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"More please, barkeep" a lightly inebriated Eomer muttered, pleading once again for another glass of something, a reward for a successful adventure. Wasn't too much of a reward in fairness. It was dark and windowless, half the floorboards were rotting away, but it was cheap and it reminded him of home (whether that was a good or a bad thing however is a totally different arguement). 

It being mid day the tavern itself was rather quiet with very few staff and about just as many patrons, exactly as he liked it: peaceful. No fights, no drunks shouting; just peace, quiet and relaxed conversation. One thing however that caught Eomer's attention (as the barman filled a stoup and laid it before him), ears picking up as he heard the word "Reaper" whispered by a pair of men sat on a table in the corner.

"The Reaper heading towards the Lowlands, towards Gallant? Arlo, bloody fool, you drink too much and listen too little" a deep laugh boomed from a table in the corner, followed quickly by the thud of a tankard slamming into the table. A hand waved in the air as he signalled to one of the staff for another as he continues to berate his companion. "Even if he did come here, he would be nothing without his crew. That" he continued, an apprehensive look momentarily danced across his face, "and the guilds would have heard much more than a standard run of the mill drunkard; I'm sure if someone had truly heard something the news would be all over town, not just being spread by any gullible idiot" he finished somewhat dismissively, pooh poohing any other remarks made by his friend.

A small notebook emerged from below a faded cloak, slightly yellowed and stained from age with a cover battered far worse than most. The guildsman flicked through it quietly to a page towards the back and scrawled a small series of notes across page with the simple title of "Reeper leeds", or at least that's what it appeared to be anyway, Eomer being far from the most literate person in Gallant. "Town Rms..." he muttered quietly to himself, a quick glance at the two in the corner before continuing with "Dok worker" and "toward Galant". With that, Eomer downes tbe last of his drink, slipping the book back into his pocket. He withdrew a half dozen silvered coins, which he placed on the bar and gently pushed towards the owner, muttering a quiet "thank you" before making his retreat towards the door.

The door catching his ankle caused the badlander to stumble slightly, caught by an attentive man in rather familiar dress. "Again? You're here again?" He asked, seeming rather exasperated, "you're getting ripped off, how many times need you be told he laces the booze with pig urine? There is a reason no one drinks there, especially our lot".

"I've had worse, and gotten much less drunk" Eomer replied with a small laugh, the runner contorting his face into a look of disgust, almost seeming to wince at the thought,imagining way too vividly about what his fellow guildman may have drunk in his time. Eomer steadied himself against the youth, taking a step back as to not linger so close to his face. "I'm assuming you're here for a reason? You don't normally come to find me unless it is urgent" he asked, brushing off the dust that had gathered on his clothes from the filthy inn.

"You are wanted at the hall. Several of you have been called to a meeting: Loran, you, Ezlan, Nemia... oh, and the elf" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Sera? The short one with the weird crossbow?"

"No, Erevan"

He sighed. "And when am I needed, can it wait till morning?" Eomed asked hopefully. Ideally he wanted to let the alcohol leave his system, or at the very least his breath before any sort of official meeting. 

"I'm afraid not. I was told to find you and take you to the hall myself. They almost seemed to expect you'd be drinking and wanted to make sure someone made sure you made it there without falling into a ditch" he said with a slight smirk.

Eomer extended his arm in a very exaggerated fashion, dagger catching the light and glistening as he raised his cloak. "Lead on then".