Open Chronicles Recovery

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Flint

The Barber
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The life an adventurer was not easily adopted.

This was something Flint was coming to terms with. A couple of days prior, the barber had returned from one of his first quests. Together with his dear friend Orival, he'd attempted to secure the Willow - a powerful magical artifact guarded by the vicious Pandaranns. They'd faced a Pandarann, and had barely managed to kill it without losing their lives. Worse still, it was Orival that had taken the most damage from the beast, and while they both returned from the quest beaten and bruised, he couldn't help but feel guilty over his friend's suffering.

Flint was a competitive man, his greatest rival being himself. He'd not been sleeping well since returning from the quest, riddled with thoughts and questions. What could he have done better? Did Orival think poorly of him now? He'd gone through a hundred answers to these questions, and few of them were positive.

He'd found himself in his local tavern that night. The Winking Wyvern was a fine establishment, situated only a few doors down from his shop. He sat at the bar counter, tankard of the Wyvern's finest brew in grip. Normally, Flint would be the life of the tavern, jeering and joking into the early hours of the morning. Hoctor, the innkeep, was keeping his distance from the barber, well aware of the forlorn look etched across Flint's face. As he lifted the tankard to his lips, he heard the creak of the Wyvern's door open, though didn't bother to turn and check who'd entered.

He did not see himself drawing any friends tonight.
 
Adius was walking through the streets of Elbion himself, though he had a home here he was looking to work somewhere that had a little more energy than his empty quarters. He spotted the tavern, the Winking Wyvern, and decided to head into it.

He walked through the front door, leather satchel on his back and grey robes flowing to the floor. He nodded at the innkeeper, heading to an empty table in the back and sitting, setting his satchel down and pulling out an ink jar with a lid on it, a quill, and a small book. He opened the ink jar, then opened the book in front of him, the page he was on being half-written. He dipped his quill in the ink and began writing.

A mug of ale was brought to him by a servant, while the innkeeper made conversation with him. "How was the journey, Adius? Find anything interesting in Amol-Kalit?"

Adius shrugged, looking up as he continued to write. "Nothing of extreme note, I found what I believe to be a burial place of a revered dragon. There was some text indicating it was a burial spot written in slandered draconic." The innkeeper nods and resumes his own work, allowing Adius to go back to writing.
 
A tavern was always a welcome sight for Jourah. It meant a good meal and a seat for a time. Elbion had always been a pain to get into, being a traveler, and the currency even more so. Had it not been for the vast market for trade, Jourah would likely just avoid Elbion entirely.

But her travels took her into the city's walls, through its market in the day, and by night, exploration of the life still lingering among the dusk. It was always easy to find the local gathering spots. Just follow the echoes of chaotic, yet often jovial conversations and bright firelight. She entered into The Winking Wyvern, soaking up its atmosphere and patronage with interest. Perhaps more than just a meal could be had in a place where loose tongues lap.

At a glance, it was difficult to hone in on the people of interest. It appeared the tavern was full of the typical ilk and local flavor. She craved the interest of travelers, scholars, and wanderers. As she weaved through the tables and mass of patrons, she caught sight of a scholarly gentleman conversing with someone of note. They appeared friendly despite the patron writing during the conversation. They were too far to make out what was said, but there was an air about the man, as if he felt what he was writing was of greater import than anything around him.

Among the cacophony and merriment sat a surly figure at the bar who did not seem to care to partake in his surroundings as well. Two men in such close vicinity who closed off the world from their minds. Jourah now had a game brewing in her mind.

Approaching the bar, Jourah took a seat near the brooding fellow, a smirk curling upon her lips mischievously.

"I propose a game," she said to him, and then pointed over to the scholarly gentleman at the back writing in a small book. "Whoever guesses correctly what he is writing wins. Now, there are layers of intrigue with other opportunities to win, but for now, take your guess, and I'll take mine."
 
