Open Chronicles Blood and Wind

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Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

The Butcher of Alliria
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Cauldwin took the key from the innkeeper, and simply pushed the pile of coin further forwards, retorting simply, "Thank you, have a lovely evening." Before he turned around, he tilted his head up and sniffed the air, someone was concealing themselves on this floor... possibly given his vocation of lawbringing they had good reason, or perhaps they were just a superstitious local reasonably anxious about his presence. Either way, before he retired to his room, it was probably worth conversing with the people left awake in this town.

He turned sharply on his heel to see a man in the throws of writing or drawing... an artist! Now he was actually somewhat eager to converse with what denizens remained awake in this tavern. He simply walked forwards to the man's table and looked down at the seat across from him before asking, "Is this seat taken?"

Flint

Ras Sorane

Sharon Trask

 

Flint

The Barber
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(OOC: Hope ye don't mind me jumping the queue!)

The wood creaked under the newcomer's heavy boots as he made his way to Flint's table. He'd be lying if he said the man wasn't an intimidating sight. He towered over the seated barber, looking down at him through the slits in his helmet. He asked to take a seat opposite the Flint, though he couldn't tell what had lead the man to do so. All other tables were vacant, and it was quite clear (at least to him) that the bar was soon closing. He looked around the armored figure to see the innkeeper, who looked far to petrified to rush them along to their rooms.

With a toothy smile, the barber set his book aside. "By all means, take a seat".

It was a bizarre situation. Perhaps ranking among the most bizarre he'd ever experienced. He'd never seen anyone or anything like this hulking mass of terrifying metal, and yet it spoke kindly, and made no move to indicate it wished any harm. Foolishly enough, Flint opted not to keep his distance from this fearsome giant. His curiosity trumped his instincts in this moment. Any feelings of fear and dread that Cauldwin evoked could not warrant missing out on learning the story behind this mysterious figure.

A mixture of ale and this intense curiosity now guided the barber, as he leaned forward in his chair, watching as the figure tried to fit himself into one of the chairs that he dwarfed by comparison. Though as the figure took a seat, Flint found he was at a loss for words. What did he even ask a being such as this? In the end, he settled on:

"Er, do you come here often?".

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Ras Sorane Sharon Trask
 

Sharon Trask

Wandering Warrior
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Sharon watched the big guy purchase a room for the evening and then go over to chat with Flint.
She shrugged, she was too tired and not drunk enough to stick around. She was going to get nice and personal with a wash cloth before deciding whether or not to show up at Ras' room in a towel.

She turned around and walked up the stairs past Ras, running her fingers across his shoulders as she went by him. He seemed a little spooked by the giant too, but curious enough to investigate.
She propped her scabbard on her shoulder and her cloak draped over her arm and she ascended the rest of the stairs.
She located her room and unlocked it.

They were simple but comfortable rooms, and as Ras said, the beds could easily accommodate two. She tossed her sword on the bed, her cloak on the chair, and in a minute her armor and clothes littered the floor while she scrubbed herself down with a cloth and water from the wash basin.
 

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

The Butcher of Alliria
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(OOC: Hoping it's good that I skip over Ras for this one...)

As Cauldwin sat down in the chair a creaked and bent something terrible, but did not break.

"Er, do you come here often?".

He grinned warmly behind his helm, "No, I've actaully been wandering the realm for a bit over a year now... I just stopped to rest for the night." ,Cauldwin replied placing his right hand on the table and gesturing with a spin of his finger. He then bemused, "Are you a local? An resident artesian perhaps?" He said gesturing to his quill.

Flint

 
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Ras Sorane

The Betrayer of Olwin
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Ras tried to not look too offended as Cauldwin walked straight past him, ignoring his questions as he moved for Flint's table. He wanted to keep close tabs on the creature, hand ready to draw his weapons at a moment's notice, just in case the thing wasn't as friendly as they had been led to believe. However, Cauldwin just seemed... Interested in Flint. Particularly, the man's writing. A gentle giant... How poetic.

No matter how vigilant he wanted to be, as Sharon passed by him and walked her fingers up his shoulder, he couldn't help but be... Distracted. Looking between her and Flint's new company, he grunted softly, having made his choice. Flint could probably take him, right? For being nothing more than a barber, he had made it this far without a savior. "Women are going to be the death of me..." He muttered, shaking his head.

He gave the giant a few more untrusting glances before moving to the stairs once more, walking up after her. After walking a little ways down the hall, he turned left at the very end, sliding the key into the lock and giving it a slow turn. The only light that illuminated the dark room were the occasional flashes of lighting from the storm, Ras having to feel his way to the nearby wall lantern, withdrawing his flint and tinder to blindly light it the best he could.

Once he could see, he'd note how bland the room was. Plain walls, a plain bed, and a simple dresser, desk and nightstand with nothing much else of note. He couldn't help but sigh. Wonderful... More dull colors to depress him even more than he already was. He went to work stripping himself of armor and weapons, placing them in different drawers before closing them quietly.

