• Event • The Warmth of Death

A quickie little event

Once an isolated and dying township, an influx of academics, adventurers and thrill seekers have made Scalvoris Town their home. From scholars' tea shops to a new satellite campus for Viden Academy, this is an exciting place to visit or make your home!

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• Event • The Warmth of Death

Postby Aegis » Thu Jan 18, 2018 4:30 pm

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Timestamp: Zi'da 93rd

It was high noon in Scalvoris Town, not that many people could tell. The town was buried in a blanket of thick, heavy snow that was still falling. The town was in the midst of a blizzard, a particularly nasty one. The wind was howling, and visibility was low. Wind shrieked through the tiniest of cracks in the walls of houses. Cold seeped in, spreading its touch to everything not within the immediate vicinity of a hearth ablaze.

And yet, life had to go on. The Knight's Rest still served drink to noise and grateful patrons. And any knucklehead that kept the door open for longer than a moment was hollered at. The drink was warming, the food was filling, and the company nice in this weather. Well, most of the company. Whit Friedston was in a worried and agitated mood. Mugs were handed out with a bit of a slam, dishes thrown about, conversation was avoided. Every time someone asked him what was wrong, he just told them to mind their own business, before huffing off. But to anyone that was a regular patron would notice one significant difference. Zana, Whit's daughter, was not there.

Nearby, at the Order of the Adunih, the air was hot and heavy with the fires to keep the patients warm. For most of the morning, it had been quiet. There'd been a man who strained his back trying to get his firewood from underneath all the snow, a woman who'd tripped over her normally outside dog and put her arm through a glass window. A few of the standard medical cases that come during a blizzard.

But now there was a bit of a mild panic going on. There'd been a young boy, eight or nine arcs old, brought in with a severe fever from the orphanage. He was dehydrated, overheated, hallucinating, delirious. But more importantly, he'd gone missing. The staff of the Order were searching high and low within the structure, and unfortunately disturbing the other patients therein. It was a mad house. And with the blizzard outside, the doors were closed because of the severe weather, and one of the healers had checked for footprints from the young lad, and found none.

Meanwhile, the drunkards were in full swing over at The Four in Hand. Since many workers were unable to work today, the dock workers, the couriers, essentially any that worked outside, except for the town guard. The casino was full with many that were not regulars, and the regulars were likely still at home sleeping off their hangovers. And a particularly rowdy group was in the corner playing a game of Brig and Bones.

The biggest of the group, man of massive shoulders and calloused hands waved over the wench, Mixiebelle. They ogled her ample bust openly, before one asked if she wanted to see a magic trick, one that would allow her to get even more tips. The gullible young lass readily agreed, leaning against their table. She was instructed to hold a large, full flagon of ale in each hand, outstretched to each side. Another flagon was balanced atop her head. She was commanded to keep perfectly still and she did so happily. She was told that for the trick to work, she couldn't spill a single drop of the ale, if she did, she'd lose even more money than she could possibly have gotten through this trick.

When asked if she was ready, she smiled, indicating she was, not wishing to talk and lose the flagon atop her head. The large man then stood behind her, shielding her from view of the bar. He whispered in her ears, telling her to close her eyes, and to get ready to hold tight onto the flagons. Then he pulled out a blade, unbeknownst to the gullible lass, and swiftly, expertly cut at the shoulders and ties of her dress, which promptly fell to the floor, leaving the poor last exposed in her small clothes. Mixiebelle flinched from the action, and the flagon tipped over, dousing her in the ale. With a sob, the lass ran out of the tavern in an embarrassed rush, and out into the blizzard

 ! Aegis wrote:
Welcome to a fun little event of mine. I will be accepting 3 people into this event on a first come, first served basis. The only condition is that each of you must start at one of the 3 locations listed herein. What happens after that, you'll see.

