[b][center][h3][color=orange] Lein [/color][/h3][/center][/b]
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[b][color=orange]Location:[/color][/b] The Lonely Frame
[b][color=orange]Interactions:[/color][/b] Sergio [@VahkiDane]
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"Woah, 'Estouls'? Where'd you pull that one from? Sounds flattering, but we're friends enough! Just 'Lein' will do."[/color]

He'd been pretty shut about his past involvements with the Estouls. Far as anyone's guess, "Lein" was just a lost Hundi who walked up to the castle one day, shot up the shooting range and demanded to be let in. Hmm. Perhaps it was the archivist. Either way, this particular knight was two steps within Lein's margins. [i]Grumpy kid needs a bit of place.[/i]

Practically arresting Sergio and pulling him out of the courtyard, Lein pulled another couple of coins seemingly out of nowhere and flipped it around in front of the knight. [color=orange]"In fact why not celebrate our newfound friendship? I've got just the place."[/color]

In yet another whirlwind of diversions and impossibly narrow walkways, Lein (and supposedly Sergio, though he never bothered to check) squeezed himself back to the main roads of the city. Before them lay a squat building with an unassuming building, its purpose betrayed by the din of its occupants. The day had not yet fully melted into the horizon, vestiges of orange and blue clinging onto each other against the clouds, but still the smell of alcohol and sounds of merriment leaked in bolts and waves into the road outside. Lein's tail wagged at the noise, a dog soaking in the sound of familiarity. Not quite home, but something to the shape of it. The Lonely Frame.

'The Lonely Frame' was hardly the first name the establishment had assumed. The sign that hosted the first name [i]'The Castle Yard'[/i], was broken off by a knight who lost control of his horse. The next sign that humored the occasion, [i]'The Cracked Hoof'[/i], was subsequently burnt to crisp in a drunk darts contest. The third, [i]"Grill and Sons"[/i], was tucked silently in a conspicuous corner in Lein's bunk. Thus with a huff the greying frame of the bartender decreed that the sign would no longer be replaced and the incorrigible bunch better find their own damned way to the tavern. Thus the empty iron girders that used to hold the signs was bestowed a name of it's own - [i]'The Lonely Frame'[/i].

Sitting squarely next to the main road and leaning over the cobblestone that lead toward the western gate, The Lonely Frame attracted a swill of both the rambunctious workers looking to be knocked off their knees and knights looking for a warm drink before heading back into the castle. Off to the flank was a large countertop made from stacked barrels that overlooked a sea of creaky stools and tables, though the scrapes upon the permanently stained wooden floors of the tavern suggested the layout had been arranged and rearranged countless times for all manners of entertainment and merry brawls. With the walls lavishly furbished with trophies of battle and generously lit with a fireplace and several lanterns hanging from the rafters, the tavern was welcome to host its patrons well into the night. 

Tonight, without fail, there were contests of harrumphs and boastful claims about the depth of their alcohol tolerance, pink-faced soldiers crowding over the tables and throwing tankards of beer to each other. The bushy-eyed bartender hardly reacted to the Hundi and his charge stepping in, busily ushering through overflowing cups and platters of grilled meat. A sign (a blackboard hammered somewhat shakily into a column) gleefully informed the bar patrons that of the last 43 days, none had managed to down the entirety of the 'Giant's Boot'.

[color=orange]"Eh, you can probably take that right?"[/color] Lein thumped Sergio's stomach, pointing to the blackboard.