He looked up towards the mirror, taking a moment to soak in his tired, apathetic expression. On the road, he didn't get to see himself often. Each time he did, it was always a bit of a fright. It was a wonder that he got flirts from women at all, with his ugly mug... Still, he was a little proud of himself, in all honestly. He'd made not one, but two allies on this little stop, and though he couldn't say he'd do any sacrificing for them, they were good drinking partners. Probably good meat shields too, but he wasn't trying to do any backstabbing just yet. It wasn't in his best interests as of right now. Especially not with Sharon possibly paying him a visit soon.

He looked down at his clothes... Still nice and dry, thanks to his armor. Removing his shirt one button at a time, revealing every nasty scar inch by inch as the cloth came undone, he glanced towards his belt pouch sitting on top of the dresser, reaching over to retrieve his map. Heading towards the desk as he threw his shirt to the floor, he sat down, unrolling the map against the oaken surface as he looked over his notes. Black arrows and circles littered the parchment, all with little comments regarding his pursuers, and the mercenaries they hired to find him. Looking out the window, he spoke to himself quietly. "No making chase in this weather, bastards... By morning I'll be long gone."

One more loud crack of thunder sealed that thought, the man idly glancing over the map as he mentally plotted his next moves. Perhaps a bigger city, somewhere where he could find a few better jobs, and more importantly, better connections.

Flint Sharon Trask Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr
 

Flint

The Barber
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Cauldwin spoke in a jovial tone, which was ever the more jarring considering what Flint had expected a man like him to sound like. He was a wanderer, like the rest of them. Crossing the plains in search of... Whatever a Goliath like himself went in search of. Closer now, Flint got a better look at the man. His armour looked ancient, rusted and rough; particularly in the rugged area just at the point above his missing arm. Flint wondered what had happened to it, or why he hadn't opted to replace the dingy suit of armour.

Cauldwin indicated his quill, asking about his own background. Flint returned the smile (at least, it sounded like Cauldwin was smiling), with a reply:

"No, not local, and certainly no artist, not one who uses a quill anyways". He found himself warming up to the conversation, the strangeness of talking to such a figure as Cauldwin dwindling somewhat. "My name is Flint. I'm a barber by trade, though lately I've been travelling the land, seeking adventure". He wondered what sights the armoured man had seen in his life. If he was as ancient as his armour looked, he surely had plenty of stories to tell. Tired as he was, Flint wasn't sure sleep warranted missing out on such an opportunity.

"Wandering the realm, you say? Are you in search of something?",
he inquired, hoping he hadn't overstepped with the question.

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Ras Sorane Sharon Trask
 
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Edderick had been within the tavern. Admittedly she had drifted off at her seat, only awoken by the jolt of a boisterous sound of a man arguing. She took some time to remember her surroundings and check her coin-purse.

When all of her possessions seemed in order, she was reminded by the prick of a needle point in her bag. A quick rummage later and she grew a bit of childish excitement when she rediscovered a playing dart she had pocketed during her travels. Quickly she set up one of the mugs and tossed it at the cup, knocking it over but not quite sticking to the smoothed out wood and metal. She muttered to herself and looked around the tavern, noticing a wooden targe that belonged to a sleepy mercenary she took it and began to doodle and mark rudimentary marks for points and hung it on the tavern wall.

"Come on lads and lasses!" She boomed out of her chest in a surprising baritone that bounced off the walls with a showman's vigor. Perhaps a magical vigor. "Anyone wanna put a few coins on a game of darts? Or- eh - Dart!"

Edderick showed the needle pointed game piece like it was a holy object.

"I'm willing to put up 10 coins I can hit each ring before you can!"

The young adventurer ethusiastically tapped the crudely drawn circles. Unaware of how rudely she may have interrupted some pleasant conversation.

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Ras Sorane Sharon Trask Flint
 

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

The Butcher of Alliria
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Cauldwin listened intently to Flint (as he had introduced himself), nodding as he spoke, though when he mentioned he was not an artisan: he couldn't help but feel a little dispointed. It was shame Flint wasn't as bardic as he hoped, as Cauldwin had saying, 'a day isn't complete until someone's cleaved, someone's drunk, and someone sings.' However, Flint had said that he was a barber by trade, and hopefully that meant one of the surgical persuasion. As his new form was rather... complex for an armature such as himself to diagnose and hopefully treat.

"Wandering the realm, you say? Are you in search of something?", he inquired, hoping he hadn't overstepped with the question.

He wanted to answer this question honestly, he was after redemption and his own justice for being slain by the guardsman he had long fought with. But at the same time he had to consider the consequences of putting such information out there. They might think him an abomination, a demon, or (if he was lucky) a loon. None the less he had decided on how he would like to respond, but before he could speak...

"Come on lads and lasses!" She boomed out of her chest in a surprising baritone that bounced off the walls with a showman's vigor. Perhaps a magical vigor. "Anyone wanna put a few coins on a game of darts? Or- eh - Dart!"

Edderick showed the needle pointed game piece like it was a holy object.

"I'm willing to put up 10 coins I can hit each ring before you can!"

The young adventurer ethusiastically tapped the crudely drawn circles. Unaware of how rudely she may have interrupted some pleasant conversation.

