Completed The Tavern

[Syvis]

Syvis walked into a quaint tavern in the heart of Alliria, it wasn’t disgusting but it didn’t necessarily match her tastes. Despite this she decided she’d stay for a drink maybe two.

She sat herself down at a far booth in the corner where she could observe yet still be a part of the atmosphere. As she sat down she slipped her left hand down her leg stopping mid calf to insure her dagger was still there. One of the many perks of a dress was easy concealment of weapons. Syvis was very proud of how she looked tonight, her long silver hair down and braided into several tiny and ornate braids. She was most definitely overdressed for a place like this in a long red gown that hung off her shoulders. She enjoyed the finer things in life and on her father’s life she would always show it when the time presented itself.

 

[Blazh]

The tavern itself was fairly large, which was a blessing as far as people were concerned, there were no pushy crowds, no areal disputes, and everyone could find a place to sit it. This wasn't one of your "average" inns, but a place where solidly mid, to lower-upper class citizens, assembled to drink, dine and have a good time in general. It was a well-lit place, with simple, but sturdy tables built from oak. The tavern's log walls were made of the same wood. People drinking from tankards full of ale, gruit (ale made from herbs or plants other than hops), cider, or mead. The food was rustic and the people who ate it carried a jolly atmosphere around them, those were predominantly meaty dishes, garnished with gravy, potatoes, and roasted vegetables as a side.

The bartender was an orcish man, perhaps in his late fifties, his face was decorated by small wrinkles and his hair was starting to grey already. He was multi-tasking, cleaning multiple glass mugs while holding a jovial conversation with another male. This other man was perhaps a little more "eye-catching". He was sporting a dark blue coat with brown trims and a white, blue-striped turtleneck with a red tie, this heavily implied that he was well off. His facial hair was entirely black, and he sported a lustrous, thick beard that only worked to amplify his masculine charm. His face was square, well defined as if molded from granite. He was undoubtingly tall, something that even a casual spectator could tell, even while sitting, Blazh flaunted a large, sinewy frame.

Blazh looked human at first glance, there was nothing off about him, well, almost nothing. His skin may have appeared slightly gaunt, if not a little leathery to touch. There was the tiniest level of greyness to his skin tone, just enough to be noticeable, but not nearly enough to make him stand out in the crowd. Miniscule, irregularly scattered patches that are as monochrome as the old family portrait that hangs in the hall, diffused and mottled, like the sun on a storm cloud.

His eyes were a different story tho. The irises were blue-green, they were almost translucent, glossy, like the palest blue glass, too soft to be turquoise, too bright to be baby blue. His sclera was pitch black, like pristine onyx stone, creating a contrast between the light and the dark. The two mixed, glimmering with a purple hue, sparkling in the artificial light like a fresh sheen of morning dew. Blazh and the bartender spoke in a level-headed, calm tone, their words becoming inaudible from the sheer ambient noise. Blazh held a friendly, albeit slightly blanketed expression on his face. And as soon as their little chat was over, the corner of his eye caught a beautiful elven form. Blazh shifted in his chair, positioning himself more comfortably as he stole a couple of glimpses at Syvis. That said, he was no fool, and he went to great lengths to make him "eyeballing" seem harmless and even affable in tone, he was not moving a centimeter from his spot across the room.

 

[Syvis]

Syvis wasn’t obtuse she noticed the man staring at her, it wasn’t uncommon for men to stare but she didn’t actually mind this one. He wasn’t hideous nor predatory which was a slight surprise to her. She met his gaze a couple of times while her long slender fingers drummed on the oak table beneath them.

She was most definitely famished but as a proper lady she didn’t display it. Despite what her slim figure may allude, Syvis ate a lot, yet never gorged. It was a thin line she mastered over the years of her life.

Now really she had a choice, she could approach the dark haired man or simply go straight to the barkeep order her meal and see how long the game of cat and mouse continued. He intrigued her but she really needed nothing from him, and she would enjoy some dinner entertainment. So she smoothed over her dress and stood up. The small dagger strapped to her right upper arm concealed by billowy sleeves nicked her as she moved too fast. It was a good hiding place as most wouldn’t suspect it but it would need to be readjusted. Despite her dress being a blood red colour she did not want to wreck it’s fine fabric for no reason.

