Open Chronicles Love Without a Smile

[Otto von Stehlen]

Spoiler

“Love is not to be purchased, and affection has no price.”
-St. Jerome
The Prancing Bull was not exactly what you called your..."touristy" taverns....or rather, the tavern didn't see many people outside from outside of Strojland. No, the tavern seemed to cater more to locals...tucked in the corner of the Strojland's main bastion of a city...in a corner of the city that at first glanced seem uninteresting, not when you compared it to the markets or offices closer to the city square. But...in it's own corner, it was almost like a little retreat for Strojlanders, one where they didn't have to put up with outsiders...which meant things would be all the more noticeable, if an outsider would wander in.

Tonight, the Prancing Bull was packed, inside and out, as a cheerful jig was being played in the background, accompanied by the voices of many. The main compatriots this night was actually..soldiers, clad in various colors that represented the unit they belonged to...red, yellow, green...men who wielded halberds, while others carried with them a bow on their back....yet soldiers were not the only ones present: Many workmen and everyday middle class citizens joined in the relaxation, drinking and talking, playing cards or dice....all were merry, as it was the last day of the working week, which meant tomorrow would be a day to relax.

Among the ruckus of the crowed, in it's own little corner, sat a rather particular group. But there wasn't much interesting about the group: Four people, sitting rather casual like, seemed to be playing a round of poker...or some form of card game. On the table, a couple of mugs of what one would assume to be alcohol...

One of the people sitting there...stood out...but you wouldn't know it if you didn't look closely, as the group at the table didn't seem any different then any other table in the tavern. Yet the other three seemed more...soldierly , then this one in yellow. There was one wearing a kettle helmet, a mace to his side and a crossbow resting on the table. Another one seemed like he was a woodsmen or somthing, as both bow and quivers rested against a nearby wall. Then the blue one...whom wore a similar kettle hat...but had a cloak covering his body,,,almost hiding the short sword dangling from his hip.

No, this yellow one seemed...more important, so to say. Sure he was armed, but his weapon was a rapier; a weapon of the nobility, so to say. You'd think he was a court official or somthing...and perhaps...you'd be right. What stood out most about this particular fellow was the expression on his face...whereas the others were emoting, talking and laughing with each other in their unqiue and individual ways...this one remained...grim...playing his cards...occasional saying somthing...somthing that might even get a laugh out of the group...which was quickly drowned out by the sound of the music and people.

Strange...true and false at the same time...depending on how you knew this one...​

 

[Hail Kanada]

At a late hour, Hail walked into the tavern, a bit tipsy. He stumbled into a chair, grabbed it, foisted it to the soldier's table, sat down, chair back against the table. He raised his hand, "drinks on me, a round for the table!"
Hail wore a blue tunic, stiff white collared shirt, and brass knuckles. His long bleach blond hair was tied back in a pony tail. A scar tore across his face, framing his eyes, which settled on the yellowed one.
He smiled, toothless and smirking. "So tell me, my lords, what do I owe the pleasure? Not plotting the next insurrection over here, are we?"
Otto von Stehlen