Well, now his and likely Flint's attention was on the uproarious lass. Probably better this way, after all it's likely his words might have been a bit of a blunder. Cauldwin leaned back in the chair as it grounded horribly, before quickly sitting up straight once again as not to destroy the chair that was already suffering beneath the weight of his armor. He then called over to the lass, "Gambling with darts, eh? Alright, 30 coins says you can't get a bulls-eye, twice in a row!"

Flint

Ras Sorane

Sharon Trask

Edderick Stormbane

 
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Sharon Trask

Wandering Warrior
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It felt good to wash herself, a downpour filtering through the forest canopy wasn't exactly a clean shower.
She laid her clothes out to dry and found a towel to dry herself off.
She too examined herself in the mirror after weeks of only her reflection in lakes, streams and puddles.
Her warriors muscles rippled under fair skin that was permanently marked in several places, battle scars from both man and beast. She traced the white marks on her skin, recalling each battle that earned her these badges of glory.
In spite of her grim and imposing decorations her body managed to keep its femininity with playful yet streamlined proportions.

She thought of Ras and imagined what sort of life was etched in his skin, what stories his flesh could tell her. She gave her reflection a sultry smile before changing into her dry set of clothes, trousers and a loose tunic that might have belonged to a man. Unlaced at the neck the tunic provided a diving view of her generous cleavage.
With looks that could kill she exited her room barefoot and began the search for Ras' room. She thought she remembered which room key the tavern keeper gave him but wasn't sure...

Once she thought she found it she would tap lightly on the door.
 

Flint

The Barber
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Cauldwin paused a moment before speaking, and Flint wondered if he'd strayed into dangerous territory, or if perhaps the old-armoured man had maybe forgotten himself. Before the massive man could speak, however, a voice boomed in from one of the corners of the room.

She had a strong build, though was dwarfed when standing beside Cauldwin (as most people would be). Clad in leather armor, she held a pointed needle - no, a dart - in her hand, looking in the direction of their table. She was loud as she challenged them, confident that her skill with the dart outmatched theirs. Decent as he was at throwing blades, Flint was hoping to continue learning about the mysterious armored man. Normally one to go along with such drunken revelry, Flint found himself feeling irked by how things had progressed. Perhaps it was the weather that was getting to him, or the wearing-off of his drinks.

Cauldwin seemed much more open to engaging in sport than discussing his own affairs, and Flint began to wonder if he'd get anything out of the man. He sat back in his chair, eyeing his empty tankard with a yawn. Maybe it was time he tried to get to sleep, provided some dream demon didn't keep him from getting to it. He looked to the pair engaged in their dart bet, deciding to see how it played out before he made for bed. The past few days and their challenges had left him feeling uncharacteristically grouchy. He didn't want that reflected on him when interacting with possible future friends.

"You manage the two, I'll buy you both a drink tomorrow", he said, standing and walking to join the pair by the target.
 

Ras Sorane

The Betrayer of Olwin
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The knock on the door prompted him to look up with a surpised expression. Damn... She wasn't just idly teasing after all, was she? Glancing down at the map, he thought for a moment before rolling it back up, placing the parchment off to one side of the desk before standing and opening the door. It didn't take long for his eyes to start wandering. Just as expected, her body underneath all that armor proved to be a sight worth seeing. He did note the few scars he could make out on her torso... Seems like everyone had a history of blood and brutality around these parts...

Of course, his shirtless form gave an even better record of his past dealings. Large, cavernous gouges in the flesh, riddling his chest and sides. Smaller punctures in the shoulders and gut, likely from arrowheads. They were nasty indicators of past brushes with death, but in all actuality, he took care of himself. Fit and lean, mostly in part to only really eating when he had to, and constantly being on the move.

He scoffed a bit, smirking as he turned his back to her, moving to the nightstand to light a few candles sitting there. "I wasn't expecting you to be so eager. We've known each other a mere hour." He teased lightly, his flint and tinder sparking as the wicks of each candle illuminated with a small flame. He wasn't one to critique... He'd invited her, after all. Still, she didn't seem the type for casual, lustful affairs. Not with her physique and supposed warrior lifestyle.

Looking back towards her, he sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair with a bit of a yawn. "How'd the wash basin treat you?" He asked. "I'm lucky to have found a river to wash off in before I arrived... I'm not much for rags and dirty community water." To be fair, she looked far more comfortable and less rugged than when she first arrived, so it couldn't have been too awful.

Sharon Trask
 
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Edderick gave a giggle that resembled more of a chortle. There was clearly some mead in her blood. The ammount was a mystery only sober Edderick and the Barkeep knew.

"I'll take you up on that big man. 30 gold i can make the middle twice!"

The young woman placed a spot for her small audience to watch. Went to the shield and counted her paces. The standard 5 long strides. When she was stationed in her spot, her body got tense and her adreneline pumped in her veins, mixing with the mead and beer to make a cocktail of blissful arrogance. She spread her stance, evened her weight and put all focus on the moving board. With a light toss the time span from a dart to her target was like eternity in a wave of regret and realization.