He did not recognize the scholar that arrived at the Wyvern. An elderly man was he, beard framing a jaw that was buried deeply into the book on which he scrawled. The barber wondered what messages could be so urgent to occupy the man in the way they seemed to. His garb certainly made him out to be from the college, but that didn't do much to enlighten Flint. He wasn't quite sure what their researched was based around, for all he knew the scholar could have been theorising ways in which he could morph himself into a goat. Flint turned back to the bar, finishing his tankard but realising Hoctor was too busy chatting to pour him another.

Admittedly, the woman had startled him. She appeared to have emerged from thin air, taking a seat at his side, a smile dancing across her lips. It wasn't completely unnatural for a woman to approach him, but he certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to approach him on such a dingy night in the Wyvern of all places.

The scent of earth and rosewater passed over him, the kind of smell one would emanate were they to live off the land, yet know how to keep clean. The woman was, on first glance, unremarkable. Ragged clothes discounted her as a student of the College, though there was something peculiar about her which lead the barber to believe she was no common beggar. Bright eyes and pale skin gave the woman a pretty appearance where her clothes failed to. Put simply, she looked like the kind of person to have been put through the wringer, somehow coming through unscathed.

She proposed a game, appealing to his inner child in a way. Such an effect was seen in the smirk threatening to tear across his face. He raised an eyebrow, glancing to the scholar once more. Invested in his book, he'd yet to notice them watching.
"I must admit I am torn", he pondered, resting his chin on his palm. "Its either an innocent journal entry, or a raunchy ballad dedicated to his ancient lover. I'm inclined to hang to the latter. I mean, look at him go! Inspiration like that takes some serious incentive".
Adius Alvawyn Jourah Vergess
 
Adius didn't hear the pair, he was still focused on his writing. The book was black and had around 100 pages, the writing taking place on about the halfway point. Adius paused his writing, setting his quill in the ink jar and reaching into his satchel, pulling out a folded map and unfolding it, setting it on the table under the book, and then reading the part of it the book didn't cover. He nodded to himself and resumed writing.

In all actuality he was writing a book as to if dragons should be classified based on breath power or on their physical appearance and morphology. He was arguing the later, stating that following the classification system established for species such as elves, dwarves, and a humans made more sense than differing from the regularity. The difference between elves and humans was defined by their physical appearance, and there was no reason to not indicate the difference between the sub-species of dragons in the same manor.

Of course, all this would be unknown the the strangers, but as the scholar resumed his writing, he felt their eyes on him. He ignored it, used to the stares of the average person and assuming the interest was as to his appearance or the writing. Not many people saw 63 year old scholars writing in a tavern with a map the world on the table.
 
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Her nose scrunched in amusement at the man's guess, and she looked back over at the older gentleman in the corner. He was still writing in that small book; a book fit for travel easily tucked away but close at hand. He'd written a substantial amount, it seemed, as the book was opened at the half way point where he wrote. A story began to weave in her head of not just a scholar, but one who traveled. The sudden appearance of a map only further served to solidify this thought.

"As much as I'd love to think this man would be writing something raunchy," she said as she turned back to the man at the bar, "innocent journal entry it may be. I believe he may be a treasure seeker. Look at the map and his dedication to what he's writing. Perhaps something ancient and powerful."

Her smirk widened to a smile as her thoughts lingered on the prospect of such adventures. "Now for the next part of the game. Each win grants the winner one request from the other. Innocent requests, now. Say, a request for a small portion of coin or perhaps a truth you keep hidden. Personally, I prefer the less monetary, so stay sharp."

Jourah stood from her seat and lingered a moment longer with the man. "Time to learn what the man is writing," she said. "Ah, and more winnings to be had with any more sensitive information you may pull from the man. Extra winnings if you manage to pluck anything from his person. What say you?"

She spun from the bar, not really pausing to hear of the man's response. She would have her fun regardless if he agreed to terms. And so, Jourah made her way to the table of the scholarly gentleman, her eyes lingering on the map of the world, though trying carefully to steal a glance at the notes he was writing.

"What a strange place to work," she said, and then invited herself to sit across from the man. "Are you an adventurer?"