She sauntered over to the other end of the bar maintaining small glances at the dark haired man and lifted a small manicured hand waving over the barkeep. Unlike most she actually didn’t mind Orcs, they were typically kinder than most people. This Orcish man just so proved her point, he had a jolly smile and he spoke softly and politely to her as she ordered her meal. She ordered a plate of potatoes and roasted vegetables, it wasn’t that Syvis didn’t like meat, she just was rarely in the mood for it.

The barkeep advised her to sit at the bar while she waited for her meal after she dropped a couple coins down as payment. Syvis smoothed down the back of her dress as she sat down, her legs nearly touched the ground but not quite, she was only 5’7 and she guessed the stools were designed for those larger than she. The barkeep sat down a nice mug of pale ale in front of her and as she reached for the mug she cut herself more with her dagger.

She felt the blood now, as it moved as slow as rain on a foggy day down her arm. Yet she couldn’t seem to find a lavatory door anywhere in the place. Cutting herself was making her quite peeved as she’d never been so careless before, they were her own daggers that SHE had placed yet they were cutting her. “Traitorous.” She grumbled under her breath as she grabbed her mug slowly bringing a sip to her lightly painted lips.

She made eye contact again with the man yet this time it was longer. She looked deeper into his eyes, how peculiar they were. In all of her travels she'd yet to see anything similar. They were alike to the blackest blues of the deepest oceans. Yet also the blue-green of ..winters snow? The more she studied them the more comparassons she could make, yet she never quite placed the colours she was seeing. She then realized how intensely she was staring at this poor stranger and looked down.

Her father's voice echoed in her ear "I raised you to know better than to stare Syvis. The upper class do not stare." Gods above how she hated the sound that rang throughout her head. Yet somehow he was always right, a disgusting phenomenon she lacked the ability to run from.

 

[Blazh]

He was everything but oblivious to her staring, but if he had gotten up this instant, it would make him look a little too eager. Instead, he reached down into one of his pockets, retrieving a pipe from it. It was an unassuming, but sturdy little thing, made out of metallic alloys and ebony wood, this particular pipe was made to last, not to look pretty. His character reflected in it, a utilitarian man whose mind cared more for functional machinations that eye-pleasing, such stellar preference had served him wonderfully in the past.

His mind almost trailed off, before Blazh finally regained his grip on it, swatting away any unruly thoughts as if they were nothing more than a pesky fly swarm. He focused on the task at hand, which currently consisted of properly filling up his pipe. Filling the bowl loosely with tobacco and pressing it lightly down with the tamper, the bowl was halfway saturated from the bottom. He added more tobacco on the top, compressing it a bit more, packing more firmly until it was roughly 3/4 full, only leaving a slight space between the top of the bowl and the tobacco. Of course, the air needed to flow freely, to test this, Blazh placed the pipe to his mouth, taking a light draw, and to his surprise, he was met with a satisfactory rush of air across his mouth.

The pipe was ready to be lit, but Blazh could not use a match to accomplish this task, as sulfur could alter the taste of the tobacco. Instead, he placed his faith in a trusty, albeit crudely built and more than a little primitive lighter. He took gently draws on the pipe, while tracing the flame in a circular movement over the surface of the tobacco, he resumed repeating this until he was undoubtingly certain that the tobacco lit itself evenly. Being a smart man, Blazh did not draw any of the pipe's rich, oaky smoke directly into his lungs. Pipe smoking, was by nature, inherently different from cigarette smoking. This type of tobacco was a bit stronger and more orientated towards flavor than nicotine addiction.

The pipe's smoke wasn't completely opaque, but its long grey wisps seemed to curl with others that were much darker some near black. These stretching entities would show themselves in short, dramatic eclipses, which hid again the room in full of chattering strangers. The rich benignant smoke eddied coolly down his throat; he puffed it out in rings, which breasted the air bravely for a moment; blue, circular. The female must have still been staring at him, he was sure of it. He had two choices, either making his move now or waiting until she approached him on her own volition. Blazh was positively convinced that she would eventually gather enough courage to do the latter, but, he liked to pride himself as a man of action, not reaction.