I only have 25 coins though.

The one of the few thoughts was the last in her head before the dart hit the board. 2 fingernails length from the center of the shield.

She looked to Cauldwin and back to the shield. Her whole body crinkled as she realized she couldnt just fight out of it. She looked to the Barber and a fleeting moment of realization hit her. . .She should of been a tailor.
Flint Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

Edited to spell Cauldwin correctly and at the people I am rping with. Also forgive me if I ever break ettiquette I am new to forum rp.
 
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Sharon Trask

Wandering Warrior
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When Ras opened the door Sharon was leaning against the doorframe, letting him get a good look at her. She was pleasantly surprised to see him shirtless and was especially pleased to see that he possessed a myriad of sexy scars of his own all over his torso.
"I wasn't expecting you to be so eager. We've known each other a mere hour."
She smiled warmly as she invited herself into his room while he lit the candles.
"I live my life by the minute. Those who live by the sword die by the sword, the future is uncertain for people like us so we take pleasure whenever we can..."
She closed the door behind her and appreciated the back view of the half naked warrior in front of her. She had her share of muscles as well which came from years of using her weapons of choice, but she was still small in comparison to this imposing specimen of masculinity... And she liked that... Being able to feel small with somebody but not useless.

"How'd the wash basin treat you?" He asked. "I'm lucky to have found a river to wash off in before I arrived... I'm not much for rags and dirty community water."
"It treated me well, thank you. The accommodations are surprisingly sterile in this tavern. I was soaked from the rain, so it was nice to wash out the grime... Especially if I'm sharing a bed tonight."
She meandered around the room till she came to the opposite end of the bed. She climbed on top of it to come up and knelt behind Ras while she gently place her hands on his shoulders. In spite of the sword and bow callouses on her hands her touch was soft and she glided her fingers across his skin.
She embraced him, resting her chin on his shoulder as her arms wrapped around his naked chest and her tunic covered chest pressed against his back.

Her voice whispered in his ear while her fingertips glided down to his scars, tracing them down and gliding along the deep marks as if trying to guess how the weapon cut his flesh.
"I love men of violent means... I love survivors... Fighters... Warriors... And I was serious about the dream demon, I don't want to be alone if something comes at me in my sleep..."

She wasn't drunk enough to be as eager as she came off as, but she wasn't willing to go to sleep with her own thoughts for one more night. If the dream demon did come for her, it would have more then enough darkness to work with.
 
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Ras Sorane

The Betrayer of Olwin
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The part about living by the minute really did strike him. She wasn't wrong, life was short. Especially for those who didn't live a simple life, like them. He never expected to live long enough to see his 25th birthday, and well... Here he was. He had to instinctively hold back his muscle reflex to elbow her in the gut when she moved to rest her hands on his shoulders. He'd grown a bit of trauma about people coming up behind him. It hurt when he knew her intentions were far from malicious. In fact, he'd even say her touch was soothing.

"You have an interesting taste in men. Most like the simpler kinds who don't find trouble. I'd say I'm the definition of trouble." If she only knew that many of his scars were from men merely defending themselves... Men who probably didn't deserve to die for some cheap coin. Looking over his shoulder to smirk at her, he shook his head. "We do seem to share similar interests... I'm not a fan of helpless damsels. It's exciting when a woman can kick my ass."

With the way she was built, she likely could. If there was one person he'd met today that he wouldn't play dirty, it'd be her. Well, that hulking bastard downstairs too, but he hadn't gotten on a first name-basis with him yet. As her fingers traced the scars along his chest, he'd wince as she found a rather fresh one... One of the slices rounding his ribcage.

He'd forgotten most, but that was one of the few that had a real, honorable story to it. A mean-faced mercenary with the biggest poleaxe he'd ever seen this side of the continent. One of the few mercenaries who almost claimed his bounty. "4 months ago, that one... Lost more blood than I thought was in my body. One talented cleric brought me back from the brink of death." He explained, figuring she was curious. "Despite how much I sometimes want it, death doesn't seem to want me. Guess that means I'm your best bet of safety, tonight." He flirted quietly, but his words held truth. He could tell she was more worried than she'd let on previously, and though he wasn't in a savior mood, he cared enough to reassure her in the moment.

Sharon Trask
 
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Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

The Butcher of Alliria
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Cauldwin watched in anticipation, and a bit of anxiety when he realized the lass was a magi (slang in the Arrack slums for magic users). However she missed the mark, still for a drunk magi, it wasn't a bad shot all things considered. It appeared he had won the bet, but looking at the mortified expression on the girls face it became obvious she didn't have the coin.

He was a Lagafréttamaður (Lawbringer in Nordwiir tongue), which meant by his vassalage to the War-Father he was oathbound to inflict some form of punishment for this infraction. However, he felt empathy for the girl: after all how many drunken brawls had he been in back in Alliria over debts? Hell, how many people had he beat to death in the ring? He had to judge her, so he decided she would simply owe him a song.

Cauldwin looked down at Edderick, before saying in a low serious tone that verged on demonic, "You haven't the coin do you lass?"

