Summer was well on its way in this part of the world, and spring was beginning to gracefully step aside. Rohaan couldn't wait. He spent the majority of his life outside and he was never born to live too far north, for it was much too cold for his tastes. He could wether cold on the road better than most, but he'd just...rather not. Spring was nice, but it brought a lot of rain and no traveler wanted to spend a night outdoors in the rain. So he welcomed the slow arrival of summer with wide open arms. The night was pleasant and already there were crickets beginning to sing their high songs and fireflies were lumbering around and setting the forest ablaze with their light. But Rohaan ached for a bed. A real, soft, actual bed. More than that though, he wanted a mug or two of good ale. Scratch that, even half decent would do.
Rohaan was a thief, and most things in life that he needed or wanted, he just took. That was how he survived as a kid, and the teachings of pirate captain Berlin only solidified and refined those behaviors. But there were some things that were hard to steal, some things that were better obtained the usual way, and ale was one of them.
Rohaan pulled out his map. It was an old, beat up thing made of waxed canvas, and squinted at it. According to the thin scrawls, there was a little roadside tavern not far away, and good sense be damned, he was going. He chose the form of an eagle and gained altitude, eventually spotting the wisp of smoke in the distance from its chimney. He flew most of the way, but somewhere just outside the town he landed in a secluded area and shifted back to his true form, then followed the road the rest of the way.
The man that entered The Thirsty Lute was an obvious traveler with a black cloak and hood, and practical, well-loved clothing that suggested he'd been around. It was hard to gauge where he might be from, as he wore no sigils, and he had no visible weapons that one might use to determine his origin. Wherever he was from, he'd clearly been on the road a long time and both his clothing and his physique showed it. And though his face was still shrouded by his deep hood, the man smiled at the barkeep. "Evenin'. Looking for a place to stay, but more importantly some food and drink." His tone was friendly, but there was something reserved about it, like he would not be the sort to say more than he meant to.
"Aye," the aging man behind the counter nodded. He saw all types in his tavern. And yet... "I got all that ifn y'got coin." The man was still studying him, trying to place the subtle itch in his mind. This man might be a little bit strange for these parts, but he couldn't figure out why he really felt it.
Rohaan's smile widened. "I do, mate. Do you frown at all your customers this way?"
The barkeep blinked suddenly and cleared his throat; he hadn't realized his brows had pinched together. "Er, no, sorry, I didn't mean to ah--"
Rohaan held up one hand and with the other, he produced a few coins. "Fetch me something to drink and a bit of whatever you've got in the pot and I'll be satisfied."
"Right, right." And the man scuttled away.
Rohaan took a seat in the corner, a lesser lit one. Still within earshot of the others in the room in case any good news came up, or someone felt like striking up a conversation. But dim lighting helped to keep the color of his eyes somewhat ambiguous. Cobalt blue with a black ring around the iris. Not a normal color for any normal human to have, but then again, he was not normal. Or human. Whenever people saw his eyes, things always went downhill. Merchants often turned him away. Women would shriek and herd their children away. Occasionally carpenters or big muscular smiths would come and threaten him with their big hammers if he didn't leave town, believing that because Rohaan was not obviously armed (he carried a concealed knife but nothing more) and because he was not some large, burly beast of a man, that they could beat him handily in a fight.
Oh, how foolish they were.
He didn't always[ want trouble, and when he did it usually wasn't with the common folk. So mostly he would leave people to their superstitions and go on his way, but that made for a lonely existence. Tonight he just wanted some grub, and if he was lucky, he'd hear someone start up a tune he knew and could join in on.
Rohaan was a thief, and most things in life that he needed or wanted, he just took. That was how he survived as a kid, and the teachings of pirate captain Berlin only solidified and refined those behaviors. But there were some things that were hard to steal, some things that were better obtained the usual way, and ale was one of them.
Rohaan pulled out his map. It was an old, beat up thing made of waxed canvas, and squinted at it. According to the thin scrawls, there was a little roadside tavern not far away, and good sense be damned, he was going. He chose the form of an eagle and gained altitude, eventually spotting the wisp of smoke in the distance from its chimney. He flew most of the way, but somewhere just outside the town he landed in a secluded area and shifted back to his true form, then followed the road the rest of the way.
The man that entered The Thirsty Lute was an obvious traveler with a black cloak and hood, and practical, well-loved clothing that suggested he'd been around. It was hard to gauge where he might be from, as he wore no sigils, and he had no visible weapons that one might use to determine his origin. Wherever he was from, he'd clearly been on the road a long time and both his clothing and his physique showed it. And though his face was still shrouded by his deep hood, the man smiled at the barkeep. "Evenin'. Looking for a place to stay, but more importantly some food and drink." His tone was friendly, but there was something reserved about it, like he would not be the sort to say more than he meant to.
"Aye," the aging man behind the counter nodded. He saw all types in his tavern. And yet... "I got all that ifn y'got coin." The man was still studying him, trying to place the subtle itch in his mind. This man might be a little bit strange for these parts, but he couldn't figure out why he really felt it.
Rohaan's smile widened. "I do, mate. Do you frown at all your customers this way?"
The barkeep blinked suddenly and cleared his throat; he hadn't realized his brows had pinched together. "Er, no, sorry, I didn't mean to ah--"
Rohaan held up one hand and with the other, he produced a few coins. "Fetch me something to drink and a bit of whatever you've got in the pot and I'll be satisfied."
"Right, right." And the man scuttled away.
Rohaan took a seat in the corner, a lesser lit one. Still within earshot of the others in the room in case any good news came up, or someone felt like striking up a conversation. But dim lighting helped to keep the color of his eyes somewhat ambiguous. Cobalt blue with a black ring around the iris. Not a normal color for any normal human to have, but then again, he was not normal. Or human. Whenever people saw his eyes, things always went downhill. Merchants often turned him away. Women would shriek and herd their children away. Occasionally carpenters or big muscular smiths would come and threaten him with their big hammers if he didn't leave town, believing that because Rohaan was not obviously armed (he carried a concealed knife but nothing more) and because he was not some large, burly beast of a man, that they could beat him handily in a fight.
Oh, how foolish they were.
He didn't always[ want trouble, and when he did it usually wasn't with the common folk. So mostly he would leave people to their superstitions and go on his way, but that made for a lonely existence. Tonight he just wanted some grub, and if he was lucky, he'd hear someone start up a tune he knew and could join in on.