[IC] Taureesia - Lands of Legend

[FireFlower]

“Adventurers wanted! The Crown in need of heroes! Calling all brave souls to the City of Light! Big rewards!” The words were repeated countless times by town criers from all across the human nations. Outside of every tavern, court or arena they stood, bringing the news of an extraordinary summoning of brave souls to the capital of Liaryn and the human nations. Upon further questioning, one would find him or herself directed to a hastily built recruitment office near the town hall.

In one such recruitment office sat Brandal, scratching the bald spot at the top of his head. “Another child sent to the king… What in the name of Mori’s Madness does he need all these people for?” The ageing man let out a sigh and picked up his pipe, letting out a few puffs of smoke before the door opened again, a pair of young men entering. “Kyank save their souls,” he muttered, looking up at the men with a practiced smile. “So you’re looking to serve king and country?”

---

A few doors down from the recruitment office lay a small tavern. A hearth crackled delightfully in the corner, men laughed and talked over mugs of ale, and a young barmaid weaved around the men, replacing empty mugs and adding her commentary to their conversations. At the bar stood a large man, a grin plastered on his face as he handed out stronger drink to a few regulars. The moustache on his lip leapt in time with his roaring laughter, adding a humorous aura to the barkeep. From time to time he would glance at the door, as if expecting someone. On a post next to the bar hung a poster, repeating the words of the town criers.

“Never liked that they required me to have that in here,” he grumbled, pointing a dirty rag at the poster. “Too many fools think fighting is a valiant cause.” Around him the men nodded in agreement, raising their mugs to him. “Ah, cheers for being old, fat and working!” The tavern echoed with the sound of clattering mugs and the laughter of men.

[MissAddler]

By the time Della reached the latest town in her long string of wanderings, it was nearing night-fall. She was exhausted and her feet felt as though they had been bewitched to feel like lead. Hoping for a quiet stay in a tavern room before leaving in the morning for another day of trekking - her usual routine - she pushed the loose strands of her red hair back under her hood, to make sure she looked entirely non-descript before setting off down the lane leading into the town.

Shouts echoed in the distance and a spike of alarm shot through her. Had she stumbled across a dispute or some town revolt? Startled, she slowed her pace. The streets seemed a little busier than usual but the atmosphere didn't feel hostile. More...in anticipation of something. Excitement.
Now she was closer, she could make out words within the shouting. Adventurers wanted! The Crown in need of heroes! Calling all brave souls to the City of Light! Big rewards! She frowned, before shaking her head. It was probably a ruse - a few thieves attempting to recruit a few hapless souls to do their dirty work. Nothing she would want to get mixed up in. She caught sight of a tavern, set back away from the crowds with a open door, beckoning to the weary with the promise of a hearty drink and a rest. Beckoning to her.

She weaved her way over to it, ignoring the crowds and keeping her gaze fixed firmly down. First rule of not being noticed; don't ever make eye contact with anyone. She reached the tavern - not one of the worst places she'd seen in her time - and scurried inside. It was pleasant enough, with a cosy open fire adding a certain warmth to the room, irresistible to travellers in her position. Sighing, she took a seat at the shadowed end of the bar and waited for the barman, who was currently caught up in an animated conversation.

Her eyes roamed around the room and found themselves reading a small poster with the official Liaryn seal adorning it, stuck up crookedly by the bar. Her eyes widened as they flew through each word. So it wasn't just a ruse. Maybe this was just what she needed; a free ticket into the central city! A ticket to the finest magic-wielders in all of Liaryn (for, surely, that was where they must be). A ticket to what she'd been searching for, all this time...

[Insatiable]

An unusual thought had recently came up to Lysander just before his arrival to the nearest town. What if I buy myself a pet? a bird perhaps? It would be so delightful to have one. Except he haven't realized himself that he was running short on money. He wearily knew that a having a pet would give him a bit of accompaniment but due to his current financial state, having one was just a mere ambition which seems quite impossible to attain. He also needed money not only for the reason to buy a bird but also to buy the necessities he needed to stay healthy and alive which mainly is, food. Prior to his arrival at the local town, he had no idea of what to do just to gain money. He absolutely didn't plan on stealing nor killing anyone though he knew himself that he is actually potent enough to get what he needed. But those intentions wore off soon as he arrived to town where a lot of opportunities flashed his mind before he could even set foot at it's premises.