Flint

Ras Sorane

Sharon Trask

Edderick Stormbane

 

Sharon Trask

Wandering Warrior
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"You have an interesting taste in men. Most like the simpler kinds who don't find trouble. I'd say I'm the definition of trouble."
Sharon scoffed, "If I were to ever live to retirement I'd find a man that doesn't find trouble and settle down. But I'm a long ways from settling down."
"We do seem to share similar interests... I'm not a fan of helpless damsels. It's exciting when a woman can kick my ass."
"Doubtful I could kick your ass, maybe make you break a sweat... Or I'll just slap it and call it sexy."
She smiled and nibbled his ear, "At least I hope to make you break a sweat..."

"4 months ago, that one... Lost more blood than I thought was in my body. One talented cleric brought me back from the brink of death." He explained, figuring she was curious. "Despite how much I sometimes want it, death doesn't seem to want me. Guess that means I'm your best bet of safety, tonight."
A regaling story of the deep scar, she believed him when he claimed death didn't want him.
Death may not want him, but she did.
"Well, death doesn't know what it's missing."
She slid her fingers down his arm to his hand and guided it back. She placed his palm on her side and guided his fingers under her shirt to a small but deep scar on her ribs.
"A thief's stiletto, a year ago. Barely missed my heart."
 

Flint

The Barber
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Unfortunately, Edderick was slightly off in their attempt at hitting the target. Flint smiled sympathetically as he noticed that the dart had only barely missed its mark. Had he been involved on the monetary side of the bet, he'd nearly had conceded out of respect. It seemed that Edderick may have been lacking in coin themselves. Cauldwin noticed this, addressing the fact as he looked down at the young woman.

"A case of bad luck, simple as", he remarked, taking a closer look at the dart and its target. "Not too many people could hit so close to a desired target. You were only a few hair's width away". He plucked the dart from the board, closing the distance between himself and the pair so he could return the dart. "If the gold is hard to come by right now, why not try around for some odd jobs in the morning?", he suggested, looking to Cauldwin. "You'll still be here for part of tomorrow, surely?". Flint partly asked this for Edderick's sake, though mainly so he could ensure that he'd learn Cauldwin's true story after he'd had a good night's sleep.

Sleep... it was becoming more inviting now. Flint found his eyes falling on the stairs, realising that he'd soon have to excuse himself from the room.
 
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Edderick felt her greatest temptation to lie. She knew it would be easy to do, easier than admittance to something as embarrassing as debt by loan. The act of lying seemed so easy in fact she stuttered and struggled to keep one from slipping past her teeth.

"Well. . ."

Silence hit like a hammer. The room now dense as folded steel. Heat rised in Edderick's cheeks as he hand clasped a bag but she stopped right before opening it. Something summoned the courage in her to face it. Some small cool light beaming in the nightsky that she coulsnt even see past the rain and heads beside the window. But as she went to say something she found a dart near her hand and a warm smile and offer of peace.

"I appreciate it but."

She wished she could agree. It would be so easy. Why couldnt she?

"It still isnt right."

It was then Edderick felt sober again.

"I do have something of more value if you will accept sir."

And with the hardest sentence, though it held the least tongue twisting of all she thought of, she produced an amulet. A heart shaped one, of perfect craft by peasant standard. A ruby stone embedded deep in it's center and an insciption marking it's sides.

"It. . . .It is of good make. Produced for 60 gold coins. Take out labor it should be enough to cover my debt."

Her hand still tightly gripping it as she stuttered out her words. Offering it, but with the gravity same as a limb. Or a vital organ.

@Cauldwin Talson ValfnyrFlint
 

Ras Sorane

The Betrayer of Olwin
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He closed his eyes and gave a sigh at the nibble to his ear... She definitely had a way with words, and she seemed to know exactly what to do to get him excited. As his fingers grazed the scar, he slowly turned to face her, thinking for a moment. "It's a deep one. Must've been a nasty wound." He remarked, his other hand moving to rest on her opposite side, moving up her shirt and gliding along her skin.

Looking into her eyes, he smirked. "Surely you have more to share?" He asked, moving in slowly and romantically to press a kiss against her lips. It didn't take him long to get into a rhythm, pulling her body against his... Then a scream pierced the air. Eyes shooting open, he glanced towards the door, expression darkening. Perhaps it was his own paranoia, but the air became colder around his naked torso.

Something evil was in the air. Rising from the bed, he moved towards the dresser to retrieve his dagger and hatchet, slowly approaching his door as yet another pained scream tore through the halls of the inn. "As much as I'd love to continue... I think we may have company." Looking back at her for a moment, he opened the door of his room, the wood creaking as he tried to trace the source of the racket. He swore it was to his left somewhere. Following that lead, he could faintly hear panicked gasps and... The sound of flesh ripping. Too distinct to be mistaken.

