Open Chronicles The Sturdy and the Stubborn

[Edgar Attwater]

The Editorial, from the outside, did not appear to be anything exceptional. It was sturdy and maintained, stone and plaster and hickory. There was space to put up horses and wagons for the night and a few wooden balconies for anyone wanting a spot of fresh air. It also looked fairly typical from within, perhaps slightly larger than the average tavern with a sprawling dining room and two separate staircases on opposing walls leading up. The furniture was hefty and stable, if a little nicked and dinged over the years and the lighting fixtures were carved bone and horn. A large fireplace was surrounded by more cushiony seating. The wall behind the bar was lined with a variety of kegs and bottles, the sheer assortment perhaps unusual for such a secluded tavern off of any trade route.

It was on Edwin's insistence that the brothers all did some manner of work within the tavern, itself, at least one night a week. It was mostly for show, he said. A vague sort of alibi. No one could ask what it was, exactly, that any of the brothers did for a living, because dozens of eyes at any given time could confirm that they tended bar at The Editorial. Of course, that usually meant Edison was on the wrong side of the bar being served by Edgar... as was the case this night.

At least Edison's frequent state of inebriation could serve the same purpose.

Edgar, however, didn't mind the work. He was not the most socially apt of the brothers or the most amicable and forthcoming, as might have been necessary in an inner city's tavern where charisma was a tool to use against competition. But out in the middle of nowhere, where they were the only option for miles around? It was a mundane job that Edgar could get lost in. Besides, when the bartender was six and a half feet and three hundred pounds of muscle, most patrons tended to be respectful.

It was a peaceful job. Usually.

Edgar loomed behind the bar, towel and tankard in hand as he quietly wiped out some of the excess moisture from washing the last round of dishes. For whatever reason, whenever he was tending bar, people didn't tend to come up and order a lot of drinks. They preferred to try to pin down one of the handful of staff they had about the dining room. It gave him plenty of time to just tidy things up and idly watch the noise and bustle of the dining room. And every now and then refill whatever it was Edison was drinking.

Really, he should not have kept serving his younger brother past a certain point, but the man had been feeling particularly chatty that night and simply would not shut up. So Edgar kept a drink in his hands, and eventually he was too inebriated to have a coherent thought and mostly kept quiet except for the occasional slurred commentary.

It would have seemed like he was set up for a quiet night, were it not for that group in the corner that for the past two hours had been murmuring between themselves before suddenly getting fussy about something or another. And then one of their own would frantically hush them up. Suspicious sorts were the usual in The Editorial, but Edgar still kept his dark eyes on them.

(OPEN to anyone who doesn't mind crime cooties)

 

[suneater]

The tavern door opened with the ricocheting sounds of chain mail just behind it. The over encumbered warrior stepped forth into the Editorial. suneater had been just about everywhere in Arethil. There were scattered places he had not found, most of them being businesses or lost caves. The secrets in the earthen walls of the continent didn't amuse him much. But a tavern he'd never been to before? Hells, he may even be luckily enough to not be recognized here.

It had the appeal of one such as himself. Its appearance was of no ill portent. Though that was often deceit. He thought as much when the commotion from the group in the corner caught his ear. Even so, it was none of his business to involve himself in it. Whatever their bickering was he was sure it could be solved easily. Besides, they would regret bringing that to his doorstep anyway.

suneater wandered towards the man behind the bar who seemed to be eyeing the crowd. He slid out a stool and took a heavy, thudding seat with a light sigh to follow.

"they're not being too much a headache, are they?" The softspoken folk hero asked.

 

[Larewen Dragana]

Not too far behind suneater, another patron arrived. Anyone sensitive to magic would feel her coming, for Larewen brought with her a prickish aura. She was clad in a bustle gown that, complete with bodice, was accented with black lace. Her gloves matched, though the one on the left seemed a little malformed beneath the ebon hand covers. Upon her head sits an equally dark fedora, and her face is obscured by the veil she wears over her face. There was something about the woman that was off, and it surrounds her like a thick miasma.

Too long, the creature had roamed. Years of isolation had given her plenty of time to study her craft, but the past was still a distant memory. Years of isolation also fueled the blossoming hatred inside her.

As the group grew louder, her mismatched eyes cut in their direction, her lips curling into a quiet snarl. She preferred something more violent than their petty disagreement. As suneater sat, he was soon joined at the bar. With pursed lips she realized that there probably wasn't blood wine on the menu here, so when she got the moment, seeming to politely not interrupt suneater, she decided on something similar to what she's used to.