Night soon fell as the sky was blanketed by a fiery orange color with a few tints of red. The sunset looked beautiful but it wasn't something Lysander could wholeheartedly admire. A handful of townsfolk swarmed the town, with a few local guards standing still at few locations to make sure the place is free from thieves or any trouble-making imbeciles. Market vendors were stationed mundanely to their stalls and sell whatever there is in their profit which were mainly fruits, vegetables, fish and meat. Lysander would happily buy some if he weren't short financially, he would've enjoyed staying in the town for a week but he seemingly thought that it was something he shouldn't do when there were still lessons to be learned and knowledge to be sought. He took a few more strolls before arriving at a place where drunkards rally with their mugs of ale and were loud enough to be heard by the entire town.

"Adventurers wanted! The Crown in need of heroes! Calling all brave souls to the City of Light! Big rewards!" Lysander snorted in disapproval as he traversed to corners where more townsfolk roamed, one was seemingly yelling something out as if it was very important for every person to notice. Participating to something absurd as he would describe it, was rather a time-waster and probably won't cover up his financial needs. He felt desperate at some point but being involved into something he never wished to was just not necessary. Lysander needed somewhere to stay. All of his strolling made his body dull and himself exhausted in general. There was, however, a tavern which caught his sight. Not only was it caught in sight but it was also audibly heard from the loud noises that pummeled Lysander's ears. It was the nearest place to stay, Lysander didn't want to stroll any further as he knew how weary his body grew. He just wasn't built for long walks and he was as hungry as he remembered before actually setting foot into town.

Lysander pulled the hood of his cloak before opening the door of the tavern. It was as usual as one would describe the place, with a decent number of men chortling from their ludicrous foolishness as they raised their mugs and drown themselves in the wastelands of liquor. Lysander moved swiftly to elude attention. However, he was an obvious sight to be eyed upon due to his eccentric appearance of having thick black cloak and a hood that overly conceals his appearance thus, giving him an unlikely wizardly aura. But none of those actually mattered to the people around him when a mug of ale and entertaining barmaids are most likely to be sought out.

The sorcerer continued to roam around, looking for the barkeep to rent a room at a price he can afford. But as he did what he intended to do, there was something which caught Lysander's attention. A small ruckus was caused at a small corner around the tavern. Few people were pushing each other just to lay their eyes on something which was hanging there for a while. Lysander turned towards it, taking a glimpse with no actual bewilderment. He didn't want himself involved in the unlikely fray so he have to wait until there is enough room to check it out.

[Deathmaker]

"For the last time... I'm not going down below thirty silver pieces. This is a quality blade forged mainly for combat; you won't find anything of this quality that easily." Nalesh sighed in stress as a young man haggled inside a small shack which was Nalesh's armory. "Look. If you can't pay up, get out." Nalesh coldly stated, the hint of irritation evident on her face.

"Oh really? Well, how about we take this to a room, and we'll see who'll be begging me to stay?" the guy edged closer to Nalesh's face as the smith smiled.

"Take THIS down your throat!" Nalesh roared as her leg collided with the man's face, sending the guy flying outside of her shack. Nalesh strode outside of her armory, eyeing the delirious fool on the floor. "And besides, my name is Noadich, you idiot. I'm a guy. Perverted delinquent." Nalesh gritted under her breath as she walked back into her shop, sighing in despair.

"There goes another customer..." Nalesh groaned, running her fingers through her short golden hair. "My rent is not gonna go away... I'm losing business here." she banged her fist on the counter.