1. PC- Knight's Rest
2. Vega - Order of the Adunih Outpost
3. PC - Four in Hand Casino

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The Warmth of Death

Postby Vega » Fri Jan 19, 2018 1:37 pm

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The Order of the Adunih"Well, that's right 'andy, that is. Thanks." Vega said, and pocketed the small orange flowers. "So, four flowers, made into a tea, drink it an' we're sorted for a full twenty eight trials. Then repeat. Right." The woman nodded and smiled at Vega, taking the 2gn the two plants cost. "I'm gonna grow these, an' that'll be great. An' your sure it tastes better than that other stuff, cos you know, that stops you gettin' pregnant by makin' you wanna curl up an' die when you drink it." The older healer chuckled at the far-from subtle redhead mixed blood in front of her. "It's a much more pleasant taste, wouldn't you agree." Motioning to the cup of tea Vega had just finished, to which the half-biqaj raised an eyebrow in question, to which the healer nodded. Vega grinned. "Yeah, it tastes a'right. An' it grows in the freezin' cold?" Yes, the healer assured her. This had been found in the Ice Caves of Ishallr, and as such it was a plant very used to being in the extreme cold.

But then, someone came in and explained about the young boy and Vega frowned. "Well, there wouldn't be footprints if he'd gone out in a blizard. Cos, it's a blizzard." If there was one thing that Vega was good at other than hitting things, then she considered that she could hunt. "Right, so let's 'ave a looksie. I've got some experience searchin' for lost children, so this is what I suggest you do. First off, you get everyone who can, in 'ere an' checkin. Then, I'm gonna go outside an' do a skirt around, one lap of the buildin'. I'm gonna be lookin' for signs an' stuff, so let me in an' out quickly." The less messed up there was here, the better.

"In the meantime," Vega said, well aware that she was taking charge and really, all in all, quite alright with it. "I want you to find out, an' get a description of the child an' put together what medicine 'e needs. Cos if we 'ave to take it out to 'im, better that he gets it in him right quick." Then, with a smile she made her way out towards the door and said to the healer. "So, shut this quick behind me, an' don't be lollygaggin' a'right? I'll be back in less than ten bits. "

Bloody kids, Vega thought to herself as she pulled her hat down over her head (bee-skin, ear-flaps, the lot), pulled her hood up and made sure that her sword and bow were where they should be. "This," she muttered, "is ironic this is. Why did I come 'ere in the first bloody place? What is it I don't want? Kids."

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The Warmth of Death

Postby Arlo Creede » Fri Jan 19, 2018 3:31 pm

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The Four in Hand Casino

The weather was miserable, and to hear the locals tell it it was only going to get worse before Cylus was over. Arlo had a hard time imagining that. But whichever the case, it meant that measurable time spent outdoors, unless you were a sno-deer or something like it, was as good as suicidal. Ways to pass the time were limited these trials. It was either stay holed up in their tent back at camp, him and Vega for trials on end, or brave the weather now and again just for a change in scenery. This trial they'd done that, and while he'd gone one way, Vega had gone the other. Eventually they planned to meet somewhere in the middle.

Having never visited the Four in Hand before, he'd figured he'd drop in and play a few rounds of...something or other. Or just have a drink, take in the crowd and observe. It was crowded, loud and rowdy. Several groups of men in particular seemed to be on the verge of a brawl breaking out. He wasn't interested in fighting either, though he never left camp without being prepared for one if need be.

He'd gotten himself a drink of something warm and had found a seat in the corner where he could see most of the place in a glance. The large group at a nearby table could hardly escape his notice. They looked like trouble already before they called Mixiebelle over, but Arlo figured that the girl was already accustomed to treatment like that. Maybe she figured it was worth the tips she'd get. But he'd been watching that group and from his perspective, they were up to more mischief than the usual.

And they were, apparently. On the one hand, he wanted to intervene but knew better. There were too many of them and him with no idea how many others might take his side in a fight. And if a brawl broke out, one that he provoked by butting in, how many innocent others might be hurt? He'd just decided to risk in and had been pushing himself out of his chair when the woman's dress came tumbling down to the floor and she fled. Standing up as she rushed past him, he scowled at the men but decided, better to help her, out in the storm than confront him.

Arlo wasn't far behind her then and he stepped out the door behind her as she fled into the blizzard. "Wait!" he called out, intending to catch up with her and give her his coat for cover and warmth, and at least make sure she was able to get home safely. As for himself, he'd finally listened to Vega and was wearing the ridiculous wooden chicken leg on a string round his neck. He could afford to give up his coat, since the trinket itself would keep him plenty warm.
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Roland Demira » Fri Jan 19, 2018 8:12 pm

Knight's Rest

As usual, the weather was atrocious. Few things made Roland want to leave his humble abode and his studies and planning, but a luxurious meal in a fine dining setting was right up there. He had to pay in advance to set up the Elite Dining Experience at the Knight's Rest the trial before, but he had purposefully avoided eating heavy for the day, ready to enjoy the best that the chef had to offer. Pushing his way through the blustery winds and blinding snow, he found the door to the place and pushed it open, the groans and yells of other patrons at his opening of the door. He pushed it back closed and shook the snow from his coat. Removing his coat, he left it and his pistol crossbow, along with five bolts, hanging in the coat room. Upon entering, the house was fairly busy, with people avoiding the impending whiteout that hammered the exterior of the Inn.