"A glass of your finest red," the necromancer said, tongue pressing to her right fang.

 

[Gella Rerra]

For the love of... He couldn't get any peace and quiet at home, so he takes a little trip out this far to see what opportunities might rear their heads to him, and instead, he can't even think straight over the group of noisy-ass thugs chattering like housewives at the table next to him. The half-elf leaning back with his boots up on his table beside an empty mug peeked over at the bunch of them with a scowl on his face.

Gella shoulda figured this place would start getting busy when he noticed how much more looked-after it was compared to most of the swill-shacks that littered this forsaken patch of dirt. The drink had been pretty good, but he hadn't paid for a fuckin' show. Probably gangsters, the lot of them.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Gella was in a gang. Hell, Gella ran a gang. At least he tried not to tell the whole city whenever he arrived. These idiots may as well have been holding up a big sign over their heads.

They weren't the only ones in here that had his attention though. Some ominous-looking freak with way too much chainmail on apparently saw fit to terrify an entire tavern at once just by being there. Rerra had to wonder if he realized how people were looking at him?

Then there was the pale woman dressed to the nines who walked in right after him. She was a looker, definitely, much nicer than most of what they had back in Osteriam. Still, Gella got a little bit suspicious of anybody who looked that good coming to get a drink at any tavern, well-kept or not.

'Course, it also implied there was a swanky home somewhere without anybody in it, and Gella did like that.

But while the half-elf was fantasizing about the kind of haul he could score here, another loud bark from the rabble sitting to the side of him broke Gella out of his thoughts, making him jump and sending his boot into the empty mug, knocking it from the table and sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oi you fuckin' nonces!"

Gella sprang to his feet, the last splash of swill that had been in the bottom of the mug now splashed over his rabbit-fur jacket. The mooks just looked at him.

Gods, Rerra had half a mind to whip his dagger out and see what their insides looked like right then. Alas, his men weren't here yet, and he wasn't so stupid as to start a fight with these numbers.

Growling under his breath, the slender, well-dressed young half-elf sauntered over to the bar, tossing a couple of gold coins onto its surface.

"For the mug. And a fresh drink."

 

[Edgar Attwater]

It seemed Edgar would be graced by the company of at least three people that night not too put off by his immense size or lack of innate sociable charms. Whether he wanted the company or not. Edwin told him he wasn't allowed to just brush people off, or else he would have happily just spent all of his evening cleaning mugs and people-watching.

The first was an entire wandering arsenal of weaponry and gear. In the more cultured parts of the world, his presence may have been alarming. He possibly would have been barred from entry until he disarmed. The Editorial was used to seeing the mercenary types, however, and it had no rules against weapons within its threshold. Having armed regulars only made people think twice about starting shit.

"Not yet," the mountain of a man grunted in response to the other man's inquiry as he set the mug he had been cleaning down and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell him what he wanted.

The second guest at the bar was perhaps the most unusual. It was not the type of establishment that people generally showed up at that well dressed, especially since they were so far from most other bastions of civilization. It was a place for criminals, mercenaries, smugglers, and travelers that had gotten a little turned around. As the pretty and exquisitely dressed woman took her seat, Edgar made a point of staring at her. He figured she must either be lost, or seeking entertainment in touring the less civilized parts of the continent, though her sour countenance suggested she had no desire to be there at all.

His face was inexpressive and unruffled as he watched her for a moment longer after her request, and then shrugged his broad shoulders and turned to grab a bottle off the shelf. Lucky for her, Edwin liked to imbibe that manner of beverage, and so they actually had a fine assortment on hand.

"That dress's gonna make you a target," he said off-handedly as he placed the long-stemmed glass in front of her, the delicacy of the vessel looking comical in his too-large hand. "Hope you g-"

Cut off by the small commotion from the dining room, Edgar furrowed his brows and looked up to catch Gella sulking to join them at the bar. The youth had been there for a little while and had made himself right at home, and so far hadn't caused any trouble. Appreciative to not have to threaten or beat someone in order to get them to pay for broken property, the half-elf was awarded with a mindful nod.

"What are you having, then?" Edgar didn't really bother to remember the ordered drinks in his bar full of miscreants. Regulars were lucky if he even remembered if they preferred liquor or ale.

The majority of his attention, however, was clearly yet on that bothersome, noisy group in the corner. They were still at their hushed bickering, and now some of them were sending frequent nervous looks towards his bar before getting slapped against the back of their heads. Likely for lacking all subtlety, though the retaliation was just as overt. Whoever those people were, they were idiots. But there were quite a few of them.

