At the Buckle and Chain
Woe had put out to his various contacts in Almund, starting with Navnea, who had a standing connection to the Pirate Lords that Woe was very well aware of. Apparently it was a small world. The father of her sons had been a crewman aboard the Unstoppable. This gave Woe pause before sending the lads along to give word to the Iron Maiden, that he wished to meet her to discuss the offer he'd made. Such subtle quirks of sychronicity could work in his favor or against him. More likely against him, given the lads weren't fond of the idea that their father had been gallivanting off in some distant shore, while his mother struggled to bring them up.
Still, it was his best bet to get in touch with them, so he offered Navnea a small pittance to do the contacting herself. Her sons were as yet unknown factors, aside from the beating they'd administered to him earlier the Arc. Rough around the edges, yes, and ill-tempered. He had more trust that Navnea would treat the errand with the professionalism that it require, without regard for the presence of her lover.
Hell, perhaps they'd both get the answers they were after, if all this went to plan.
Navnea stood by Woe's table at the Buckle and Chain, and laid down a small leather pouch. Woe slipped an onyx into it, a generous tip for the information that changed hands. "So she'll come?"
"Oh aye, it took some doing to wheedle the word to the lady herself, but the Iron Maiden will come."
"Hmph." Woe said and then nodded to Navnea. "Did you..." He began, but then stopped himself. "We'll talk later then."
So Woe stood waiting at the table in the center of the Tavern, The gold cloak he wore drew eyes from various eyes, who recognized it as the sign of an Order healer. And one of rank too. Woe had only just earned his gold cloak in the past season, Jan himself granting him the accoutrement. However, Woe engaged in his sought after solitude, turning aside any casual callers as he only wished for the company of one on this afternoon. The Iron Maiden.
Sure enough, within the break she arrived at the door of the tavern, and it went silent for a few moments then resumed the usual din of the tavern noise. She walked over toward his table, recognizing the sickly-looking healer from their encounter earlier in Egilrun waters. Egil perched on Woe's shoulder, and quarked at the Iron Maiden.
"You still have Araman's old bird?" Gwar quirked a brow, as she lowered herself into the opposite chair. She laid her hands down on the table, showing them to be empty save for the callused knuckles that spoke to a life of hard fighting with those same fists. "I'd have expected it to drive you insane or else wear out its welcome by now. You're a man of rare fortitude, it would seem."
The irony of her statement didn't escape him, the glow of sweat across his brow showed him to be anything but the picture of health. "Yes well... I take my health seriously, as you'd expect."
"Anyway..." Gwar leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I've come to hear you out, once again. I have to admit, I'm looking forward to watching the stoic Lord Protector of Egilrun squirm."
A hint of a smirk pulled at her lips, he noticed, but then as imperceptible as it was it was gone within the fraction of a second. Woe shrugged, "First, what's your poison of choice. If you haven't given my offer further consideration, surely you're open to the idea of refreshment, sharing a drink on this Glass Trial? To what Immortal shall we toast? Do you hold to any?"
"Akdov sounds good to me."
Woe nodded, and approved. Akdov was a faintly sweet liquor, strong and went down smooth and pure. Of course she was an Akdov lass. He snapped his fiingers, and then signed for the bottles to be brougtt to the table after making the order for just that.
Woe for his part, produced a pair of shotglasses, that he kept for such important occasions as this. Lined with copper glass, they would enhance the flavor ever so slightly, and rimmed with green glass they'd keep the drink cool.
Gwar quirked a brow, and then inspeced the shotglass that was slid toward her end of the table. "Fancy that? Egilrun glass."
"Egil is a pretty boy!" Egil quarked, "Smash and get Glassed!"
Woe ignored him, but Gwar showed the slightest bit of unease in her otherwise stoic expression. Woe knew then, he had her against the rails, at least in terms of her expectations. He always did delight in upsetting preconceived ideas. "Shall we drink then, to whoever you believe in?"
Woe said the name of his primary patron, "Chamadarst." While Gwar said hers in the same breath.