Stepping up to the bar, he perused the wine list, settling for a glass of Smof. he suspected that the writer of the menu didn't expect quite a cold day as this one, but he ordered nonetheless. The man behind the bar was the owner of the Rest. he knew this from general knowledge of being a native. he was known to have an impressive daughter as well, but he saw no trace of her. In fact, it appeared the man was in the weeds with business and was behind. Roland sincerely hoped that the developments wouldn't impinge on his dining experience. Fifteen gold nels wasn't a salary, but he wasn't interested in throwing it away, especially with the prior arrangement.

When the glass returned, the man placed it down hard enough for some of the bubbly to come up and out of the glass landing on Roland's hand. An eyebrow raised and he was quite displeased. Shaking the wine from his glove, he sighed and reached over to a napkin on the bar and blotted the wine off his glove and the bar around the glass. "Excuse me, Sir, could you be a little more careful?" He placed his eight nels on the bar to pay for his drink and then sipped at it. He was pleased with the wine itself, though , the experience was far from elite. Whit seemed to stop and take a deep breath, turning and standing before Roland, his face nearly as red as his hair. "What did you say?" Roland placed the glass to the side, pushing the coin to him. "I said, Please be more careful. You splashed me with the wine. It's not cheap. Nor is my elite dining experience that I purchased yesterday. Will you be tossing that at me as well?"
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Aegis » Sat Jan 20, 2018 12:42 pm

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Vega


At the Order of the Adunih Outpost, the healers and assistants fell in line, listening to Vega. They swept through the building and found neither head nor hair of the missing boy. They found the few belongings he'd brought with him, a cloth scabbard likely for holding a toy sword, a half eaten apple, and a picture book with a knight in deep blue armor on a snowy mountain on the cover. The boy's clothes and shoes and cloak were all missing, so there was at least some hope that he had minimal protection against the harsh weather outside.

In the bed next to his, was a child. She wasn't a patient, however, rather the daughter of a single father that was a healer here. He couldn't leave her at home while he worked, so she was often brought with him. She was for the most part ignored by the staff, even in the search for boy, because they were all used to her being there, and used to working around her. Her name was a Zanadika, and her head was down. Her legs kicked and bounced aimlessly off the frame of the bed she sat upon.

The healer by the door opened it quickly for Vega, prepared to shut it the moment she stepped outside, giving her a minimal 'best of luck'. Out in the blanketed cityscape, the snow was heavy and the wind howling loudly. No tracks were to be found, obviously, but around the back of the Outpost, there was something a bit out of place. The Outpost kept a compost bin there, a small wooden crate structure for keeping leftover plant matter to make fertilizer. But the wooden lid that was on it was missing, as evident by the nearly minimal amount of snow that found its way inside the rotting bin, melting from the heat that rotting gave off.


Arlo


The upset, unfortunately dressed young woman couldn't hear Arlo's command to wait over the howling of the winds. She ran several building lengths away from the Four in Hand, heading further into the city, before she stopped for a moment, to rest. She looked back over her shoulder, and saw the figure of Arlo coming toward her. Her eyes grew wide, thinking he was one of the men who'd assaulted her in such an embarrassing fashion. "Leave me alone!"

She turned and ran further up the street, until it seemed she realized just how ill prepared she was to be out in the elements. She began panicking, knocking loudly on every door she reached, screaming for help, constantly looking back Arlo's direction. But no doors opened. Maybe the patrons were at one of the few places opened, or were deep sleepers, or simply just didn't care enough to bother checking.

She stumbled, falling into the snow, her panic increasing as she was more than fully aware that she could die out here. She was slowing down, her panicked breaths, and ill prepared nature taking their toll. She was looking over her shoulder more and more, her eyes wide and wild. She fell once more, and it seemed she'd injured herself this time. She was slow to get up, droplets of blood falling from her nose, making her already easy to follow trail that much more simple to track. And the pursuit kept on.