A door a few feet before him was slightly ajar, and as he approached it, the sound became clearer. With hesitation, he pushed it open. Only a single candle burned in the room, but even in the incredibly dim light, he could make out the figure of a blonde-headed woman, spasming with her back against the bed, some invisible force tearing through her blouse, and into her chest. Yet... She remained sleeping. "Fuck..." Hissing to himself, he took one step further, towards the bed, only for the woman's eyes to suddenly shoot open with an arch of her back, coughing and gasping for air as blood stained her blouse, and poured down onto the bedding.

She looked at him almost pleadingly, Ras turning his head just in time to see a looming, shadow-cloaked mass standing in the dark corner of the room. He froze, but his eyes betrayed no fear. Lifting his weapons, he prepared for just about anything. "What are you?" His question was blunt, and he was given no response. After a moment of silence, Ras jolted a bit as several eye-shaped masses formed over the shadow, beams of violet light escaping them, leaving trails over his body. As if scanning him.

He didn't act immediately... He bided his time, and when he felt the creature wouldn't be able to react quick enough, his hatchet left his hand, cutting the air. Before it met any target, the eyes shut and the shadow dispersed, his weapon embedded into the wall where a monster once stood.

Grunting in dissatisfaction, he glanced back towards the woman, still barely clinging to life as he tried to gauge the situation. Was she being cut open in her dreams, or by some invisible force? Why did the thing show itself? Why didn't it silence her, and avoid attracting attention? "True after all... Rotten luck." He commented quietly, slowly approaching her. "Cut's deep... She'll bleed out before long... The barber. Flint." He spoke to himself in realization, hoping his drinking buddy hadn't fled to bed just yet.

Flint Sharon Trask Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Edderick Stormbane
 

Flint

The Barber
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Flint was surprised by what Edderick offered in place of coin. A valuable and elegant trinket, worth more than the originally agreed-upon reward. He was impressed, honestly. He'd wound up in similar situations as herself before, though they'd usually gotten violent quickly. He wouldn't be so eager to part with something of such value if he could avoid it. What was more, there was a chance the trinket had some sentimental meaning to Edderick. Perhaps it belonged to a late parent, or a friend? The tight grip she had on it seemed to suggest so.

Flint was about to speak up, offer to contribute to her fee (he really had begun to sympathize with the girl) when a blood curdling scream was heard from upstairs. Flint arched his back, instinctively straightening up and scanning around the room. It sounded like it had come from one of the rooms upstairs. What had happened? Was the dream demon real, or was there someone sinister staying in the inn tonight? Flint looked to Cauldwin. While he'd prefer letting the behemoth go to investigate, he didn't know Cauldwin well enough to determine whether he'd care enough to help someone in need.

Flint wasn't so eager to do so himself, but was worried that Ras or Sharon had been attacked. He'd enjoyed their company, and wouldn't forgive himself if one of them were to wake up dead in the morning. So, he made from the stairs, lacking the comfort of a blade in his hand. If he was to fight, he'd have to rely on his fists, and hope that one of his two drinking pals were in fighting shape.

Arriving on the second floor, he was surprised to find no one had come to investigate the source of the screaming. A single door by the end of the corridor was open, candlelight pouring out through the door, interrurpted by the shadow of a man. Flint clenched his fists and moved to the door, finding a horrible sight around the corner.

Ras stood inside, armed. Behind him, a woman lay wounded, bleeding out. He looked to the dark-haired man wide-eyed. Sorrane hadn't a drop of blood on him or his blades, so he could assume the man hadn't been a secret serial killer all along. Flint's inner medic kicked in, as he spoke to the man.
"Stay with her, I'll get my things".

Flint rushed down the corridor, opening the door closest the stairs, the door to his room. As he slipped in, he roared down the staircase "Get me some strong wine, someone's wounded!"

He swore as he entered his room, grabbing the bag that held his healing supplies. The innkeeper had spoke of the mere cuts and scratches left by the dream demon. What he'd just witnessed was something far worse. He slung the bag over his shoulder, rushing back to the room he'd found Ras and the girl in. Pushing past, he knelt by the girl, assessing the wound. Damn, it was nasty. Possibly too nasty for him to heal, without the help of a mage. There were some things that worked in his favour, though. The wound looked clean, and the girl was still awake, though petrified.

Flint pulled a clean rag from his bag, bundling it up and placing it on the girl's chest. She cried out as the cloth touched the wound, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He had to put pressure on the wound, but not in a way that inhibited her breathing. Flint used one hand, the pressurize the wound with his cloth. He placed the other hand higher on her chest, to gauge her breathing rate. As she attempted to inhale, he would ease the pressure slightly, applying it again on exhale. This, however, left him without any free hands. He'd need help.

He needed to stop the bleeding. Then, once the wine arrived, he'd bandage it. Alcohol, he'd been told, could prevent infection. That, right now, was his best plan at keeping the girl alive. He looked to her, seeing the intense pain in her eyes. He'd have to instruct Ras to concoct a remedy for him using the herbs in his bag. Though that would leave him without a protector. Looking to Ras now, he said:
"You need to get someone else in here, someone who can help me with the healing while you watch our backs. And give another shout for that wine!".
 