Nalesh exhaled as she looked outside her armory. This place was not meant for war. Obviously, none would really be interested in buying weapons or even armor; she could have made out more with a grain or barley business. The exhausted girl pulled out the drawer containing her income; which didn't include much. Without noticing, tears had already fallen from her face. For so long has she covered her identity in fear of those men who had tried to end her. Nalesh rested her head on the counter as she began to doze off; forging weapons and armors had been very exhausting on her. Her mind wandered to how she could pay her rent as she heard some shouts outside.

“Adventurers wanted! The Crown in need of heroes! Calling all brave souls to the City of Light! Big rewards!”

Nalesh jolted up as she heard big rewards.

"The capital is calling for more warriors from the outskirts? Hah! Do they not have their own? Those cowards..." Nalesh growled, boring a huge grudge against the capital; the place where the main artificer houses reside. "However, this might be interesting."

[FireFlower]

The barmaid, avoiding grabbing hands and wild swings of arms and mugs, weaved her way through the men and reached the shadowy corner where Della sat. "Welcome to the Rusty Mug, anything I can get you?" she said with a kind smile. "I see you noticed that ugly piece of paper?" she nodded towards the government notice on the post, "The city guard required us to put it up. Stupid thing, keeps drawing the young to die in the army. But who am I to complain? Always did fancy a man in uniform!" The young woman grinned and leaned against a chair, waiting for an answer.

---

"Looking at that poster, they are," an older man next to Lysander exclaimed. "Promising big rewards and glory. The foolish minds of young folk. Always thinking the government want the best for them. Hah! After the attacks on Thar, safety isn't that certain any more. Who knows what they're up to!" The remainder of the man's words were drowned in ale.

---

Nalesh's view was blocked by a large figure, flanked by two others, armour shining in the sun. The person at the centre wore the colours of a noble. "So this stinking place is the excuse for an armoury in a small town. I need this sharpened," without as much as looking at her, he placed an overly ornamented sheath on the counter, along with a small bag of gold coins. "For your own sake, I pray you do not fail me." The men turned and left the armoury.

From her knowledge of weaponry, she would easily realise that the sheath alone was worth more than what she had earned in her entire lifetime, and the sword, seemingly crafted by master artificers, surpassed even that.

[Deathmaker]

Nalesh eyed closely the trio who entered the dilapidated excuse of an armory. True enough, the wood was rotting, and the ceiling beams were creaky. The only thing signifying this shop as an armory was the sight of neatly arranged armors and blades on both sides of the shop. If it weren't for those equipment, this shop might have been worth more as a whorehouse.

The artificer gritted her teeth as the man called her shop as a 'stinking place'. Well, yes, it was a rotten shack, but he had no right to call it that way. Just the mere thought that what the man had said was true was enough to keep Nalesh's mouth shut.

The man told her to sharpen a blade, and with that, the man dropped a sword... wait, no. A sword wouldn't cut it, it was more than that. It was a weapon unlike anything Nalesh has seen in her entire artificer life. Just the sheath alone was sturdier than a longsword, and the blade's edge and handle was exquisite, exotic, and intricate. The man simply left this work of legends, a bag of gold, and then left immediately.

Nalesh stood up as she unsheathed the blade again, taking in its mythical design. Nalesh looked at the men, but they already had disappeared.

"Such a work of art... I've never seen anything like this... a caliber higher than Noadich's blade." Nalesh remarked in awe. The artificer shook her head and coughed. "I'll pour my work into this." Nalesh decided as she went into the back of her shop; a room covered by a single black curtain just behind the counter.

There was a full set of smithing supplies. Nalesh carefully laid unsheathed the blade; leaving the sheath on a sturdy metallic table for later shining. Nalesh examined the blade; noting some rust and some blood marks; as well as some chipped edges. However, to most, the blade was in perfect shape.

"That man must have been quite a warrior to get a blade of this caliber chipped. How many years has he been recklessly killing people?" Nalesh thought to herself as she set the sword on a shiny sharpening wheel. She carefully sharpened the blade, removing rust and blood marks in the process. Using her artificer magic, she mended the chipped sides as the blade looked perfect in a matter of hours. Nalesh set the sword on another table as she got a clear liquid from a cabinet. She dabbed this liquid on the blade, making it shine all the more.

