helped a little in distracting those intent on bloodshed. She cast a dark look at the arrogant tiefling, not liking his haughty personality one bit as she returned to her companions as they were speaking on their homeland.
She refills her cup as she takes a seat once again. "I grew up in Sothis, the port capital city of Osirion. It's a bustling city... and very hot. Mostly palm trees and lots of sand. These northern lands and much different than what I'm used to, but I must say I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful hues of the trees on my trip here. I have never seen such natural beauty before." She smiles at the others and then suddenly realizes something as she takes a sip from her cup.
"Oh my! You must pardon my atrocious manners! I never introduced myself properly. My names is Kyra Greenstar." She states with a hand pressed to her chest. She then looks to Pollux. "I am sorry to hear of the troubles in your homeland."
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Pollux offers Kyra a gentle nod.
"I was young, I actually never once saw a goblin myself." he says, " Though my dear old mother swears she lost half a hand keeping one of the bastards from from biting my head off when I was an infant."
He fingers his glass gently as he recalls his mother. A simple smile playing across his face. "I am Pollux Wardroxan of Elider, here by way of Egorian, Capital of Cheliax also called the City of Thorns contracted under Her Infernal Magestrix's Own Black Fire Guard to serve God and Country in the fifth crusade. But you may of course call me Pollux." he pauses to take a breath. "I would kiss your hand if I did not doubt you would allow it to be tainted by a such a poor devil as myself."
Kelden smiled at the sudden introduction of the Dervish's name. He had... tried to elicit it from her earlier without asking directly but it was no matter now. "I too, am from Sothis...well it was where i grew up. I was found abandoned on the steps of the temple there in Sothis and grew up in the temple. The Dawnflower has always looked after me, I am here to serve her glory. Like My fellow Keleshite, these lands are very different than i am accustomed to, but change is not always bad."
He paused as another figure approached to already two large fellows at the bar. This one had a great sword strapped to his back. "This trip has certainly enlightened me to some of the differences of the peoples of the lands. Like sister Kyra has mentioned I am sorry to hear of your home's troubles."
Retrieving his stein and allowing himself the indulgence of another modest swig after sharing in the toast he did not think to inspire, Grommuk's eyes meet with those of Jokum's as the fellow approaches and offers both praise and question. The half-orc nods an ascent to Kimroth's interjection.
"I can speak for neither Crusader nor Inquisitor, though I think you'll find their disposition does little to dissuade or discourage any in possession of stout heart or sturdy blade from lending their own weight to the cause." Grommuk's eyes seem to light up a bit as his own perspective on the matter is given words. He pauses briefly in consideration, ultimately deciding to append a further suggestion to his answer. "Abadar's faithful seldom turn away one in search of sanctuary or answers. I can vouch firsthand in this, as to the substance of their wisdom and the necessity of The Judge's tenets. It is to they and to He that I owe my thanks for shaping me into the man I am today. I know little of your own troubles or travails, but whatever the price demanded of you, I have no doubt that the counsel and guidance of those given to the service of Abadar might steer your course to providence."
As the conversation turns to other places and peoples you see the wisp of a woman relax and she genuinely seems intrigued. She reaches again for her glass only to find that she had finished it. Glancing at her pitcher to find that dry as well. Waving down a server for a refill you are shocked to find the woman that comes over put her hands on her hips flat out refusing and questions what her father would think of "a mere child imbibing so much". Flushing she mumbles thanks as the server brings her a jug of clean water. Taking a second glance you realize that for all her dress and swagger, beyond the hunting leathers and weaponry your tablemate is not an adult, barely any older than the small girl at the bar.
She notices the scrutiny and tries to divert attention. " Well I grew up here, my father brought me here when I was an infant from Jalmeray when he decided to join the crusades. A word of warning, the city is a defensive labyrinth built to channel attack so be mindful not to leave the main roads unless you know exactly where you are going, or have a friendly native guide." a shadow crosses her face as she continues, "As you may have noticed the city is not always the most accepting place, and even those who look normal enough tend to be scrutinized as a possible threat. Best be mindful of that in your dealings I'd hate for my new friends to end up staked out as witches or demon worshipers. The people here are good but you cannot live on the edge of the abyss, staring into it daily and not have it take it's toll." she smiles, "Although you came at the best time of year, Armasse is a time for preparation but it is also a time of where we count up are blessings and remember that we are holding them back. With so many new people flocking to the city even some of the more zealous have relaxed."