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

The Butcher of Alliria
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"If the gold is hard to come by right now, why not try around for some odd jobs in the morning?", he suggested, looking to Cauldwin.
Cauldwin simply, turned to look at Flint but said nothing in response, if it were up to him he'd simply dismiss the debt, a difference of thirty coins really meant nothing to him. However the last time he refused to demand recompense, the War-Father made his skull split open. Sending the message that breaking even a single one of lighter oaths to order could mean his destruction.

"I do have something of more value if you will accept sir."

And with the hardest sentence, though it held the least tongue twisting of all she thought of, she produced an amulet. A heart shaped one, of perfect craft by peasant standard. A ruby stone embedded deep in it's center and an insciption marking it's sides.

"It. . . .It is of good make. Produced for 60 gold coins. Take out labor it should be enough to cover my debt."

Her hand still tightly gripping it as she stuttered out her words. Offering it, but with the gravity same as a limb. Or a vital organ.

Cauldwin turned his head back to the woman in front of him and examined the trinket, a flattering gesture, but he distained all that was glittering gold, and besides: he really had no interest in any form of wealth. Nor did he really want to essentially shake down the girl, especially not after that admirable display of character: attempting to make things right even at her own expense. Cauldwin inhaled before replying softly, "I'll tell you what lass, keep the trinket. You can pay me back with a mug of mead and a proper Allirian drink'n song later."

Suddenly, a an ear-pericing shriek came from upstairs. Cauldwin instinctually drew his sword and charged up the stairs roaring out, "MAKE WAY FOR THE WATCH!"
almost knocking down Flint as he charged ahead, right before ripping one of the doors of the rooms off its hinges and having it swing outward lopsided. Inside there was a woman laying bleeding on the floor, claw lacerations covered her body, whatever had done this had either fled, or finished whatever it attended before he breached the room. However, the dark haired man was still a suspect and so he quickly rushed him shouting, "STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!" as Flint quickly rushed passed him and began plying his trade on the badly injured woman.

Flint

Ras Sorane

Sharon Trask

Edderick Stormbane

 
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Edderick heard the offer and seemed relieved. Her entire body's tension washing away like a wave.

"Yeah, sounds good. I will get you your co-"

She stopped to the sound of the scream. The others jumped to action so quickly, but she was hesitant. She had been baited into a trap by a scream before and she was on guard still from the experience.

But seeing both jump to action she couldnt help but join after some pep talking to herself. Especially when Flint cried for strong wine. Edderick grabbed some from m behind the bar when the barkeep left and made her way up the stairs.

Others around her might have been calmed a bit from their anxiety as she sped past them with a flighty speed. The manic energies drained a tiny bit by the mage as she sped past. But this spell didnt effect those still in the room when she got in.

Blood.

The room was deocrated with the thin life water. It was pooling on the floor, getting thicker and thicker as it ran from the victims veins. Edderick was no medic but she knew that the ammount missing was already fatal. The pale skin, the blue lips. The woman was as good as a breathing corpse. Soon even the breathing will stop.

She ran over and placed the wine next to her and placed a hand on Flint's shoulder. She acted quick. Didnt even question what she was doing. There was too much at stake and there was no way what she was taking was worth anything more than a life.

"Sorry."

It was all she muttered before Flint's charitable actions would fade from his mind. His feelings of sympathy and desire to help Edderick with her debt, even help the woman from wounds a bit faded. Edderick became a blur. Even more a stranger again. He didnt know her name before but now it was like seeing her face for the first time. Like she just popped back in existance, taking the place of a fog that murmured in gaps in his mind.

The Energy flowed into the Empathy mage and her hands glowed with a deep rich violet color. Edderick knew it had to be enough, though there was doubt in her mind. She thought about taking more to be sure but time was ticking and she quickly channeled the energy of charity into the injured woman.

The wound would close immediately, slowing down towards the end of the magic effect as it was obvious it took most of the magic to do just that. The victim's face had some life return, but there was still the telltale signs of shock and her paleness did not completely vanish. In truth Edderick pumped just enough life to stabilize her and make her survival possible.
 

Sharon Trask

Wandering Warrior
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"It's a deep one. Must've been a nasty wound."
She nodded, making eye contact with Ras as he turned to face her.
"Mhm... Was nearly the end of me in the streets of Elbion..."
"Surely you have more to share?"
She smirked as well and chuckled as he moved in, "More than enough to keep us exploring all night!"
She sighed into the kiss and returned it with equal passion, he pulled her close with his warm strong hands on her bare flesh and his strength would soon envelope her...

... Except...

A scream... And just when she was to surrender herself to a night of blissful lovemaking.
Ras pulled himself off of her but Sharon was equally as alert.
"As much as I'd love to continue... I think we may have company."
Sharon snarled at the rotten luck, "Fuck!"
She exited the room just behind him but made a beeline for her room where her sword and backpack were stored.

There was a flurry of action before Sharon could get her stuff together, but when she finally arrived at the room everyone was there.
She walked into the room, sword drawn but it seemed whatever happened was over.
The woman on the bed was bloodied but it looked like someone with healing magic already closed the wound.
She tossed the barber a bottle of red fluid just in case, a healing potion.