Nalesh set the blade down on a pedestal as she went to the sheath. She dusted and cleaned the interior and exterior of the item as she got more blood marks off of it. Again, she dabbed the liquid as the sheath shone with its ornaments. Nalesh got the blade and held it in the air; a strange desire was coming over her... she wanted to break the blade apart and study its materials... but no, she was only assigned to sharpen it... nothing more, nothing less.

"If only this blade was mine... Maybe by some strange luck that guy forgets his blade... or better, he dies off somewhere. Nah." Nalesh smiled at the blade as she slid it back in the sheath and displayed it on the counter. She placed a sign near the blade that read: "You want your weapon to be as glorious as this? Simply talk to the owner for information."

Nalesh sat back as she got the small bag of gold coins and examined its contents; playing with a coin in her soft fingers.

[Gravislayer]

"Adventurers wanted! The Crown in need of heroes! Calling all brave souls to the City of Light! Big rewards!” Those words were read loudly and echoed faintly through a silent pine wood.
A sudden ray of sun light was shining the scenary where those words came from and also were a sign for a soon coming night as the ray were carrying an orange golden shine with them.
The ray enlightened a clearing in the woods and painted the normal dark green ground in a fire like red, here and there black poodles absorbed nearly every ray. Thoose poodles had their origins from dead humans, atleast 5 laying all over the clearing, some their weapons still unsheated.
On one of the bodies sat a short figure, resting his right arm on a short axe sticking in the dead human's back and a leather coat hanged over the shaft of the axe.
The short figure held a poster in his left, it just fumbled it put of the dead's pocket below him and now folded it and put it into his own.
" Oi I bet ya wanted t'head there" said the figure, it's deep and grumpy voice muffeld from a golden beard and a thick cigar in his mouth.
"Phhh'akkk yhh'ou, dwwwam dwarphhh" Thia time the voice came from another figure, this one was tied to a tree close to the short figure and it's corpse seat.
" So thee big dick is awake?" The dwarf stood up, the rays reflecting from a golden breast plate the small figure would wear. Slowly it walked to the tied up figure which was coverd in it's own blood.
"Ya thought ya sniffed some sweet pussy aight? So ya gathered ya shrimpy balls and went for it" The dwarf reached the tied human and bashed his right hand into his ribs, a loud 'Crack' was prove enough of atleast one broken rib and if one would consider the trunk like, hair covered arms of the dwarf it was no wonder.
"Aye but shit happens, T'his was no pussy mate, this was a cock killing maniac and without balls, a cock is nothing" The dwarf grinned and with a gesture he showed the tied up man all his dead mans. "So never underrestimate a dwarf" And before the man could raise for an answer the dwarf hit him again and again and again, the bizeps thickly swollen so that each impact would end in a most powerfull hit.
After houres and after the sun had set for quiet a time, the dwarf put on his cloack again, he savaged the remaining coins of the corpses and continued his way to the city of light, if there would be more idiots like those ones he had good cards in making some quick money, such an opportunity would be rare, he hoped for glam farming knights and nobles searching for adventures, those would be easy and if not, there are enough nameless nobodies no one would miss.

This was 3 days ago and now the dwarf was sorouned by humans and weird fragile buildings. It was loud, it smelled and too many people gave him a strange look. City of light....as if!!! City of smell, city of crap, city of smooth-skins, city of soon-to-be-dead....that how this place should be called. The dwarf spat out, trying to get rid of the bad taste this city gave him.
With big steps he made his way through the city, his nose leading his way and so getting him to the market district. What he smelled here faintly reminded him of home, goods of everywhere,mostly low Quality, were offered and praised. It was then that the dwarf found himself in a forgery, the home of a smith.