Flint Adius Alvawyn
 
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The woman seemed amused at his jest, but soberly replied with a guess that may have been close to the truth. The barber eyed the scholar's map as she spoke, wondering where they man had been, or where he was headed. His hair came in fibres of salt and pepper, marking him with age and perhaps wisdom. Flint wondered what tales he had to tell.

Jourah was adding greater incentive to the game, suggesting they play for more than bragging rights. A short laugh huffed from his chest. "Is this some elaborate plot aimed at getting me to do your chores?". He couldn't imagine the woman having any interest in his secrets, though he had plenty to keep. She hardly knew him, so why she'd seek those out other than for a laugh, he couldn't tell. Before he could press her further, or even get her name, the woman made for the scholar, standing over his table in greeting.

She'd suggested swiping something from the scholar, which Flint wasn't so sure about. He was dressed well, possibly a noble. Frisking him could draw the attention of some powerful people, were he to be caught. Still, Flint was slow to turn down a challenge, so if an opportunity presented itself, he was going to jump on it. The woman interested him, and he was interested in hearing what secrets she had to keep to herself.

Besides, stolen goods could be returned.

After throwing a few coins to the counter, another drink was in his hand, and Flint made for the table, circling round to take a seat by the scholar's side. "The Wyvern is damn quiet tonight. I think it best we keep each other company, what with the place feeling so bare."

He'd entered the Wyvern that night in low spirits, reeling from past failures. Now, the excitement of the game brought a smile to his face.
Jourah Vergess Adius Alvawyn
 
Adius saw them whispering and smirking, two drunken fools most likely, and so when they approached, he put on a pleasant smile and nodded at the woman. "I certainly adventure, though I wouldn't define myself as an adventurer. I am more so a scholar, I work for the College." He says, the book open on his desk and the map revealed. There was little secret to this specific writing. If he'd wanted to hide what he was writing he'd be doing it somewhere private. "I like the atmosphere of the tavern some days when I write."

The half-page of the book he'd written read as followed, somewhat visible to both of them despite the odd angle;

And so with the prior knowledge of Conrad Mulligan, the author of Blindstroke of the Breath, we can greatly and simply asses the fact that to self-analyze dragons one must determine such a thing by physical classifications. Classifying dragons by breath power is the equivalent of classifying the sentient species of the realm, i.e, elves, dwarves, etc, by their hair color or eye color. While this is a classification in its own right, there are more prominent and unanimous physical differences which we can easily identify as an indication of specification. This should be no different for dragons. As experienced in Amol-Kalit and the Spine, the two main sub-species and highly differing types of dragons, commonly identified as 'sicut avis magnae' and 'parva serpentipedi', feature such great physical differences but share similarities in breath. As such we must identify them by what makes them most different, and cannot use qualities they share, as then that would further complicate what many scholars deem an already complex study. Further evidence of such lies within the dragons themselves, as they

The map had distinct markings on it, letters such as s, p, fb, ib, and various combinations of those spread out across the realm, notably in the Spine and Amol-Kalit.
 
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Jourah smiled as her gaming partner joined the table. "The more, the merrier," she said, and looked back at the items along the table. The subject of his writing did not appear to be quite what she was anticipating, but still fascinating.

"Dragons," she said thoughtfully, and then looked back up at the scholar. "So you're studying dragons for the College, then? Honestly, I've never much believed in them, but I enjoy the tales. Is this purely academic conjectures or is this the work of a man who has found something groundbreaking in the realm of dragon lore?"

While there was a game afoot, Jourah held genuine interest in the man's work. Her eyes roved across the map after reading what she could of the man's notes upside-down, noting the markings along the map and the clusters around two locations. She taps a finger around Amol-Kalit. "What do the letters mean?"
 
Flint could understand the scholar's preference for writing in the Wyvern. While late nights here could become rowdy, the tavern held a certain charm about it. That wasn't the place was regal or luxurious in anyway. By Elbion's standards, it was a kip. It lacked the fine fabrics and bright paint seen in many of the town's esteemed buildings, and most nobles were quick to turn their nose up at the place. It was part of the reason he liked it, he supposed. It was... authentic.