He got up from his seat, without a word, and started stretching. He was stiff from the long day of walking. Standing on tiptoe, shoulders straining back, he felt the luxury of his tensing muscles. His attire was quite deceptive, carefully obscuring his true physique. Beneath that long-lined garment, he was all muscle, sinew, and tendons; strong as an ox while retaining the agility of an Olympic gymnast. He was finally starting to make his way toward Syvis, feet lithe as feathers, making no sound. Strolling across the steps like a slick panther, his movements were almost entirely noiseless, carrying an air of secrecy and an assassin's guille to them. It made him look dangerous, but also eye-catching, the same kind of awe one would feel when faced with a big cat. Proudly and Precisely shifting the weight of his massive frame from shoulder to shoulder. Aware of each step he took, constantly immersing his senses in the world around him. Constantly aware, always scanning for his next opportunity. Undeniably beautiful, but in an inhumane, almost alien way. And as more people left the tavern, the more did its lights start to dim. In this dim lighting, his icy blue eyes cast a small shine, appearing ghastly and surreal. The black sclera made it seem like he had no eye sockets, and that his irises were nothing more than two shining orbs, restlessly floating amidst the sea of emptiness.

As soon as he was close enough to her, Blazh pulled up another chair, nonchalantly dipping his body into the leather-clad frame. He made himself quite comfortable there, less than two meters away from her, even while sitting, it was lopsidedly obvious as to how much larger he was than Syvis. Blazh was now resting against the chair with a face of utter nonchalance as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand. He wasn't slumped at all, his body being too solidly built for that to happen, yet it was just as relaxed as his face. He was almost smiling - smiling as if something good were about to happen. "I noticed that you were stealing a few not-so-subtle glances at me earlier, are you just eyeballing me because I look out of place, or do you perhaps need something?" The voice was unexpected. It was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than the body would suggest - not an educated voice, but one on which education had imposed discipline. His tone was different than that of an average man, quickly singling him out from the crowd while overriding and silencing the ambient noises. It was neither the depth nor the strength of his voice that was to blame for this, but the way he carried himself, there was a dose of well-measured, leveled confidence behind his every word. Not the arrogant, cocky kind of confidence, but one that spoke volumes of his mature age and oldened mind, certainly older than the looks would imply.

 

[Syvis]

She cocked a manicured eyebrow up as the man approached her. She watched him move across the bar nearly gliding. She also sat there silently as he sat down. She didn’t address him yet waited for him to speak, after all he started staring he could tell her what he wanted. She was met with surprise when he asked her nearly the same question she’d been milling over in her mind.

“I stare back when someone stares at me first.” Syvis said cooly as she met the man's dark eyes with a level stare. “So I suppose the true question is what is it you require of me?” She questioned him in her cool yet silky voice. It was melodic yet lethal, a type of voice trained to get people to do what she wanted.

She winced a little as the cut on her arm opened up as she moved to grab her ale. Her large grey eyes scanned the bar now; panicked. She needed to readjust or she was going to drop this knife down on the damn counter. She felt the fabric of her sleeve dampen from the blood.

“I am going to drop something on the table and it is not a murder threat so do not take it as so.” Syvis spat out less collected then normal as she reached up her right sleeve pulling out a bloody blade and dropping it on the counter in front of them. It was unladylike and she knew so but she was sick of the pain.

 

[Blazh]

Well, this was a new one, the lady in question was more verbal than he had expected her to be. And she was not shy about it....nor the fact that she was carrying concealed weapons, either. But all in due time, Blazh told to himself. Blazh, too lost to the machinations and spinning wheels of his wayward imagination, barely noticed her question, focusing more on the open gash that her delicate forearm was now sporting. It took him a moment to snap himself from the trance, finally addressing what Syvis said earlier. "It is nothing you seemed to differ from the usual crowd that gathers here and that caught my eye. Tis a bit rare for me to just so casually stumble upon beautiful elven women."

Blazh absentmindedly snapped his fingers, summoning one of the inns Patreon. A balding, middle-aged man came to the pair. He was perhaps in his late fifties. Atop of that, he was rather nervous-looking, with short stature, an indictment of his age and possibly, stunted development. He had an odd gait. It was slightly lurching as he went, perhaps he was leaning too far forwards, it was hard to tell. It had the effect of making him stand out in a crowd, and not in a good way. He took Blazh's order before skittering back into his work area.

His drink arrived shortly. And Blazh courteously handed a few coins to the waiter, it was his polite little way of discretely telling the man to fuck off somewhere else, effectively dismissing him from their presence.

