[indent]With the arrival of the blond haired young man, the Stiltwalker’s Fall was suddenly beginning to seem rather crowded. This had not turned out to be the quiet drink Taru had been hoping for. He gestured for the attention of man behind the bar and the pot-bellied landlord sidled over to him obligingly, wearing that same practiced smile on his aging face.

[color=lightgreen]”What can I get you?”[/color] The man asked.

[color=steelblue]”I could use a room for the night.”[/color] Taru said.

The barman’s gaze flicked briefly over Taru’s shoulder and the scarred swordsman followed the man’s eyes. The daylight had all but dies and the hunched figures of the Lamplighters could be seen moving between the gas lamps dotted around the streets, lighting them. Both men watched them for a few moments, the nocturnal keepers of light. The unsung ghosts of Dalvastre. The barman broke their reverie.

[color=lightgreen]”They’re only lighting every other lamp… “[/color] He said softly.

The man was right.

[color=steelblue]”War necessitates austerity on both sides, my friend.[/color] Taru said, turning back to face the barman. The man was nodding in agreement but there was something in his face, something stirring beneath the mask of the affable innkeeper the man wore so well. It was his eyes that betrayed his smile. 

[color=lightgreen]”A room, you say?”[/color] He shook away whatever thought that was troubling him and returned his eyes to those of the shaven headed man before him. 

[color=steelblue]”Yes, your cheapest. I am not a man who highly values luxury.”[/color]

Coin and a key were traded and Taru refilled his cup.

He turned as the young mage approached and enquired about the root sage. It appeared the man had a keen nose as well. It was true that his new gravel-voiced companion would benefit from its calming properties but he would find no luck here.

[color=steelblue]”I’m afraid I don’t have any left, I tend to blend it all together immediately. However, if your friend has a pipe, I’m sure I could spare a pinch of the mixture.”[/color] 

Knocking out the spent ash from the bowl of his own pipe, he filled it again and packed it down with a press of his thumb. Using the flint from his pocket, he struck the stone on the rim again and the herbs within burst into life. He drew deeply and a whisker of smoke danced from the bowl before spasming into nothingness as he exhaled the rest in a sprawling cloud.[/indent]