The barber returned a smile when the man spoke of adventure. He'd initially thought the man to be a dull old fossil, but it seemed as though there was more to him than met the eye.

He couldn't tell if Jourah was genuinely interested in the man's work, or if this was all part of her game. She probed his believe in the rare creatures, skeptically mentioning that she thought the beasts to be the stuff of childrens' tales. He was inclined to side with her, on the account that he himself had never seen a dragon. However, given he'd done battle with an eight-foot tall Pandaran a few days before, he was open to indulging in his imagination.

"I wouldn't be so quick to discount the existence of dragons. Have you ever seen one?", he asked the scholar, eyes briefly meeting Jourah's in an attempt to read the woman. She was making strides in the quest to learn more from the man, noticing the letters sprawled across his map.
Damn, I should have seen those
Rather than bombard him with questions, Flint saw it best to break the ice, perhaps gain the scholar's trust. "Ah, where are my manners. My name is Flint. Barber, loot runner, occasional monster hunter. To whom do I have the pleasure of meeting tonight?".

Jourah Vergess Adius Alvawyn
 
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"I am Adius Alvawyn, Maester of the Fourth Order." He replied politely to Flint. He chuckled at the words mentioned dragons existence and nodded. "Dragons are real, I am proud to say. I have seen both remains of dragons past and real dragons in the flesh. If you know where to look in the Spine you can find them, and they've made their way elsewhere as well, less common but still there. I particularly have found luck in Amol-Kalit."

He nods at her question of the map. "The single letter indicates their sub-species. S stands for sicut avis magnae and p for parva serpentipedi." He pointed at one in the spine that read 'S-FB-A-Y'. "This means it's a sicut avis magnae classification, it is a fire breather, it was alive, and it was young." He chuckles. "Young for a dragon anyway. I'm sure you can guess what letters indicate what." He pauses. "Sicut avis magnae, of course, being loosely translated into draconic as large bird-like and parva serpentipedi as small serpentine."
 
Jourah had met Flint's gaze, not as if she had anticipated it, but in the very same effort he was attempting to do with her. She tried to get a read on her opponent in this game, a flicker of a smirk gracing her lips in the brief exchange. There was always something exciting in a challenge, and even within the challenge she proposed of gathering information, she enjoyed the challenge that was Flint the Barber. How strange.

Adius Alvawyn did not look to be crazy. He was too well put together, too calm and confident and without challenge. Jourah straightened her posture at the words he uttered. 'Dragons are real,' he said, and he was proud.

The scholar did not shy away from explaining his work, and rather seemed keen to share it. This, of course, took a bit of the fun away for her, but the subject matter alone, especially now that dragons were possibly more real than she'd thought, kept her interest.

"So you're saying if we were to go to Amol-Kalit at any time, we'd see this young dragon?" she asked. "Do they look like the drawings? Leathery wings. Lizard tongues. Horns as long as a human."
 
The barber quickly averted his gaze as the woman returned a smirk. He didn't want to give the game away to the old scholar, now. Adius spoke his name and title as though it labelled him as someone to be respected/ He didn't know a whole lot about the politics and hierarchy of Elbion's college, but he imagined the title of Maester wasn't just handed out to anyone, and Adius spoke with enough confidence to assure Flint he was either telling the truth, or a fantastic liar.

The woman, on the other hand, was even harder to read. She refrained from sharing her room, though managed to draw attention away from that with her successive questions about dragons. Flint decided not to point it out, allow the woman to retain the air of mystery that was about her.

Adius' knowledge of dragons was rich. He was even versed in draconic. Flint wondered how terrifying a face-off with one of the winged beasts would be. I mean they could fly, tear you apart with their talons, or breath all manner of horrific things on their prey. How did you deal with that?
"Have you seen one in battle? I can't imagine a man taking one down".
 