Blazh eyed the amber liquid and the golden glow of the glass-like cubes. He poked them with the nail of his index finger to hear them jingle in the pre-dawn silence. He watched, entranced, as they bounce back up- remaining mostly submerged like mini icebergs. Wrapping his long fingers around the glass, he felt his heat leach into the drink. Alcohol. The elixir of his life. He raised the glass to sip, feeling the keen burn on his tongue and throat- a burn that made him recoil as a boy. Yet now it was a feeling he longed for. He lowered the glass to the table, letting it fall heavily, but not so much that it would spill. He rested his head in the left hand, still mesmerized by the fluid.

It was mead. An alcoholic beverage is created by fermenting honey with water, sometimes with various fruits, spices, grains, or hops. Its usual alcohol content could be anywhere from 9 to 18 percent. In many ways, it was similar to ale but usually pack-in double the punch. Furthermore, its sweetness could mask the initial bitterness of alcohol, making it all the easier for one to get pants-on-head levels of drunk.

"Before we continue our conversation." The male started, using a wavy hand gesture to emphasize his point. Of course, half of his brain was still pre-occupied by the wound on her forearm, it made him itch in some highly uncomfortable ways, ways that he would rather not speak about openly. "I think that we should at the very least, know each other's names before continuing, I am Blazh, Blazh Orlov." The male's voice piqued slightly here, a little wrinkle dancing at the edges of his mouth. He might have been a grown-ass man, but there was that almost child-like twinkle in his eyes. Amplified further by thick, bushy eyebrows that put them in a wide frame. "I am aware that it is an informal greeting. As I am sure you know, when people say 'It's my pleasure,' they usually mean something along the lines of, 'There's nothing on Earth I would rather do less.”

Something was nudging him in the back of his head, almost instinctively, he reached forward and took the knife into his bare palm, using a spare handkerchief to wipe away any excess blood. The knife was a dual blade with a hardwood handle. Everything about it was precise. The knife's internal structure was made from a single piece of high carbon stainless steel, hand-honed, and about 12 centimeters long. It was expert-level craftsmanship, something that Blazh greatly admired. He always had a thing or two for bladed objects. It was hit utilitarian nature rearing its head. To him, a proper knife was something that one could use to murder another man, or to make dinner, or to create wooden carvings. A proper blade had more uses than Blazh had fingers on his hands.

He nonchalantly placed the murderous instrument back to its original resting place, before diverting his attention back to Syvis herself. The increasingly large bloody stain on her white sleeve made him internally wince, partially because it was running a perfectly good clothing article. But more so because she seemed to have lost a whole shot glass worth of blood by now, which, for someone of her size and lithe build, wasn't exactly a little.

His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, feeling the tension drain from his body. He reached out, gently prodding at her wound with his index finger, careful to not hurt Syvis any further. "I can heal that gnarly little gash of yours, but you will have to calm yourself first."

 

[Syvis]

Syvis mused as the man said something about elven women. It wasn’t one of the usual one liners that she had come to loathe yet her race would always be part of her intrigue she was sure. “Yes. Indeed, different.” She said nose crinkling as she scanned the patrons of the tavern. They weren’t well dressed by any means and most women and men were heavy set, true it was a sign of money yet Syvis found it a stupid display. How could these people run in the result of an emergency? They couldn’t. Simple.

She drew her attention back to the man across from her as he poked at his ice cubes. He was peculiar, as she herself wouldn’t have stuck her fingers in something she was about to drink. She continued watching as he grabbed the drink the same as a puff adder would their prey. His fingers resembled a snake’s body in a way yet didn’t. Although it was made apparent that this man enjoyed drink.

Syvis listened as the man; Blazh, introduced himself and she outstretched her hand out in standard greeting. “I am Syvis.” She chose to give him no last name in case something happened tonight and she didn’t want him to easily track her down. “I appreciate the conciseness, petty filler talk is just that filler talk, to make you sound smarter or more interested. Despite interest being made clear by staring at me, which is why I haven’t any time for filler speech.”