Haroon raises his glass and drinks with the rest at the half-orc's toast. He grins at Tibbers' and Tess' interactions with the half-feral man, and is careful not to spill his cider on the large warriors crowding the bar.
He leans back, resisting the urge to heat his own drink with a simple cantrip never can tell how folk will react to a bit of spellcasting, and still, it's best not to draw too much attention to myself.
However, he listens keenly to the information offered up by the natives of the city. Good thing I've stayed on the main roads. I certainly don't want to get lost here.
When Kimroth mentions Eterrius Sunnestier, he looks up hopefully. When will the tourney be? Will it be limited to jousting and melee, or will there be other competitions? Father mentioned Sunnestier as someone to speak with when the time came. Hopefully, he can help me to take my place among the crusaders.
Jokum nods his thanks to both Kimroth and Grommuk. "Thank you. I shall perhaps seek out Commander Sunnestier, and I will certainly seek counsel with the Church of Abadar." He chuckles drily at Ce-Eshna's warning. "I've noticed, little one. Where I grew up the trees still hold sway over most of the land, and the only labyrinth is that formed by deer trails and underbrush. I shall keep myself to the main streets; I have no desire for tourism." His mouth quirks into a wry smile.
Valtyra walks into the inn noticing that quiet a crowd has gathered at the many tables spread around the room. Approaching the bar, she waves to Kimroth, "Can I get a tankard of ale to quench my thirst my friend? You are very busy tonight, it seems many have come in for the festival." Valtyra leans against the bar as she notices the tension in the air, though from what she is not sure.
When Kimroth mentions Eterrius Sunnestier, he looks up hopefully. When will the tourney be? Will it be limited to jousting and melee, or will there be other competitions? Father mentioned Sunnestier as someone to speak with when the time came. Hopefully, he can help me to take my place among the crusaders.
"Think a crier was saying it would be on the the 9th. Spoke about a melee and possibly some magical duels. Should be quite interesting." His mood has improved someone with the change of topic from the intruding Tiefling, and improved even more when he spots a familiar face enter the inn.
Valtyra walks into the inn noticing that quiet a crowd has gathered at the many tables spread around the room. Approaching the bar, she waves to Kimroth, "Can I get a tankard of ale to quench my thirst my friend? You are very busy tonight, it seems many have come in for the festival." Valtyra leans against the bar as she notices the tension in the air, though from what she is not sure.
"Val! It's been too long. Far too long... Thought you might have fallen into the wound out there!" He waves his stump at one of the serving wenches and grabs a stool for himself at the bar and warmly embraces Valtyra. "After that business with the filthy hellspawn I could use a drink myself." He waves his good arm in the direction of Fomiel vaguely. As the server brings two clay tankards he looks to silver haired aasimar. "In truth though, what have ye been doing with yerself?
"Val! It's been too long. Far too long... Thought you might have fallen into the wound out there!" He waves his stump at one of the serving wenches and grabs a stool for himself at the bar and warmly embraces Valtyra. "After that business with the filthy hellspawn I could use a drink myself." He waves his good arm in the direction of Fomiel vaguely. As the server brings two clay tankards he looks to silver haired aasimar. "In truth though, what have ye been doing with yerself?
"Filthy hellspawn?" She looks around the bar before finding the tiefling sitting at the table in the corner. Sitting down, she shakes her head. "I can understand your frustration Kim." Valtyra takes a drink from her tankard and enjoys the taste of the ale. "I've been very diligent with my studies and training so that I can take my place amongst the crusaders. I will get justice for my parents, mark me words Kim. Besides that unpleasant commotion before I got here, how have you been since the last time we saw each other?" She continues to look around, noticing that there is another aasimar in the bar as well as a few other outsiders.
The tiefling performed a quick encantation, and his clothes and glass began to clean themselves. He sees priests of many religions, but alas they could only fill his cup with water.
