DrowsyPangolin

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom was taken back a bit by the boy's fiery retort. He stared at the boy in silence for about fifteen seconds, a pause that no doubt made all surrounding parties a bit uncomfortable. Johnathon seemed concerned there would be a conflict between the two, at least. Moments after Johnathon tried to make peace between them, a smirk cracked across Crom's face. "Aye, seems the blood runs hot in these folk." The grizzled mercenary strolled nonchalantly past Johnathon and over to the bar, laughing. He threw a few coins down on the bar and gave a hearty chuckle. "Another drink for my new friend here." He looked around the room. The cold stares around the room seemed to fade and return to their own business, despite a few sighs of disappointment. It seemed they wouldn't be getting a fight today. Crom leaned against the bar, throwing a nod to Johnathon as if to assure him there would be no unnecessary interruptions in their journey. He looked from the boy to the man next to him. He was the armed man who had entered the tavern a few minutes ago. "So, either of you know what that damned commotion is outside?" The alarms continued to sound, something the mercenary was growing tired of. He ordered another flagon of ale as he awaited an answer from either of the patrons.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

The young man introduced himself as Johnathon, and explained his predicament to the gray-clad stranger in front of him. Crom nodded along as he spoke, eying the pouch of coins that now sat upon the table. It wasn't spectacular pay, but it didn't seem to be a terribly dangerous task, either. Besides, money was of minor importance to the sellsword. He had no desire to be rich. Having enough money to survive was more than enough for the old warrior. He smiled and nodded, about to reply to his new employer, when a sound, similar to an explosion, echoed outside and through the walls of the building. Crom shook his head as several patrons rushed outside to investigate. He disregarded the alarms as they rang out across the town. Whatever the sound had been, it didn't concern him. He took a long gulp from his cup. "Aye lad, I can help you across the mountains." He had traveled through the mountains on his way to Aldrun, but he barely remembered the way. Still, he was sure he could manage.

As the soldier accepted Johnathon's request, his blue eyes glanced casually around the room. A newcomer entered the Mast. Crom looked him over. He was armed, but didn't seem keen on starting trouble. Across the room a young man seemed to be having difficulties with his beverage. Crom took a long gulp from his flagon and called across the room. "Never drank much, have you lad?" The traveler chuckled. He was making a joke at the other patron's expense, but his voice was warm and hearty, and significantly more welcoming than the glares the man seemed to be getting from the tavern's other patrons.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom sat in the corner of the Mast, leaning back in his chair to watch the hustle and bustle of the establishment. He hadn't been in Aldrun long, and had no real business in the region. His wayfaring had lead him around the world, but what else was an exiled man with no purpose to do? He took a long drought from the dirty flagon gripped in his right hand. The ale was strong, by no means the strongest he had ever had, but the Arcartis had good taste. This was his third drink of the day. It was probably far too early to be drinking so heavily, but that had never stopped him before. The traveling vagabond stretched and situated himself in his chair before leaning the back of it firmly against the wall. His sword hung loosely at his hip. Many thought it unsavory to carry weapons in a tavern, but Crom didn't like the thought of being disarmed. He took another swig of the bitter ale and glanced across the room to the door, where a young man was entering.

The young man looked several years younger than the exiled knight, and didn't seem all that suited to combat. Crom watched as he walked across the room, retrieved a drink, and took a seat at a table. Crom noticed the young man setting up a plank with some sort of sign on it. He strained his eyes to read it in the dim light of the tavern. It seemed to be requesting some sort of guide. The old soldier took another sip of his drink, drumming over the possibility of inquiring what kind of guide the man needed. He needed money, certainly, and was more than capable of serving as a guardian. Deciding it was worth asking about, Crom brought his chair to the ground and stood up, downing the rest of his cup. He walked to the bar, throwing a tarnished coin onto the bar and handing his cup to the bartender, who promptly refilled it. Recovering his beverage, he approached the young man, taking a seat across from him nonchalantly. "Crom Vastil, at your service." The soldier gave a slight nod before smiling. "So lad, what kind of guide do you need?"