She watched him grab her knife and instinctively her left hand shot out after it, she hand to stop herself mid-air before she either punched the seemingly nice man or grabbed the knife by it’s blade. Syvis watched as Blazh looked at her knife intensely. Her father had paid such a pretty price for the best as a gift for her 15th birthday after she successfully disarmed him that day in a spar. That and her 12 throwing knives were among her greatest possessions and she felt her gaze get more intent on the blade. If this fool decided to take her knife she would leave him dead in an alley and no one would find him again.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as he set her blade back down. She tried to ignore the blood leaching into her sleeve but to no avail, so she waved the bartender over again and got a shot of a Vodka like beverage and she slammed it back right as he told her she needed to calm down to be helped.

“I am calm now.” She grinned as she felt the familiar heat make its way down her throat and land in her chest, making it feel as if someone just lit a hearth in her heart. She truly loved the feeling, yet rarely drank.

 

[Blazh]

Syvis mused as the man said something about elven women. It wasn’t one of the usual one liners that she had come to loathe yet her race would always be part of her intrigue she was sure. “Yes. Indeed, different.” She said nose crinkling as she scanned the patrons of the tavern. They weren’t well dressed by any means and most women and men were heavy set, true it was a sign of money yet Syvis found it a stupid display. How could these people run in the result of an emergency? They couldn’t. Simple.

She drew her attention back to the man across from her as he poked at his ice cubes. He was peculiar, as she herself wouldn’t have stuck her fingers in something she was about to drink. She continued watching as he grabbed the drink the same as a puff adder would their prey. His fingers resembled a snake’s body in a way yet didn’t. Although it was made apparent that this man enjoyed drink.

Syvis listened as the man; Blazh, introduced himself and she outstretched her hand out in standard greeting. “I am Syvis.” She chose to give him no last name in case something happened tonight and she didn’t want him to easily track her down. “I appreciate the conciseness, petty filler talk is just that filler talk, to make you sound smarter or more interested. Despite interest being made clear by staring at me, which is why I haven’t any time for filler speech.”

She watched him grab her knife and instinctively her left hand shot out after it, she hand to stop herself mid-air before she either punched the seemingly nice man or grabbed the knife by it’s blade. Syvis watched as Blazh looked at her knife intensely. Her father had paid such a pretty price for the best as a gift for her 15th birthday after she successfully disarmed him that day in a spar. That and her 12 throwing knives were among her greatest possessions and she felt her gaze get more intent on the blade. If this fool decided to take her knife she would leave him dead in an alley and no one would find him again.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as he set her blade back down. She tried to ignore the blood leaching into her sleeve but to no avail, so she waved the bartender over again and got a shot of a Vodka like beverage and she slammed it back right as he told her she needed to calm down to be helped.

“I am calm now.” She grinned as she felt the familiar heat make its way down her throat and land in her chest, making it feel as if someone just lit a hearth in her heart. She truly loved the feeling, yet rarely drank.

He stared at her intently, resting his chin on the palm of his hand like some sort of Cheshire cat. Staring wasn't quite the word for what he was doing, though he'd fit the dictionary definition to a tee. His eyes rested, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it was his lips that give away his intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they meant to.

The light around them was starting to dim, more and more people were leaving the establishment. That was not a surprise, it was getting late and these people were merchants, shop owners, bakers, the types of people who worked each day, whole day, only coming down here to relieve the stresses of their daily lives. Usually, his eyes looked like two pristine stones of onyx, lighting up with a purple flare whenever exposed to direct light. But in this half-darkness, they were eery to say at least. His sclera was pitch black, not the ordinary kind of blackness, but the consuming one. They were like endless pools of tar, infinite in-depth, if one was to look at them for too long, this darkness would suck out the very heat from their bone marrow. They sunk deep into his head. Their depth resembled that of a black hole in space, an air of eeriness and unsettling coldness emanating from the lack of light.

Perhaps, their most unnatural quality was the fact that they were light absorbent, it was not a color, it was nothing, a void. It caused the temperature to drop a few degrees even though the entire building had a central heating system. His irises worked as a contrast, the darkness surrounding them, only made them more pronounced. They soaked in the ambient light, but instead of greedily nullifying it, his irises acted as reflectors, glowing softly. And despite his hominine features, Blazh must have looked like the most alien entity in the universe right now.