As the dwarf's eyes accustomed to the light inside the forgery, he saw a young female looking human being the smith...
"Oi ya only slacking off? Ya have a customer here" He proclaimed loudly, his eyes not being fixed on her but on the expensive weapon on the desk, it needed to be sharpened a tad better, meaning that this was hood for "human standards" but the rest was of suprisingly good quality.
" I need some sharpening, 10 short crossbow bolts with cut feathers and t'is to sell?" he pounds on the luxuary sword on the counter.
"Money does not matter" he said and placed a more than big pouch of coins on the counter.
"Would be for ya own sake" he hinted, probably meaning the somewhat run down etablisment of the forgery.

[Deathmaker]

Nalesh stood in surprise as the dwarf caught her attention. The dwarf gave her shop a disgusted look; what a surprise. The smith approached the counter as the dwarf began to call her as someone who was slacking off. Nalesh clenched her right fist under the counter as she exhaled; remember this was a dwarf.. They tend to have salty manners.

"Ah, good day, Mr. Dwarf. I hope the townspeople didn't give you too much of a hard time. The townsfolk tend to be quite peculiar with non-humans." Nalesh smiled softly as she eyed the dwarf. "However, for someone of your stature, why stay in this dilapidated town? The smiths yonder in the capital can offer much to someone like you." the smith chuckled as she turned her gaze to the luxury sword that she had displayed.

"This?" Nalesh clarified. In her mind, she wanted to sell that so badly... She could move to the capital city and make a business there with the coins that the dwarf was offering her. She could just hide from that customer for a while and.... It was sorely tempting... really tempting. Nalesh knocked her head with her fist as she sighed. "Nah. 'tis be a possession of an earlier customer." Nalesh smiled as she turned her gaze back to the dwarf. "Aye. If I took your money, I would become richer than this. However, I'll lose my dignity if I betray that fine man, no matter how much of an asshole he was."

The smith ran her hand through her short hair as she examined the bolts that the dwarf had given to be sharpened.

"Dwarves are known to be the master artificers. With unmatched skill when it comes to forging and crafting equipment." Nalesh remarked, noting the high-quality bolts. "Makes me quite honored really. However, the quality of service I would be offering would be up to 'human' standards. But then again, there's not much of a choice now, is there? This is the only shop in this town, and the better ones are in the capital city."

Nalesh chuckled as she shook her head.

"Anyway, it'll be one silver coin for every two bolts. The total will be 5 silver coins." Nalesh smiled as she took the bolts and set them down in the back room, after that, she came back to the dwarf.

"Feel free to pick up your bolts when I'm done with them. In the mean time, you can stroll around this rotten town, or you can stay here and have a look at whatever I've been trying to sell off for the past years." Nalesh mumbled. "You can pay me as well after you get your bolts back."

[Insatiable]

"Looking at that poster, they are," Blurted a man which has an obvious stench of ale. Lysander didn't took his eyes away from the corner and remained gazing at it, this time driving him curios as more and more people from the tavern left their seats and began crowding in. What could have caught everyone's attention to such piece of paper? Was it a matter of grave importance that even their most precious remedies of drinking were left behind? Either way, Lysander couldn't help but to take a peek of whatever the piece of paper contained but still, he has to take a long wait before everyone else could go back to their tables. ""Promising big rewards and glory. The foolish minds of young folk. Always thinking the government want the best for them....." Lysander made the drunkard continue until such point where he couldn't listen anymore. He was certain that looking for the barkeep was his primary concern but his sights told him the person was nowhere to be found no matter how much he turned his eyes from corner to corner. If the barkeep was present, it would become something different and much more difficult to handle where Lysander would most likely search him in the midst of brawling drunkards.

"Hah! After the attacks on Thar, safety isn't that certain any more. Who knows what they're up to!" Lysander halted, then jerked his head to shook off whatever went in his mind. The man had too much and haven't kept himself up to his unvarying state until he was driven down by his drink and was utterly intoxicated. "Attacks on Thar...." Lysander muttered in silence. He wasn't sure quite about himself, thoughts went on and smeared throughout his mind. It was soon brought to the point where he realized the recent cries of a local townsfolk about some absurd quest and what the drunk man just stated was actually chained to the piece of paper everyone was antsy to take a peek. It could actually solve his financial deficiencies and also acquire more knowledge about magic which he continued to seek up until now. Lysander took the grim reminder of the man as nothing but frail discouragements.