He looks at the unruly patrons with some suspicion. Catching the barkeeps attention, he utters a proposal.
"I will race you to drink two full tankards before you can finish this small glass. If I finish first, I drink for free. I lose, then I pay double. That is, if you take a wager."
Fomiel smiles with confidence.
"I'll take that action," A voice speaks up from behind Fomiel - Sam's been watching the tiefling ever since he'd been allowed to stay. After all, one couldn't trust a demonspawn. And they could spot a con a mile away.
"And I'll up the stakes. If I lose, I'll pay your tab for the rest of your stay," The squire tells him, hopping up to a seat on the bar and staring at him. "But, if you lose, then you've got to buy a round of drinks for everybody in the bar - whatever they want."
"But seeing as this will obviously be to your own disadvantage, we should probably rule it than neither one of us is allowed to touch each other's glasses once it starts. Of course, you'll get a head start with one glass and I'll not start drinking until you put yours down on the bar top. That is what you want, isn't it?"
She knew a pretty simple solution to keeping him from doing his con. Now to see if he'd take the bait.
Carilain goes to full alert. The tiefling had cast a spell. Just a minor one for cleaning. Such spells are in common use in Kyonin, Carilain is used to seeing them all the time.
Still, the tiefling has tipped his hand, he is a spell-caster.
Setting his now empty mug on the side board, Carilain glides across the room with long strides. "Ho! A drinking contest. Mind if I watch? What are the rules? Is magic allowed? Or is it to be a straight up drinking contest?"
"A contest for drinking? I won many contests of drinking in my pack. I would drink anything!"
"Take your 'wager' and choke on it. I'm merely tolerating your presence." He sees the other's interest in it and sighs. "You folks can do what ye want so long as the drinks are paid for, but the bar be closing soon for the night. So make it quick."
Turning his attention back to Valtyra "I've been running this." he gestures around the circular hall and take a long drink from his tankard. "Not much changes round here, crusaders and sellswords come through and other retire or die. Seems like little has changed."
Well this has certainty been an interesting night. Quite the cast of characters here.
Hearing the beginnings of a contest, Alesie saddles up closer to the potential participants. A good way to finish the night if I do say so. Always fun to watch and learn from a battle of wits, and from the sounds of the rules to this contest some sort of trickery is involved.
"Kimroth, another glass of wine possibly before you close for the night? Alesie asks, intent on enjoying the contest, and not participating in it.
Goron Nods to Kimroth.
"Well it seems that I'll have to head back to the barracks soon. Got to get ready for patrol duty once more. Another tankard for the passing night Kimroth, my thanks."
A teenager walks into the Tavern and heads straight for the bar. Talking to the barkeep he says, "Signed up to become an actual crusader. So, is that 'Grown up' enough to get me a drink" He give a smile and a wink to the barkeep.
Halon walks into the tavern,having recently checked in with his contacts in Kenabres. He notices a young Varisian man badgering the bartender and to his right an elven girl and some others engaged in a drinking contest. I'd have thought a tavern like this would've had higher standards He thinks to himself. Seeing the bartender busy with something else he walks to the far end of the bar and sits down.
Fomiel smiled enigmatically at Sam.
"You have set the rules of the wager, so obviously you will allow me to take either side of that action. Especially as you have upped the odds, so my loss is much more expensive than any gain. I had proposed an even-sided bet. And I have shown my preference for wine, which is not commonly consumed in tankards."
He smiles at the barkeep.
"I didn't think you were up to it."
Never having lost a bar bet was a dubious distinction, but one the tiefling planned to preserve. At least here the sore losers won't summon devils like the Chelaxians.
Kimroth stands and walks over slowly to the teifling. His voice comes out as almost a low growl. "I've let you into my establishment and all you've done is show yourself to be a pompous egotistical man who feel his 'superiority' allows him to insult any who cross your path. I've warned you about causing problems here and refused a bet clearly designed to cheat me. Now you try to goad me. I will say this once. If one more word of insulting excrement you call speech rolls off your tongue I will personally remove it before I throw you out of my inn."
Carilain moves out of Kimroth's way. The tiefling had been given a chance, and only persisted in goading the barman. If he gets himself thrown out it his own doing.