He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no, most of them don't stay in one place for long. Certainly not after they've been found. The markings on the map are so I remember for my writings and for this purpose." He gestures at the map, showing how all the sightings of the dragons in Amol-Kalit seem to loop upwards. "They follow a very specific path here. For some reason in Amol-Kalit they stick to this upward spiral region. I do not know why they do this, but I've deemed it dragons hall. Whenever I go here, I always find the subtle paths of a dragon, and sometimes I find one, sometimes I don't."

He pauses. "As for their appearance, that depends greatly on their sub-species.For example, sicut avis magnae are large, generally scaled or sometimes feathery, and have massive wings. The stereotypical dragon. They're usually in the Spine or deep in somewhere with nobody else, for how could it hide with its size? The other sub-species I mentioned, the parva one, they're smaller. Generally no bigger than a human and sometimes the size of a pig. They're generally in Amol-Kalit where they needn't be large to fight much and can easily live off wild animals."

He turns to Flint. "As for fighting, I've only seen a dragon genuinely fight to its fullest once. It was a sicut sub-species, an ice breather, and I was tracking it down. I walked on top of this mountain, and when I looked down I saw four men with spears trying to steal the dragons eggs from its nest. Bad decision, I will tell you that. The dragon froze the first man solid, bit anothers head clean off, clawed a third ones chest open so I could see the mans heart, and then as the fourth tried to flee, took flight, picked him up and flew up high, then dropped him, before keeping him in her nest as food for when her babies hatched. All this took place in less than 45 seconds of the men being in her turf."
 
Jourah's eyes widened as Adius regaled the gruesome dragon encounter. It seemed the Maester was nonchalant in its retelling, and while the thieves were rather stupid in their endeavors, it did not make the thought of their demise less of a shock. She couldn't imagine what it would feel like to instantly freeze to death, or was it instant? What if the man was frozen and awake and suffocated to death in the icy tomb?

"All of your findings," she began, motioning to the book the man sprawled into. "Are you going to publish this? Or have you already published most of your findings so far?"

At this moment, she took mental count of the "wins." They were both incorrect in their predictions in regards to what Adius was writing. No winnings for that. From that point, it would be "wins" for whatever sensitive information. Yet as the conversation rolled on there was not much in that regard. Everything was very open and available for anyone to know as long as they asked.

The only other endeavor to "win" was now the act of thievery. Glancing about the table covered in a map, ink well, quill, and small book, there did not appear to be anything in the immediate vicinity to swipe that would not go unnoticed. The game was, perhaps, no longer in play.

Flint Adius Alvawyn
 
Flint leaned forward a notch, ever cautious of the woman's words. Her questions at first seemed innocent, curious probes into the scholar's career and research. Though Flint reckoned she questioned him in a way that vaguely hinted at the revalation of a secret. The way in which she asked about Adius' published works, for example, almost begged the question of whether he had any secrets that he wouldn't dare publish in a book. Or maybe that was just the barber's superstitious mind thinking.

The tale of the thieves' death was a cautionary one. Why someone would be foolish enough to try and snag a dragon's egg of all things was beyond him. No reward was worth the risk of one of the gruesome deaths the scholar described.

The woman was playing the game from a long approach. Such a strategy was not the barber's style. So, he stood from his chair, approaching Hoctor and requesting three empty cups. He placed them on the table, along with a single gold coin. Then, he covered the coin with one of the cups.
"How about a game?", he proposed. "Now, I wouldn't be as bold as to fleece your purses, but let's barter in say, secrets", he eyed them both, his eyes knowingly resting on the woman's for slightly longer. "I'll move around these cups, pass the coin between them. If one of you guesses where the coin ends up, then the other, as well as myself, must reveal a secret.". The barber sipped at his drink. "But if you both fail, then well you owe me a secret. Sound fun?"

Jourah Vergess Adius Alvawyn
 
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"I have written several books, most of my findings have been published." He answers her with a nod. Many of his books did well, for what scholar or person wouldn't care to read about dragons? They provided him with some good wealth, even though he needed for little, with his journey's and food paid for by the college.

