Serkan used a rag he had found in the washroom to wick away the last of the moisture that had previously soaked his armor, gently rubbing his thumb over the smooth, gray-stained leather of his gauntlet, remembering the day he'd received the armor, the day he joined the old mercenary guild. While he distracted himself from thoughts of what once was, he fit the gauntlet over his hand, slowly placing his armor back on piece by piece, though he simply put his helmet into his bag, preferring not to wear it indoors. Serkan clipped his sword on his hip, checking to make sure the lock which kept the sword snug in the sheath was working with a gentle tug. The sword was perhaps too precious a keepsake to just leave in his room, especially considering the scuffle which had happened not a minute after he'd arrived at the inn anyway. He exited his room and locked the door to his room just behind himself, slipping the key into his collar between his armor and padding.

That was when Serkan was greeted by the sight of another patron of the inn disappearing into his own room, presumably to retire for the night. He didn't get a look at his face, but the gleam of something reflecting off an object on his back drew his eye: a red gemstone mounted upon the handle of a weapon of some kind, though he only had a passing glance and could not see what exactly. Serkan smiled and started towards the stairs to head below; the sight of a man carrying a weapon meant one thing, the rumors he had heard were true. People of his particular skillset, adventurers, warriors, fighters, mercenaries, all strong men and women of the sort were gathering. Being so close to the keep could only mean one thing, people like him were looking to find what lied within.

Serkan sidled up to the bar, stepping over the remnant debris from the earlier barfight, and took a seat on one of the stools, resting his left hand loosely atop the flat hilt of his sword. Anyone nearby who was sensitive to magic might have felt something the moment Serkan's gloved hand touched the pommel of his blade, it was but a tiny spark, imperceptible to the eyes of common folk, a magical blade reacting to the touch of its master. Serkan closed his eyes and listened to the crowd for a while, his half-elven ears twitching as he tried to listen through the dull murmuring drone of an evening crowd's conversation. He opened his eyes upon hearing the sound of the bartender approaching.

"Ey, can I be gettin' ya anythin' m'good man?" asked the bartender, "We got braised pig, and some of the finest ale this side of-"

"I'll have the pork," Serkan interrupted, being curt as usual while he spoke, "And do you have coffee?"

The bartender seemed to have been taken by surprise by the request, "Aye, we do, I take it you want a cup?"

"Yes," Serkan answered, pulling out enough coin to pay, "And also, I want to buy a tin of some coffee grounds."

The bartender smiled and scooped the money from the counter, the metal rasping against the wood as it was slid over to the edge. When he left, Serkan again searched the crowd, looking for anyone who might look to be heading to the keep soon. His eyes then crossed over another figure with pointed ears sitting not terribly far away. He turned his head away for a moment, but his eyes discretely shifted to look at the woman again. He wondered if she was a full elf, or a half-blood not unlike himself, but that was not what had gotten his attention. No, his ears had practically tingled at the mere utterance of the word 'Keep' by the man she was having a conversation with.

Serkan looked forwards again, but continued to listen and eavesdrop. His meal soon arrived, a dented, scratched tin filled with the grounds of coffee beans, a serving of crisp-skinned pork on a scratched-up metal plate, along with a misshapen, ceramic mug filled with an aromatic, black liquid. The scent brought a smile to Serkan's face, he slipped one hand into the lopsided loop of the mug's handle, gripping the other side of the mug with his opposite hand. He could feel the warmth even though the leather covering his fingers, and brought the mug closer to himself, letting the wispy steam float under his nostrils as he inhaled the bitter scent. He had become so absorbed into his cup that he'd nearly forgotten to keep listening to the conversation going on just behind him.