[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
[hr]
"More wine, m'lord?"

Renault Beaumont lifted his head slowly. It was uncertain as to whether the man had been asleep, lost in deep thought, or perhaps even prayer. Sniffling once and clearing his throat, Renault turned his gaze towards the source of the voice: a pretty young thing, mousy-haired and work-worn, wearing a laced bodice clearly meant to arouse attention. He'd been a patron of the Foamy Crown long enough to recognize her face, and she, his. But names in an environment like this could be a gratuitous affair - he knew his purpose and she knew hers, that was what mattered.

Mustering a tight-lipped smile beneath the cover of his beard, Renault nodded with a hoarse "Thank you", gently pushing his tankard toward the edge of the table. Stooping over to pour from a bronze-cast pitcher, the maid filled his vessel near to the brim before moving on to attend to the other patrons. Though not a large establishment by any means, the Foamy Crown employed a small handful of wenches to run the dining area and clean the bedrooms. Work could be hard to come by or even dangerous in the Commons District, especially for a young woman. Tavern work was stable, relatively safe, and allowed one to retain at least some dignity. There were a few incidents here-and-there within the city, of course, mostly left to the guards to handle. But Barric ran a tight ship, ensuring no harm came to his workers or customers.

Indeed, Renault felt he owed the Dwarf a substantial debt. Coarse and stubborn as he was, Barric had shown him kindness and a certain pity: granting him food and a place to stay in exchange for chopping firewood and doing minor repairs as needed. As long as Renault earned his keep, Barric considered that payment enough for a bed and a bowl of stew.

Oh, but there [i]was[/i] jeering from the Dwarf at first, who was thoroughly amused at the "high and mighty" Paladin who wouldn't be caught dead in a tavern now spending his days living in one. Worse still were the guffaws and insults Renault endured when he struggled to fix a stool leg or replace a door hinge. He could cite back Faerûn's history several decades from memory and swing a sword with the best of them when he was a younger man. But a life of nobility and knighthood made one ill-suited for everyday tasks. Renault knew labor, certainly: his earliest years were spent under authoritarian taskmasters and overbearing knights. But now, though a man grown, he felt like a fresh-faced [i]squire[/i] once again. 

The sound of the front opening dragged Renault out of his own head like the ringing from the cloister bell tower. Stepping past the threshold was a slender-faced man with snow-white hair, shorter than he was and bearing all the swaggering confidence of an aspiring pirate-lord. Keeping eyes centered on the newcomer, Renault drew the freshly-filled tankard to his lips and drank considerably, his face twisting into a grimace as the wine's sour edge hit his tongue. If he were tired before, he was certainly awake now. 

The newcomer began to speak, loudly enough to be heard by anyone even halfway listening. Disappearances...Renault had heard a word or two about missing people from hushed conversations and gossipers, but nothing too substantial, at least past what he was willing to investigate. He quirked a brow at the newcomer's jape but otherwise paid little attention. But in that moment, the crest worn around his neck seemed to grow heavier, with Renault becoming more conscious of its weight. He bit his lip, trying to ignore it, but couldn't shake it from his mind. Was this guilt? A call to action? No, those days were long past, and Renault felt guilt enough.

The front door opened a second time, and Renault felt a small chuckle building at the back of his throat at the surge of unexpected business. Oh and this [i]was[/i] unexpected: a towering woman, toned and well-built with a bluish-gray pallor. Renault had heard tales of the roaming Goliath tribes outside the cities, but he'd never laid eyes on one before. To say the tales did them justice would be something of an understatement. This one was shorter than he figured Goliaths would be, though that was certainly nothing against her stature, which dwarfed him by nearly a foot. 

As the woman sat and began removing her armor, Renault averted his eyes for courtesy's sake, bringing a callused hand to his chest where the amulet pressed against his skin. He felt it, that queer feeling in his stomach: this night, above all others, had the makings of something new, something distinctly eventful.