The people in the tavern continued their merry stay until at such point it's halo began to shrink in breakable mists of intoxicated exhaustion. More and more gave in and couldn't insist on having another sip of liquor but still, there are some who still felt like beasts and took more than what they had on their previous rounds.

A beautiful tavern wench was sailing gracefully through the halls. She had passed where Lysander stood as she was brought to a halt when the sorcerer grabbed a hold of her shoulder. The wench looked a bit startled but entertained the man in the best way she had devoted herself to. Lysander cleared his throat as his eyes were set on the woman. "Where Is the barkeeper?," he paused to turn his eyes away from the wench and once again roamed his sights to entire place. "I need a place to stay for the night. Is there a room I can afford?" Lysander's voice sounded as if he was some murderer inviting another victim in his blood fest. The wench felt nervous to give an answer but seemed to tether herself from all of it. "He isn't here.....I'm afraid. I could....uh .....get him for you...If you'd like but he's on the mayor's office right now.....uh....taking care of something important to his .....current business. His son temporarily runs the place. I can certainly get him for you" She ended up with a bit of confidence. Lysander watched and waited as the young wench vanished from his sight.

[MissAddler]

Della was a more than a little alarmed at the forthcoming barmaid's friendly manner. She felt herself automatically hunch smaller on the bar stool as the barmaid nattered on about the official looking poster and, of course, men. The tavern seemed to have got slightly busier since she had entered and she was starting to feel a little uncomfortable in the midst of so many people; she normally liked to avoid crowds but she knew of no other tavern in this town. She muttered an order of a cheap mug of ale - painfully aware of how little money she had in the depths of her cloak pockets - and wondered how she was going to pay for a room.

And all the money she could have....

"Wait, miss!" she said, stopping the barmaid in her tracks, who was already flouncing off to fulfil Della's order. She looked up at the woman for the first time, cringing as a few strands of her hair slipped free from underneath her hood. She pushed them back, a little frustrated. She really needed to cut her hair or at least do something with it.

"The army thing, that poster - how long does it run for? How much do they pay you? Do they train you at Liaryn's main city, where the royals are?" And, of course, more importantly "The powerful magic wielders?"

She glanced back at the thing that seemed to illicit so much annoyance from the staff and locals - a mere piece of paper, virtually unreadable in this light. Not that she was very good at reading, anyway. A tingle of anticipation rustled down her spine. Was it really a fool's quest? Did she dare?

"Oh, and do they accept women?"

She was fairly sure she already knew the answer but it couldn't hurt to ask.

[FireFlower]

Not a minute after the young woman had left through the door, she came back in, talking to a man almost identical to the one standing at the bar, though some years older. "That one?" The man said in a booming voice, gesturing to Lysander. The woman nodded and hurried off to service the other customers. Greeting a few of the regulars, the owner of the bar finally made it to Lysander. "So, I hear you're looking for a room? We got three available." He stepped back and took a closer look at Lysander. "Depends what kind of coin you're willing to lay down."

---

"Oh that thing?" the barmaid glanced at the piece of paper. "Dunno, probably runs for as long as there's men willing to die in the service. I don't know too much about it, but if you're really curious they've got this recruitment office near the town hall?" She laughed at the final question, "I think they'd accept anyone, even children. The Crown doesn't care who dies in its service. I would advice against it though, it's just another way to get killed." With that, she was gone, returning only to place a small mug of watered down ale in front of Della.