The big metal man was telling Ras to stay put, and she didn't like the accusatory tone.
She moved over by Ras, interposing herself between him and the metal giant and spoke to Ras while purposely ignoring the giant and his demands.
"Did they get away? What happened?"
 
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Ras Sorane

The Betrayer of Olwin
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It seemed that as quickly as Flint bolted into the room and began administering aid to the victim, everyone else was there just as fast. An individual he'd not yet met came to Flint's side, bearing some magical healing that she used to stabilize the woman, and he was thankful for that, as Cauldwin made it very clear that he was not to act on Flint's requests. "I'm not. Moving." He replied in annoyance to Cauldwin's request, looking over towards the corner where the monster had once stood.

As Sharon was last to filter in, placing herself between him and Cauldwin, he simply sighed, shaking his head. "Not they. It. Some apparition, or something. I arrived, and cuts were forming on her body. As soon as I entered the room, it showed itself. Looked me over, and... It was gone." He sounded like he'd gone mad. Maybe he had. Unfortunately, a sizeable crowd from the inn had gathered at the doorway, listening in.

"Wait... You bear the mark of a torturer!" There was a cry and fingerpoint from one of the onlookers. Ras looked down at his forearm in horror. Fuck... His tattoo. In all the confusion, he'd forgot to cover an incriminating piece of himself. "You come to our inn, bearing a mark like that and carrying an assassin's blade, and you expect us to trust you!? For all we know, you're the demon!" The man lacked hardly any teeth, his hair patchy in places. Checked out, with a statement like that.

Ras snarled, fists balled. "Yes, of course. I attempted a woman's life and somehow avoided getting any blood on my person or blades. Quite a feat, wouldn't you say?" He hissed. "Not to mention, I, the demon himself would just waltz in and present myself to all of my victims! Makes perfect sense, wouldn't you say?" The man would stand down at Ras' angry outburst, Ras going quiet as he stared down at the tattoo he beared, the source of his rage.

After a moment of silence, he moved for the door. "I'm getting my gear back on. Then, we're going hunting." He uttered, not making eye-contact with anyone.
 
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Flint

The Barber
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He'd only began working on the girl when chaos fell o the room. Tenants had crowded at the door, accusing Ras, bolstered by Cauldwin's own accusations. Flint had come to a quick conclusion that Ras was innocent, he had to be. He couldn't stomach the idea of the man being behind the demon's sick tricks. The barber cocked a brow as a figure knelt by his side, placing a bottle of wine at his side and a hand on his shoulder

Then everything got... Blurry.

The figure at his side, which he slowly recognised as the dart-throwing girl from the bar, had said something, though he didn't quite understand the exact words. In fact, for a moment, he didn't understand much. What was he doing again... Right, the dying girl.

Flint's frown deepened, as he realised what may have just occurred. Was the demon playing tricks on his mind? Or had it been the girl. Surely she wouldn't dare do such a thing. They'd just shared a laugh over a game, could she really have the nerve to prod at his mind without permission. Flint stared daggers at her for a brief moment, before remembering himself. The wounded girl was the priority right now. He could deal with a potential telepath or demon later.

Lifting his bloodied rag, his eyes widened upon falling on a closed wound. The grisly cut had somehow sewn up on itself, nothing but faint scar tissue remaining as proof of the girl's grievances. He glanced to Edderick again quizzically, then back to the girl once more.

He was roused from a daze as Sharon entered, stepping between Ras and the collosal Cauldwin. The girl made eye contact with him, tossing a red bottle his way. The barber caught it, screwing off the cap before taking a quick smell of the liquid. A healing potion, and a damn potent one at that. Flint nodded his thanks, before looking to Edderick. He needed to sideline whatever grievances he was holding against her for now, for the sake of the wounded girl.

"I'm going to help her sit up. You need to help her drink this".

Then, handing her the potion, Flint delicately pulled the wounded girl to sit leaning against the bed's headboard. Her screaming had ceased, her eyes beginning to slip closed. Flint would rather she stay conscious, though the current circumstances lead him to believe she was going to pull through. Besides, it'd be less stressful for her to not have to listen to the arguing crowd.

Flint looked back to Ras, who was beginning to leave the room in search of his weapons, pushing through a crowd who all seemed to despise him. Flint thought back to their conversation earlier. Civilisation had not been kind to Ras in the past, who seemed to think it better to avoid people altogether. Flint was beginning to see why the man might come to such a conclusion. What had they called him again... torturer?

As little as he knew Sorrane, the barber found himself wanting to pursue the man, to lend him a hand. He was willing to rush after this demon, and the kind of guts he was showing off was certainly inspiring. Flint had an obligation right now, though. He had to care for the girl before rushing off any demon. He was more useful as a healer for now, especially if the demon claimed any further victims.

Flint looked back to the girl now, helping her back to a lying position once she'd been fed the potion. Then, his eyes fell on the wine. The wound had been healed, and they hadn't even had to apply a sterile wrapping. The barber took the bottle in one hand, popping the cap off the top with his thumb.
"Ah, fuck".
He took a long swig.