"Mmh... They might be up to something, after all," he murmured to his handful of patrons at the counter. "You lot wanna earn some coin if they start shit?" His dark, grim gaze brushed over the faces of the three in front of him.

suneater Larewen Dragana Gella Rerra

 

[suneater]

The other non-involved patrons seemed a bit odd in their own right. It wasn't uncommon to find strange folk in seedy places such as this, but oftentimes they held an array of fine non-alcoholic beverages that they never sell since no one wants to buy anything but booze these days.

The woman ordering wine was a surprise. She'd sat directly next to him. Did she know of him? Seen him fight or heard his name in bardsong? Likely just coincidence, he thought, but people have made his nights at the bar hard to enjoy before.

suneater also couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle when he heard the young man behind him bark towards the ruffians. His dialect and word choice were ones spoken with the confidence of a free man. Something he could always appreciate in a person.

Then came the question from the gargantuan barkeep about coin. That means at least he definitely didn't know who suneater was. What a pleasant surprise to live in anonymity this night.

suneater shook his head.

"no, no need. it is your establishment after all. those who disrespect such a notion are intentionally problematic without thought for consequence. i'll go talk to them. if you would, though, may i have a glass of apple cider when i return?"

suneater rapped two knuckles on the bar and nodded politely towards Edgar before standing up. He moseyed noisily over to the group that thought themselves masters of stealth with their whispered plotting. He offered them all the same nod.

"is there some sort of issue, gentlemen? it seems you've decided to pull so many eyes to yourselves, ones that now watch you like hawks."

suneater said this, completely unaware of the eyes that had painted themselves on him. Most of them on the enormous hammer he wore like a backpack.

Edgar Attwater Larewen Dragana Gella Rerra

 

[Larewen Dragana]

Larewen opened her mouth to respond to the quip about her choice of apparel; she knew she bled wealth, and that was part of the fun for the twisted elf. She only hoped someone was stupid enough to assault her; they'd only find themselves face first against her magic, as opposed to the easy job they expected from a noble lady. But alas, suneater addressed the troublesome men before she could.

"I'll make it worth your while if someone does make an assumption about my fancy dress," she murmured, her silvery voice barely audible against the exchange between the strange man and the group of troublemakers. She was definitely more of the fight first, ask questions later ilk, and it became clear to those around her when the necromancer's lips split into a wicked grin. She spun on her stool, watching the exchange between suneater and the troublesome group.

Almost at the last minute, she dipped her head toward the large barkeep. "Decent wine. Someone here has good taste," she said, this time louder. Then she hopped down from the stool, all 5'3 of her, and followed suneater over to the table. From behind him, she flashed a fanged grin, barely visible under the ebon veil that obscured the majority of her face.

"Do you need help?" the elf asked suneater, leaning close to him. Her nostrils flared, trying to take in his scent and make a note of it.

Edgar Attwater suneater Gella Rerra

 

[Gella Rerra]

Gella waved a hand dismissively at the bartender, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Ale's fine." The half-elf's eyes flicked briefly to the pale woman sitting next to where he stood, focusing mainly on the pointed ears on the sides of her head. Odd... he hadn't picked her out as an elf from afar, and he usually had a sense for that kind of thing. Definitely something suspicious about that one, and it wasn't just how brazenly she was showing off her cleavage in a tavern full of questionable characters like him.

Bah, Rerra was no animal. Following your urges and trying to bury yourself in the first nice pair you saw was a very quick way to get yourself killed, and the elf was obviously trouble. No, the gang-leader was much more interested in the offer that the man who filled his glass had put on the table. A reward for knocking heads? Well now he was speaking Gella's language...

Or he was, until that cloaked freak decided to play white knight and volunteer to do the damned work, and that haughty-taughty dressed elf chick trotted off after him like a lost puppy wanting to be included.

Gella looked incredulously between the bartender and the pair that had wandered off to do his job for him. "I finally find some work and some chivalrous idiot wants to play hero." He snorts, almost smirking at the idea as he tilts his head back to look at Edgar. "You get a lot of rabble in this place? Besides us, I mean?"

They could waste their time doing free work if they wanted too, but Gella was planting his ass at the bar and watching. At least until an opportunity to make things more interested presented itself. Interesting enough to warrant involving himself without a little gold.

Edgar Attwater suneater Larewen Dragana