Private Tales A Servant to Our Grief

[Monroe]

The mistake had been accepting the invitation in the first place.

Blinded by nostalgia and the need to return to the sea, Monroe had no true thought that went into the scars left behind between herself and the home her family founded. Cathmore had a vivid history, where raiding and piracy had been the way of life for so long, the seafaring never left. It was now where ships were made, servicing to Alliria and now made an honest living for those that stilled dwelled there.

Monroe had been eager to see home again, for she had a reason the drag her back.

A wedding, one between the only family left that she cared about truly. Her cousin had finally argued her way into getting a proposal from her long term sweetheart, and it was an event Monroe would not miss.

Except the scars were still there.

She was to not sport a weapon of any kind, nor was she to stay in her family home that was left to her. Monroe had wanted it to be used for the orphanage, and they accepted, but only took up the annex of the seaside estate. To not stay in her own home was ludicrous, a fact she argued in her return letter, and was then given permission to resume accomodations there.

And yet, her cousin's soon to be husband was admant on her to not bring any weapons on her person, for she will be searched upon entering the town.

She had thought it wise to not argue the point, to say she herself was a weapon made... but weapons were only deadly when used.

There was always another way. She learned this growing up in Atlia Keep, that there was never one path towards something.

Not wanting to bother her brothers or sisters amongst the Noct Yaegir, Monroe had put out a call in Alliria to any mercenaries and sellswords to accompany her as a guard. She would reject anyone that looked sloppy with their stances, that seemed to quiver at her eternal grumpy expression, or those that thought to argue back at her simply because they thought her a damsel.

If this man seated before her says the wrong thing, there was a highly likely chance Monroe would swing her tankard right into his face.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Inevitable Tavern Music

He was a sellsword. A mercenary, in other words, and his armor was grey and plain as day. He wore a black cloak over it, hood lowered. No need to keep from being seen. Neither was the sword sheathed at his side, hand resting on the hilt for no other reason. He sported a pack on his back beside a shield with no heraldry. Just a symbol of a golden lightning bolt on a field of black. There was a reason for that.

A mug of ale in his other hand, Vandor Colton took a sip and just listened to the music with his back to the bar. Live musicians of drums and violins. He searched throughout the crowd, looking at no one in particular, just casually watching others laughing and talking. Some were drunk, some not enough, some too much. Sat at a table on her lonesome nearby was some young woman with a pretty face. That meant nothing really except for the ugly man that sat down in front of her just then.

“Hear you’re looking for a bodyguard, eh?” The man’s voice was noisy enough over the environment as he wiped what might be a mixture of wine and greased beef from his lips with the back of his hand. “You’re a grumpy one, all right, a pretty little thing, but don’t you worry, sweets, Rory the Gory sat before you will protect a damsel in distress, heh.”

There was an audible -crack!- just then as the horrible man left the table in a bit of a stumble. Bodyguard, is it? Ale slid down the sellsword’s throat. I must have missed the memo. At that, Vandor turned to drop coins on the counter and, mug in hand, took his turn as he sat down before the woman offering work.

Fingers wrapped around his drink, the sellsword took a moment to look between the lady’s eyes, noting their golden irises, before speaking.

“Hear you’re looking for a bodyguard,” he said simply. “I’m in the business.” He took another sip, licked his lips, but wasn’t lecherous. “If you even need one, that is.”

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Hells, she had lost a third of her ale doing that, but the stunned face before her tankard hit jaw had been worth it. Like a feline, Monroe had licked the ale that trickled down from her hand and wrist before wiping the rest on her breeches. "Fucking arsehole..." She muttered darkly, setting her drink down onto the table and began to lose herself to her inner monologue about how useless people were these days, until another warm body replaced the vacant spot before her.

Instantly, the Yaegir scowled. Calm rage still simmered inside her, and the words that came out from the male only irritated her further.

"Are you useless as shit or are you somewhat adequate with swordcraft?" She asked without missing a beat. Her gaze was darker within the interior of this pub, one that she had to climb two sets of stairs to reach but it had a nice view of the docks on the Epressa side of Alliria. "And even so, what makes you right for this job? I've seen near two dozen shitheads today." Her eyes appraised him, as if determining whether or not he'd make the count.

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Music change because that's just how this game is played

Those eyes were unwavering. Molten. Golden. They looked into his own as if his gaze may break at any moment. Maybe if he was drunk enough but this was his first cup in this pub. So he just stared back. His own eyes were black. It probably did not matter. Except for the fact that they never wavered.

“I guess that depends on the perspective of my opponent,” came Vandor's answer. “If they take my head then maybe I was of some use with my blade but apparently not enough.” He debated whether to take another sip but that alone may have broken his gaze.

“If I take their head?” Violins and drums resounded around him amid conversations. However, some in the midst of these patrons had since taken an interest in this particular conversation. Courtesy of a misplaced tankard, no doubt. “The latter has happened before more than once but the former…” He shrugged in indifference. “Not just yet.” Let her be the judge if it was arrogance.

Vandor's potential employer could take his claims any way she saw fit but, if she wanted to sip his words then she’d probably need to order another tankard. Perfect. His fingers gestured to a server passing by.

“Buy you a drink?” He offered. “Call it a replacement even if this just ends up as a conversation with no contract.” The sellsword sipped his ale at that. “Like I said, the cup to the face makes me question what business you need with hiring an escort to begin with but that is indeed your business,” he assured. “Selling my sword is mine.”

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Doubt and spite were her favourite weapons to wield, but the man seated before her certainly proved to have an altogether different demeanour than those that previously sat there as she interrogated them. This one was amongst one of the younger sorts to inquire, and perhaps that alone helped his case of patience conversing with her.

He would see that he had piqued her interest when her scowl lessened in it's hardness of her expression, but the mention of a drink to be bought only chiselled the disapproval back into her facial features.

"All you need to know is that I made a promise to go somewhere and not be armed. However, they did not stipulate that I could not provide someone else that is armed." Monroe leaned back in her seat, the wood groaning and creaking as she stared at the man before her.

"I guess you don't look like an immediate threat. That could win me points of favour..." Better than taking a bulking mountain of has been mercenary. "Are you a fast runner? Can you swim at least?"

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: It's the same music

Vandor would remember her demeanor, whatever the reason for his offer of a replacement tankard. Her expressions had no hesitation. Quick to shift as the wind. For his part, given her disposition, the sellsword and bodyguard was already expecting this to be a pretty interesting contract—if he got the job, of course.

So, she could not be armed where she was going. She made a promise. So did so many others. Was she honest? All he needed to know, though, was that she was able to see through an agreement and find a loophole. If this woman hired the man sat across the table then he had better prove to be just as bold.

“Running comes easy enough,” Vandor said as he sat back, relaxed, more in talk and less in having already gotten the job. “One can do cartwheels in full plate given its distribution.” He tapped his armor, eyes peeled on her. “But, unless you’re being chased, I’d prefer to walk all the same.”

Her other question made him cock a brow. The tavern was no less quiet, just as loud, but from the corner of his eye Vandor caught others watching the conversation—if for no other reason than to see whether he got a tankard to his noggin.

“I can swim if the occasion calls for it,” the sellsword offered a nod in acknowledgement. No more or less. “Though this same plate has some weight to it and I’ll need a reason to ditch it and keep my garments or be naked so I don’t sink.” He sipped his drink.

“Run. Swim.” Both brows crossed now. “What’s the mission? Pirate ship? Private island?” Less sarcastic, more curious. “Somewhere is fine, limited information is your right, but having a destination in mind helps me be better prepared, if you care to share.”

Monroe