Each time he moved, shifted, or readjusted his position, his irises seemed to wobble around, as if they were not safely secured to the perimeters of his skull and eye sockets. Of course, in reality, they were not moving, it was nothing more than an optical illusion, but Blazh liked to use his unusual contrast to catch people off guard.
It was impossible to read what he was truly thinking or feeling. Like something's out of place. You can't grasp what the source of this discomfort is... But regardless, he is a strange man.


"Well then." The male reached out, grasping at her forearm. His hands were the size of dish plates, ones that could casually engulf a human face like octopus tentacles. They were rough but taken care of, showing signs of nobility. Hands of the common man were often frayed below the fingernails, Callused yellow, bitten, and ripped. Yet he only showed signs of training, from holding and moving heavy objects for hours. That would explain why he was so muscular.

He carefully pulled at her sleeve, rolling it down until it had reached her elbow, it was blood-stained and sticky, but he had to do it, otherwise, he would not be able to take a better look at her wound. Thankfully for both of them, the wound was shallow, not breaching the muscle or any major blood vessel. Blazh concentrated, calling upon the biological energies of his body to exert control over her frail flesh, and they did. Within moments, the gash was starting to stitch itself back together, the process was quick, and to the naked eye, nothing short of a miracle. By the time Blazh was done, her wound was nowhere in sight, there wasn't even scar tissue left behind.

He pulled away with a satisfied chuckle. Blood coated his fingers like caramel over an apple, only brilliant red instead of soft golden browns. The blood has concentrated in the folds of his knuckles making the usually pale creases dark. His eyes watched each finger move, entranced by the new color of his skin. It felt no different from wet mud but it wasn't. The congealing red-brown fluid had become caught in the webbing of his fingers, he knew that he should have felt repulsed, eager to wash it off but instead, he felt a laughter building in his belly.

"Is your skin particularly sensitive, or do all elves bleed this much when cut?"

 

[Syvis]

She watched her arm heal and tried not to show a face of amazement, but suddenly it was met with fear. What did this man do? What if he took this opportunity to hurt her? Who had she made an enemy out of lately powerful enough to hire such a man?

Her grey eyes widened and thrashed around like a wild animal’s would when they’re shoved in a corner. Her mind was going three thousand miles per hour.

“What the hell did you do?” She screeched panicked. She was in survival mode now, everything has a price… everything. What the hell was the price for this.

She reached for her knife lighting fast and ran it across the tops of his fingers slicing him shallowly...was he human? Was he not? Did he bleed?

“Who the hell are you?” She said hushed yet her words held the weight of a thousand. She knew that she needed help but this man was studying her blood. Why? She calmed her nerves enough to stare into his eyes studying them. What was this man, for he couldn’t be mortal. She knew he asked a question but she didn’t answer. He didn’t deserve an answer yet.

"What the fuck are you?" Syvis recoiled. She dodged his intense gaze, maybe she shouldn't have reacted so intensely but no one protects you but yourself. She was no stranger to magic most Eleven elders used it but he didn't sit well with her. He reminded her of a cat playing with it's food and Syvis was no damned mouse.

She looked around and it looked like only a few people heard her outburst, thankfully she was quiet enough. "Who sent you to kill me?" Syvis asked lowly through her painted lips. "I'll pay you double what they are, most of the people who want to kill me you don't even want to be involved with." She leaned over to whisper in his ear "they're all no good."

Syvis seemed mad but she felt her emotions fast and hard before she plotted how to escape. Her left hand was still settled on the knife handle. She didn't want to kill this man, especially here, yet she was skilled in the art of the running escape.

 

[Blazh]

He bled as any normal man would. His blood was not black, not green, nor was it purple. Its color was the same as hers, red. The only difference being that his shallow wounds closed in a matter of seconds, leaving no trail whatsoever behind them. Blazh looked at his hand, then back at Syvis, before looking at his hand yet again. His shoulders rolled in a half-hearted shrug and the male leaned back into his chair.

The chair belonged in that room as much as the air and light, as if that floral fabric had woven itself of the earth as much as natural flowers do. It was the hue of the ocean when the daytime flutters to wakefulness, both blue and green at the same time. Though beautifully designed the leather has been worn past the point of distress and now there were small tears and holes. He poked a finger into a hole and wiggled it, underneath was a white foam that hasn't seen daylight in almost twenty years. He pulled his finger out and turned to let himself fall on the seat with a satisfactory thump.