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Name: Crom Vastil

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Crom's appearance presents an image of a once proud man who has, through a number of debacles, fallen from grace, leaving only a shadow of his former prestige. He's relatively tall, standing a few inches over six feet, and still appears to be somewhat fit, despite his lack of recent activity. He has dark skin, scarred heavily through years of combat, and fierce blue eyes that seem to conceal the memories of a thousand agonies. His sandy blonde hair is shaggy and unkempt and hangs slightly past his shoulders. Years of stress have forged cracks of gray between his golden locks, and slight wrinkles cover his face, focused heavily around the eyes. A thin beard, scarcely more than stubble, covers his chin.

Crom's garments are a far cry from the golden armor and brilliant cloak he once wore. His chest is wrapped in a black leather tunic. The leather is thick, and lined with a layer of chain mail. Even so, it provides scarce real protection, and could likely be pierced fairly easily. Crom's pants are simple and made of black cloth. On each foot, Crom wears a thick black leather boot, a sturdy article of clothing to be sure, but battered and worn down from extensive travelling. Around his waist, Crom wears a simple belt with sheaths attached for his sword and dagger. A large flask is also affixed to the belt, and is commonly filled with the strongest of intoxicating drinks.

Over his other clothes, Crom wears a dingy gray cloak. The cloak is quite thick, and has a fur-lined hood for keeping it's wearer warm, as well as concealing his face. The garment is tattered and threadbare from years of traveling.

Weapons: Crom's blade is the only fragment left of his time in Esterl. His blade was specially crafted for him when he became captain of the lord's guard. The weapon is a long double-edged sword. It's length is comparable to a bastard sword, but the blade is significantly thinner, making it incredibly light. The blade is a testament to the skill of Esterl's blacksmiths, as it would be nearly impossible to make such a thin weapon durable. The thin, sharp blade is extremely sturdy, and is highly effective for thrusting attacks, though it could easily be used for slashing as well. The hilt is adorned by a brilliant golden crossguard and pommel, engraved with fine tracings of vines. The guard provides excellent balance to the weapon, as well as showing it's prestige and value. In his prime, Crom's sword accented his high station. Now, it tends to cause assumptions that he stole the weapon. Crom's only other weapon his a simple single-edged knife that is more often used for utility than for combat.

Personality: On the outside, Crom seems to be a rather simple man. He is a bit rough, and speaks very little of his past. Despite this, he is relatively sociable, and tends to have an easy time making friends, especially in taverns. He is known for his love of humor and sarcasm. Crom is rarely seen without a drink in his hand, a habit that masks the troubled man behind his facade. In truth, Crom drinks heavily to numb the pain of his past failings. He is scarcely able to live with himself while sober, especially if he is alone.

Short history: Crom was once a noble knight from the island of Esterl. He was knighted at sixteen, and widely renowned as the finest swordsman on the island. He rose quickly through the ranks, eventually becoming captain of the lord's guard by the age of twenty-one. He served the king well for five more years, until his entire world was brought down upon him.

The Lord of Esterl, though an effective ruler, had made many enemies in his rise to power. These burned bridges would prove to be his ultimate downfall. One night, while standing guard over the lord's palace, Crom was distracted by a woman of the court. She seduced the young knight, convincing him to leave his post with her. Little did Crom know, that she was part of a plan to assassinate the Lord. When he finally returned, Crom found a bloodbath. The lord and his entire family had been butchered in their beds.

All the blame for the tragedy fell upon Crom. As leader of the lord's guard, he was supposed to have been the shield for the ruling family, Instead, he left his post and allowed them all to die. The lord's brother, the only member of the family to survive due to his absence from the palace on that night, took over his brother's position, and stripped Crom of his rank and household, and exiled him from the land.

Crom blamed himself for his failure to protect the lord and his family, and traveled far from his homeland, descending into a life of endless wandering. He began drinking heavily, unable to deal with the guilt of his blunder. He continued traveling, from tavern to tavern and from country to country. Despite his vagrant lifestyle, deep inside he had a hope, that someday, somehow, he would manage to at least partially repair his honor.