He listened as Flint explained the game and laughed. "That sounds utterly ridiculous. Following cups is quite simple. Unless you use magic there's no difficulty in it." He shook his head, grinning. "But whatever, I'm in."

He drained his mug of ale. Not like he had many secrets to hide. Except the secret. But he couldn't reveal that. There was other lesser secrets to reveal.
 
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Jourah made a mental note to remember the name of Adius Alvawyn. She sat before a published scholar, and one who studied creatures she thought were children's tales. There was the potential at some point for her to hunt down another book or two for the road, and from this encounter she became too curious in his potential findings that a night would not satiate.

"I met a boy once who swindled many just with the slight of his hand with cups," Jourah added. "No magic needed. So! I say if you're caught cheating, the cheater owes a favor, hm?"

She settles her gaze on Flint, a smirk ever so slightly pulling at the corner of her lips as if to challenge him to cheat. She would be watching carefully, not just for the purposes of the base game of cups, but to attempt to catch him in the act of cheating and gain a favor.

Looking over to Adius, she enjoyed the old man's willingness to participate in the game. Flint's forward approach paid off.

Adius Alvawyn Flint
 
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The pair's skepticism over his proposed game amused the Barber. In a way, they were both correct in what they said. Indeed, the game was as childish as Adius described, though Flint was after one two many ales to worry about looking childish. The woman was right to be wary of cheating, as such a game was notoriously played by street urchins looking to swindle a few coins from the locals.

Sleight of hand was everything to the barber. Since he was a boy, manoeuvering tools between his hands had been something he could do with alarming speed and skill, a skill his parents could only assume was of magical nature. Magic or no, he'd capitalised on it. His skill had made him an excellent barber, but it had also saved his skin on more than one occasion. The manipulation of small blades, for example, had allowed him to survive the few quests he'd embarked on in his life. He was grateful for that.

"The stakes are clear. Two secrets - owed to the victor, and if I'm caught cheating the most terrible shame is cast upon me, and I owe you both a favour. Now, watch closely friends".

Rather than sensibly watch the cups as they moved, the barber kept his gaze on the competitors. Swiftly, his hands swapped the cups once, twice and more. a dull hum filled the air as metal met oak, and the cups appeared to swap over a dozen or so times. Finally, they came to a halt, Flint very much aware of which cup held the coin. He was also aware that in the midst of it all, he'd swapped the coin for an identical one. Though not exactly cheating, he was curious to see if either of his players noticed.

(Okay! In your next posts, please leave a number between 1 and 3 at the bottom. I'll roll a d3 in the discord, and that can decide who caught the coin's location. If either of you think your characters noticed the coin swap, you're welcome to have 'em point it out. Sound fair?)

Jourah Vergess Adius Alvawyn
 
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Adius watched, tracking what he assumed was the coin. He wasn't exactly trained in watching this sort of thing, so the coin swap went over his head. He regarded this as an ultimately silly endeavor, wasting the time he was supposed to spend writing. He knew which cup he was going to pick, and was confident in himself.

3
 
Jourah's smile brightened as the Barber took on the agreement, and secretly hoped to catch him in the act. A favor was far more valuable to her than information, after all. Giving Flint another observant once-over, she tried to determine if he was a simple barber, or if his well-groomed appearance was weaving another tale, not of a confident and successful barber of Elbion, but of a con artist.

As his hands skillfully maneuvered the three cups across the table's surface, she focused on the game attempting to follow the subtle metallic graze against wood and the light click as it met the inner sides of its confinement. There was the briefest of moments where something looked off in the way the cup moved, yet she couldn't quite make out what transpired. There was still the sound of metal against wood as Flint carried on. The cups came to a halt, all in a nice line before them, and she waited a moment before pointing a finger at the middle cup.

(2)
 
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(The die rolled a 1, I swear this ain't rigged!)

Adius watched the cups with mild disinterest, and Flint began to worry he'd not even bother to keep track of the coin. The scholar quelled these worries through the confident manner in which he selected his cup. Ultimately, the man was incorrect in his choice, but Flint appreciated his willingness to join in the fun.