In reality, Blazh was trying his best to hold back a laugh, and he failed at it, miserably. His laugh was sweet and honest, a rare gem that only a few people could call forwards. It was full of his spirit- quiet yet real, filled with a tender joy. Blazh had two laughs. One was to make others tremble, asserts his dominance over them- it was a practiced laugh, drenched in cold, haughty aristocracy and slithering silver. It carved a mask out of his face, one that covered him in lies. But the other one was deep, true, a laugh pouring out of him with a smile that split his mask in two. It showed a glimpse of who he truly was. It was a beautiful thing. Even when he was mocking someone, his laughter was full of warmth and life and invited people in. It meshed well with his casual, laid-back appearance. Yet there was something else behind it, besides the sheer amusement, he was draining from her each word.

"What I am?" The question smoothly rolled off his tongue, well, it was more of a statement than a question. "Do you really wish to know?" But he did not let her answer that question, quickly cutting her off. "No, my dear lady, you don't. This one time I shall spare you and not grant you your wish." Even as he talked, the glow of his eyes seemed to fluctuate, flickering like a candle flame in the dark. "All who have learned of my true nature are now either dead or have met a far worse fate. Yet you are not a bad person, dare I say, you are on the good spectrum, and I would hate for such a fate to befall you."

There were no lies behind his words, not even a hint, he was as honest as a sapient creature could feasibly be. And his facial expression was as blank as a sheet of paper, it was unreadable, one could not discern what Blazh was truly thinking. The only obvious thing being that he was one-hundred percent honest in his assessment.

Yet when she framed him as a hired killer of some sort, that was when his nonchalant and easy-going face started to fall apart, bit by bit. Blazh's face moved a little too slowly, as he was taking in the surroundings more than anyone else. Then he grinned. As he did so the temperature of the room fell a little. Even in the dim light of the stormy day, one could see his bared teeth. It was a Cheshire grin of sorts, the kind that was so wide it was more as if he wanted to eat everyone rather than say hello. It was a grin that showed almost every one of his pearly white teeth. Neither moved, not the eyeballs, not the stretched thin lips.

"I am no one's hired muscle, I do not kill people for pleasure, those I have harmed in the past had it coming, you do not, so relax." He reached for the pipe, pressing it to his lips and taking a healthy draw. Blowing a gust of wispy grey smoke right into Syvises face. The long, opaque tendrils caressing her cheeks like immaterial tentacles. "I had no ulterior motives when approaching you, you have caught my eye, simple as that. I thoroughly enjoy watching the lives of others and events of the world unfold, the true tales of human lives are sometimes quite fascinating."

His tone came out as slightly muffled (but still fairly audible), courtesy of that pipe still sticking between his thin lips. Blazh took notice of the small issue, quickly adjusting it by removing the pipe first, flipping it over, and then depositing its blackened content onto the ground below him. He then stomped on it three times to kill any remaining embers. It was highly unlikely that these little sparks could cause a fire to break out, but stranger things have happened in past.

"All jokes aside, had I wanted to do you any harm, this conversation would not be happening right now." He remarked this in a slightly....darker, more cynical tone. "With someone like you, I have to restrain my physique. If for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. That is why I haven't retaliated against you a few seconds earlier, despite the fact that you have committed a borderline assault against me, with a bladed weapon no less."

 

[Syvis]

Syvis listened to the man as he spoke her nose wrinkling as the smoke hit her face. As she listened she slowly left her hand off of her blade. Yet when he told her she was on the “good” side of the spectrum a chortle escaped despite her best efforts. “I am not good, I am chaotic and most definitely not good.” Her fingers drummed on the table beneath her.

It was good he wasn’t hired to kill her, yet she was too prideful to apologize so she didn’t. She reckoned the type of people that hired her likely would pay a good price for a man of his size. She observed him in a manner one would if they were trying to hire him, he had skillful hands, muscle yet he seemed to be full of himself likely to lead to a defeat.

Syvis mused as the man called her fragile. It is true she is small, petite, dainty yet she was stronger than most. No doubt the man could kill her, yet he made it seem like it would be an easy task, and well she had no desire to die. Yet she also loved when people underestimate her as it made them misjudge the effort needed to harm her so she allowed it.