[zaga2575]

After walking through the square in search of answers, Altin overheard the crier shouting about gathering heroes. He thought it was just the type of thing to lure a paladin out. Altin's lips curled into a smirk at the irony. I am hunting a paladin to deliver him justice. He laughed aloud at the thought and quickly stopped. Best to keep my composure he thought.
Instead of going up to a recruiter and asking about it, Altin thought it best to go to the tavern and inquire around. Upon walking in, he looked around to survey the place and saw a few adventurers, and the barkeep throwing some kind of rant about an ugly piece of paper? He also spied the barmaid and decided it would be best to approach her in regards to this banner. "Excuse me, fair lady. But might I inquire about all this commotion and that piece of paper? What is all this in regards to?" He also asked if she knew a paladin matching the description of Monterro's slayer and the dwarf.

[Esailia]

Esailia adjusted the bow in its harness on her back. Humans. Always so...bustling. It reminded her of an anthill, and her next thought was what might happen if a properly sized ant eater were to walk up to the town and start doing what they do for a living. It brought a smile to her lips. She always had these strange thoughts, always imagining the fantastic and unreal. Kept her mind sharp, and it's also why she was in town. The elf had met a passing trader, and heard of this poster. "Adventurers wanted. Bah. They want cannon fodder." She mumbled to herself, as she usually did.

But she had come to this town anyway, seeking to gain some human currency. After she had pretty much self banished herself from her people, she's been needing things others can make and she could not gain from the forest or her own hand. Arrowheads, whetstones, clothing. Sometimes even food. She had used up what human currency she had collected over the years on a single week after leaving her village.

She headed to the Rusty Mug, of which the trader spoke of, and slipped inside, her hood concealing her race. She could not, however, hide her gender, as much as she wished to. The cloaked elf whispered through the tavern, taking an empty table near the corner of the room, and settled in to wait...

[MissAddler]

Della took a couple of sips from her mug of ale - the diluted taste wasn't at all uncommon and something Della had grown accustomed to. She sat pondering for a few minutes, her mind absorbed by the idea of actually doing something other than travelling. She noticed a few others enter the tavern out the corner of her eye and regarded the scene thoughtfully. She had claimed a nice corner, which meant everyone else was in her line of sight and she could watch - people watching was something of a hobby of Della's. She felt a stab of pity for the barmaid, who was being called left, right and centre as new customers filed in.

Her gaze stubbornly returned back to the poster. Yes. She would sign up. She would do something brave for once in her short, lonely life. She took another determined gulp of her ale, as if she was sealing the deal with herself. But not tonight. Tomorrow. Maybe.

She threw another few coins out in front of her in signal to any bar staff passing to top up her drink. She couldn't afford a room and would probably end up sleeping on the streets tonight, so she might as well spend the little money she did have on aiding that uninviting sleep. She didn't typically allow herself to get drunk; it was a reckless thing to do. But so was joining Liaryn's army. And so was accidentally killing her grandmother.

The latter argument was hard to disagree with.

She barely tasted the second mug of ale and her thoughts became a little hazy at the edges and hard to distinguish after her third. Normally so cautious and desperate not to be noticed, she didn't care as she felt her hood slip down, revealing her vibrant red hair. She sang along with the other drunkards - not caring that her voice resembled that of a tortured cat - her purpose in this small town long forgotten.

It didn't take a lot of ale nor time to make Della forget.

[Dazed]

Zethran was sitting in the Rusty Mug, watching as all went about busily. He was positioned in the opposite corner of the tavern then Della. As always Zethran was using an illusion to alter his appearance. Feeling his ordinary appearance to be bland or possibly even dangerous. This was because Zethran found it less troublesome wandering around as a nobody or senseless adventurer then as a wizard. With utter focus he watched his surroundings.

The only time someone got decent view of his face due to his hood, was when the ember of his pipe glowed as he pulled long drags from his pipe. Each exhale he sluggishly performed a series of smoke-rings that flew into one another. Despite the look of young age, this individual seemed hardened by battle. Not looking the type to be subtle or easily pushed over. The odd thing was even though he seemed to fit the part perfectly. The man gave no excitement or care towards the town criers proclaiming riches for wanted adventurers. The man merely minding his own business as he occasionally sipped from his beverage and indulged in his smoke.