The woman, on the other hand, seemed totally immersed. Bright blue eyes danced between the cups, and Flint was concerned she'd notice the coin swap. No such indication was made however, when she selected the middle cup. Instantly, a toothy smile emerged from the barber's lips.

"Great to see I haven't lost my touch, eh?" . He raised the cup on his left, revealing the coin beneath, plucking it from the table to toss in the air, the piece of gold landing in his open palm before being pocketed.
"Did you notice anything else? If not then well, I suppose you both owe me a secret".

Flint raised an eyebrow in the woman's direction, a subtle way of reminding her that the game was well and truly in play.

Adius Alvawyn Jourah Vergess
 
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Adius sighed and shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. "I suppose I ought to check my purse once you leave my table, shouldn't I?" He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. "I didn't notice anything else, so I suppose I do owe you a secret."

He clears his throat. "I've killed a man with a wooden staff 20 years ago because he jumped out at me at night and I thought he was a bandit. I was deep in the Spine and I smashed him in the face with the butt end of my walking stick, and he stumbled back, tripping and falling into a small pond, sinking to the bottom and presumably drowning. I didn't go in after him because viscous fish lived in the water of that area."

He scratches his beard and waits for their reactions. "I'd only realized the man wasn't a bandit when I met and elf woman a few hours later looking for her husband who matched his description. Apparently he was from Vel Anir and wanted to get away from the world so he can have his half-breed children live a happy life. I didn't tell her I killed him."

His eyes are watering, and he clears his throat again, seemingly saddened by the whole event.
 
Jourah slumped back in her seat with the defeat. She was sure she had followed the coin, though perhaps it had something to do with the odd movement Flint had before the cups settled. "If that's an admission of the crime..." She let the words end there for Flint to decide himself on the implications, and crossed her arms over her chest as Adius took point in the reveal of a secret.

And it was an interesting one at that. Adius did not look to be the type to need to kill. He seemed like the type of man who would hire protection. The murder was somewhat of a scandal, though nothing really worth anything except for one woman who has likely moved on after two decades. It appeared the incident still carried weight with the old scholar, his eyes glistening with the ghosts of his past.

"Well, you've jumped right into a heavy secret," Jourah pointed out, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand as she brought her elbow onto the table just cresting the edge of the map with her sleeve. "You either like to get straight to the point, or you're a man with little secrets to carry."

She looked over to Flint, hand still cupping her face as she sighed. "And your little secret must be the slight of hand. Tell me, did you switch the coin to be under the far cup so that we would be the losers?"
 
Andonis' secret tale brought him back to a dark place. From how he spoke, the scholar had had no intention of killing the man. A man suddenly appeared before him off the beaten track, in the dark of night. The natural reaction would be to strike out, for fear he was being stalked by bandits or worse, monsters. Unfortunately, the man had been an innocent traveler, though not the brightest one by any accounts.

Tears threatened to tickle from Adius' eyes, and the barber considered gripping his arm in consolation. Somehow though, he reckoned the older man wouldn't have welcomed such an advance, so he refrained. Instead, he gave the man a few words.
"Horrible as it is, you did what any man would. What happened was an unavoidable tragedy. I'm sorry". With the amount of people that came through his shop doors, Flint liked to think he understood people well. Speaking to a man of such life experience however, he felt in someway in over his head.

Thankfully, the woman was able to salvage the conversation, steering things back to the game at hand. She suspected he'd tricked them, swapped the coin in a way that would never have allowed him to lose. Flint feigned a look of insult.
"You insult my honour, dear lady!", he exclaimed, before allowing himself to relax once more. "Though you're not far off. I do maintain that it was only my cup that held a coin at any given time. However...". He retrieved the two coins from his pocket, placing them down on the table again. "I did swap the coin for a near identical one about halfway through, just to see if one of you would notice. You had me worried for a second". His smile re-emerged, raising an eyebrow in the woman's direction. "Okay, you're up. Have you a secret for us?"

Adius Alvawyn Jourah Vergess