She made a face of fake awe at him before she pulled out some tobacco of her own. She didn’t smoke out of a pipe alike to most yet it was still technically a pipe. It was a long and skinny ivory tube, the end once white charred. It worked the same as a pipe, it was less bulky and more lady like in her opinion. She put some a bit of shredded tobacco in the end before slipping the ivory tube inbetween her middle and index finger she lit it and inhaled. Yet she was more polite with her smoke preferring to release it through her nose rather than into someone's face.

She giggled as he called what she did an assault. “Relax pretty boy, if you believe I’ve assaulted you, well, life will be a cruel bitch mother.” It was now her turn to blow smoke in his face while she continued cynically “I do ask you to oblige to my wish of my beautiful face being intact at my funeral. I want people to weep at beauty lost the way one does at a wilted flower, and well if you crush my skull like a melon that wish can’t be fulfilled.”

 

[Blazh]

Syvis listened to the man as he spoke her nose wrinkling as the smoke hit her face. As she listened she slowly left her hand off of her blade. Yet when he told her she was on the “good” side of the spectrum a chortle escaped despite her best efforts. “I am not good, I am chaotic and most definitely not good.” Her fingers drummed on the table beneath her.

It was good he wasn’t hired to kill her, yet she was too prideful to apologize so she didn’t. She reckoned the type of people that hired her likely would pay a good price for a man of his size. She observed him in a manner one would if they were trying to hire him, he had skillful hands, muscle yet he seemed to be full of himself likely to lead to a defeat.

Syvis mused as the man called her fragile. It is true she is small, petite, dainty yet she was stronger than most. No doubt the man could kill her, yet he made it seem like it would be an easy task, and well she had no desire to die. Yet she also loved when people underestimate her as it made them misjudge the effort needed to harm her so she allowed it.

She made a face of fake awe at him before she pulled out some tobacco of her own. She didn’t smoke out of a pipe alike to most yet it was still technically a pipe. It was a long and skinny ivory tube, the end once white charred. It worked the same as a pipe, it was less bulky and more lady like in her opinion. She put some a bit of shredded tobacco in the end before slipping the ivory tube inbetween her middle and index finger she lit it and inhaled. Yet she was more polite with her smoke preferring to release it through her nose rather than into someone's face.

She giggled as he called what she did an assault. “Relax pretty boy, if you believe I’ve assaulted you, well, life will be a cruel bitch mother.” It was now her turn to blow smoke in his face while she continued cynically “I do ask you to oblige to my wish of my beautiful face being intact at my funeral. I want people to weep at beauty lost the way one does at a wilted flower, and well if you crush my skull like a melon that wish can’t be fulfilled.”

"Let us not pretend that you are a woman who is governed by things such as logic and objectivity." His face assumed a little frown, the eyes lit up with an unnatural shine. He was using his penetrative vision to dissect her build and whatever items she wore on her, weapons primarily, Syvis would of course remain oblivious to this. In a matter of seconds, Blazh accurately assessed her level of physical strength, durability, skeletal muscle output, and the number of knives she was carrying on herself.

"Good and evil are umbrella terms, varying on a personal basis." His knuckles dusted the humble wooden board, scrapping against it for a moment, leaving small dents as they went. "Likewise, what I have said earlier is a subjective opinion, but it holds enough merit to be true, and whatever you think about it, is frankly, irrelevant." Blazh finally stood up, dusting himself off, his coat had absorbed some residual dirt and earth particles that littered the tavern's furniture. "I will have to bid you my farewells, for now, there are some important things that I must attend too, adieu."

The male took a deep inhale, releasing a cloud of colorless, odorless gas around them. The gas itself could attack the nervous system by interfering with the degradation of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine at neuromuscular junctions. It was a nonlethal dose, not enough to cause respiratory and heart spasms, but enough to disable the musculoskeletal system, leaving anyone in close vicinity temporarily paralyzed. Syvis would be unable to notice the gas until it was too late, at which point she would be rendered immobile and unable to follow him. Death, caused by a higher dose would usually occur as a result of asphyxia due to the inability to control the muscles involved in breathing, she was lucky that he measured it off.

Blazh protected himself by having his body generate an antagonist to muscarinic acetylcholine receptors. And something to counteract nicotinic acetylcholine receptors, otherwise he too would be getting quite stiff.

After this was done, he would nonchalantly turn on his heel, leaving the establishment to do something else.