Roland


Whit would not be tossing Roland's dinner at him. The man that was normally so good with customers, particularly those of coin or affluence such as Roland. But totrial was not a normal trial for the man. And quite frankly, he could not care any less about this foo-foo of a man's concern for his dinner. He always treated his types with respect normally because it was bad for business to do otherwise. That mattered not right now. Some things were more important than business and reputation. And his daughter was one of those.

He reached down into the lockbox he kept behind the bar, not saying a word to the not battled tested man. He grabbed enough coins to cover an 'elite' dining experience, and the glass of wine and popped back up to his full height, his glower directed solely at Roland. Then he tossed the entire handful of coins at Roland, showering the man in the money, before shouting, "Take your money, limp-wrist. Take your complaint somewhere else. Never come back. You're forever banned from my tavern."

The entire tavern grew quiet and were now staring at Roland and Whit. Not a single other customer had ever seen him lose his temper at a customer, particular in such a loud manner. Certainly never had any of them seen him throw money at a customer, nor banning anyone. Everyone was now whispering among themselves, casting furtive glances at Roland, gossiping about what this man could've possibly done to get so much ire.

"Leave now or I will throw you out myself! Never return!"
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Vega » Sat Jan 20, 2018 10:46 pm

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The Order of the AdunihRight, well that was potentially helpful. "A'right, so he's into knights. Good to know. An' there's a scabbard but no sword?" Turning to the child who was in the bed next to him, Vega had asked her, "Heya, my names Vega. You a'right? So, listen, do you know where 'e went, the boy who was there? An' did he take a toy sword with him?" Whatever the answer, she listened and then asked another question, one which made Vega think about a Naerrik she and Arlo had met in Desnind, an arc ago now. Ironically, when they were off searching for a little girl who'd got lost in the snow. "What's 'is name? An' love?" she asked the little girl. "Does he like pretendin'? Like, maybe to be a knight?" She looked at the little girl and asked, "Where do you think he's gone, Zanadika?"

Either way, once she had her answers, whatever they were, Vega made her way outside. No time for lollygagging, it was freezing cold and the wind was whipping around. Arlo Creede had better be wearing that chicken peg-leg and keeping himself warm, she thought to herself and smiled. Immortals, she was growing soft since she met that short, irritating boy. She knew, of course, that he was not any of those things, but it helped to keep her focused. "Righteo, Xiur, I'm sorry to be difficult an' all, an' I'm sure yer busy," she spoke once more to the Immortal. "But we've got to find this boy. So, you keep 'ope alive in 'im till I find 'im, would you? Thanks. Hope yer alright, an' you know, I'm right sorry. When you called by, I should 'ave offered you some chocolate. Arlo bought me it, an' it's like you wouldn't believe. Any'ow, I'm right sorry, it's just I didn't think of it." She talked to the Immortal, as she had back in Desnind, Her attention, though, that was on the area, trying to work out anything she might see.

And there was something, at least. A lid, taken off a composter. Vega first looked inside it, wrinkling her nose in disgust but checking that the contents hadn't been on some way messed with; in truth, though, she thought that every good knight needed both a sword and a shield and that was most likely what the boy had taken the lid for, but she checked all around it.

And the whole time, she called for him. Not just his name, though. She called for "Sir," whatever his name was, the Brave Knight. And as she looked in the stinking composter Vega sent a silent prayer to Xiur. "How is it, I'm fairly sure you're having a chuckle up there?" she wondered and carried on with the search. All around the composter, ground, skyline, anywhere that he could climb up or climb into. All the while growing more and more certain that she never wanted children and, somehow, this was all Arlo's fault.

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The Warmth of Death

Postby Arlo Creede » Sun Jan 21, 2018 3:40 pm

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The Four in Hand Casino

Leave her alone? Well that didn't come as any surprise. The woman didn't know him, it was the first time he'd been inside the Four in Hand, so what reason did she have to trust him? He was just another man, like those who'd wronged her, who'd followed her out in the storm and appeared to be pursuing her. Arlo slowed his pace some, putting a little more distance between him and her. she wasn't hard to keep pace with after all, even if she hadn't been stumbling on slick pavement and into piled up snow.

He hoped that some kind, and trustworthy soul might open their door and take her in. Though that would be assuming that the person on that sisde of the door was actually trustworthy. But whether or not they did, Arlo didn't want to make himself seem like a threat to her. Not to her, and not from anyone else's perspective either. But it still didn't seem right to simply walk away and leave her to it. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, just loud enough for Mixiebelle to hurt him. "I only want to help."

Of course he didn't expect her to believe him, so after she'd stumbled again and turned away from yet another door shut closed to her, he stopped and shrugged his way out of his coat. Holding it out at arm's length, he said, "At least take this. You can have it." And if that wasn't enough, he'd put the thing down on the ground, between him and her, and backed up a handful of paces in order to put even more distance between her, and with his empty hands in plain sight. "At least take the coat. I don't need it back. You'll catch your death out here."
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Roland Demira » Sun Jan 21, 2018 7:48 pm

When Whit bent down underneath the bar, Roland honestly expected satisfaction. he had never heard anything but glowing comments about the Knight's Rest, so another drink or an apology would suffice. When the towering inferno rose, however, there was quite an unexpected show of defiance. Golden nels hit him in the face and chest, clinking on the floor around him. Roland hadn't expected it at all and didn't flinch from it, just staring in shock at the innkeeper.

Looking over at his wine glass as a single golden nel settled inside it, Roland could hear the surprised whispers of the establishment. He crouched down to his haunches and picked each nel up until he had all of them, save the one in the glass. He put the coins back on the bar in front of the angry man. There was a slow burn inside the man's chest. Since Roland generally lacked empathy, he didn't fly off the handle. He kept his eyes fixed on the other man's, however. "What has you so turned around, Whit? I have heard nothing but compliments and rave reviews of your Inn. It is one of the best in Scalvoris, if not the best. That reputation is what drew me here. Surely, you don't want to tarnish something you worked so hard for." A long, drawn out sigh escaped Roland's chest. He looked at the floor as he turned around and faced the tables, the people watching the show with rapt attention. Shrugging, he added, "Maybe you do want to tarnish it. Maybe you don't care."

He turned and walked out to the reception room, putting his coat on and loading his pistol crossbow, cranking the string back until it was taut. He set the catch and locked it with the safety strap before walking back in. Returning to the bar, he raised the crossbow until he was pointing it at Whit's chest. His left hand reached over and removed the safety strap. "I want two things from you. An apology and an explanation. I don't care which order. Anything else comes out of your mouth or hand and this limp wrist will sink a bolt into your ticker." He was no virtuoso of intimidation, but hopefully Whit knew when a man was concerned with protecting his own reputation.
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Aegis » Mon Jan 22, 2018 3:56 pm

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Vega


The little girl nodded at Vega's initial question. "Ser Danzcek is on a quest for me! Like the Knights in his book he readed to me. He go slay the fire monster, and then we can be married. He taked his sword, Lady Snowflake." She looked over at a window that was almost nearly closed, cracked open just a bit, that had led outside. "He say fire monster only live where big fire burn." The little girl was clearly worried, and yet proud of her brave knight. Today was a really good day, it was the most attention she'd received in a long time. "Is you his squire? What is you called, Lady Squire? Does you has a sword like Lady Snowflake?"

The missing compost lid was not found in Vega's search. And no one answered her calls. And for most, the trail would've gone cold there. But Vega wasn't just anyone. There were very few trails she couldn't follow, no beast she couldn't track. And her trained eyes would be able to see details others would swear didn't matter. There was a fence post of a nearby yard with less snow accumulated atop it than the others. Beyond that, a bush nearly completely devoid of snow, with a few leaves scattered about, slowly disappearing beneath the snow. A few lots over, broken icicles hanging off a low window sill. And eventually, she could see a soft orange glow in the distance. It seemed similar in hue to a flame, but didn't have the same flickering and motion one might expect.

A closer view would show a burnt out husk of a building, without a single bit of snow within the remains. The snow was still falling, but it melted instantly and dried in moments. For those that knew, the remains were a tavern that burned to the ground. The weather had prevented the cleanup of the burnt wood, twisted metal. And there in the middle of it all, a flower glowed bright. It radiated heat, and appeared to be made of metal, glowing, much like a sword freshly pulled from the forge.

But there was no immediate sign of the boy.

Then the ruins began to smoke, smolder. Then they caught fire. But the fire seemed.. odd, as if it were just upon the surfaces of the charred wood and metal and debris, and not actually burning it. The fires crawled toward the flower, and then grew upward, until they formed a humanoid body of fire. A man's voice rang out from it, "You need to get out!" Something was strange about it. It sounded, panicked, scared.


Arlo


Mixiebelle did stop at Arlo's continued assistance, shivering violently. The gullible young woman decided to take a chance on this man who claimed to wish to help her. She turned to face him, and accepted his offer of a coat, which she hurriedly wrapped about her. She smiled slightly at Arlo, looking at him with large, bright eyes. "Thank you good ser. My hero. An immortal-send." She leaned forward and pecked a kiss upon Arlo's cheek.

She pressed close to Arlo, assuming he'd be cold as well, putting her arm through his to hold onto him. "Can you help me home? It's not far, up the street a bit and around the corner. I can't go back to work like this." She frowned, "I never thought that would happen at my job. The men are usually so well behaved." She squeezed Arlo's arm a bit more, insisting to lead him onward, "I ain't good at anything else. And the only other bar I ever thought 'bout working at burned down almost three tenday back. I ain't got anywhere else to go. No hope for a big ol' dummy like me."

She began walking, tugging Arlo along, "What brought you into my bar, hun? You ain't one of my regulars. Neither were those scumbags." She walked a long, calming down at least. "Maybe I should go work at my brother's beauty parlor. I'm real good at lookin' pretty, dontchya think?"

She continued to provide idle chatter, until they reached a door that was apparently hers. As she fumbled at the key that hung on a necklace between her bosom, she failed to notice that one of her windows was smashed in. She put the key in the lock and turned it, and swung the door inside. Turning toward Arlo, "Want some hot tea or anything hun? Or at least come in and warm up a bit. I'll get a fire going."

And inside, in a corner where a broom had been, was a young boy holding a toy sword, holding his knees to his chest, face stained with tears. He raised his wooden sword and shakily pointed it at the door, saying nothing.


Roland


Whit was a knight by trade in his youth, and had seen more than enough violence in his days. That's why he retired earlier than many would think normal. And the man knew what was about to happen the moment he saw that man's crossbow. Whit casually grabbed a wooden mug, and began cleaning it with a wet rag, as he stared down this Roland.

"You ain't wantin' to be doin' that boy. Maybe that drink was a bit too strong for ya. You wouldn't be the first."

Whit was calm, being forced back into the life he'd left. He was a good bartender and tavern owner. But he'd been a great knight and leader. He didn't smile, didn't smirk, simply held the look of a disappointed father. "Put that toy away, and take your leave. These people paid for dinner, but not a show."

He set the mug down and grabbed another dirty one, starting rubbing it down, and began walking around the bar. "There's no shame in saying you've had too much of my fine drink. Happens to the best of us, happened to me plenty."

His eyes never left Roland's. The disappointment never left his face. And there he waited for a response, staring down, as the entire tavern seemed to hold their breath. Not a soul there knew Roland before he built this tavern, and none had ever heard the stories, if there were any. No one ever actually caused trouble here because the threat of challenging a knight seemed too big of a hassle. The only sound that moved through the room was that slight whine of the wind beneath the door, a task Whit had been meaning to get around to fixing, but lately had been spending more time with his daughter.
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The Warmth of Death

Postby Roland Demira » Mon Jan 22, 2018 4:24 pm

When he stared down the line of his weapon at Whit, the man calmly cleaned a mug and started to warn him not to do it. It was true that Roland had reacted rashly, but what about this man? Throwing his money in his face. He watched as he came around the bar and he acknowledged him, reattaching the safety strap and shaking his head. "There's no need for violence. You are absolutely in the wrong, in every way. If you want to try to turn this on me, that's fine. Your house, your rules."

He walked back toward the reception area, keeping his eyes on the bartender. he stopped at the door into it, looking out at the surprised patrons. "I don't know what your problem is, but you are the one with a problem. I made a reservation, paid for it and came in and asked for it. YOU insulted me and threw my money in my face. You are the asshole. I accept your ban. You have not heard the end of this. Get ready to read a good one in the Cabin Boy tomorrow. Good luck with your Cylus income." If this bar was on fire, Roland wouldn't piss on it to put it out. He walked out in the snow and left the door open, letting the icy winds blast inside and steal the heat from within. The blizzard was horrible but it was paradise compared to possibly the worst host he had ever had the displeasure of coming across.
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