Despite the drama, with its brazen assertiveness, stinging condescension, and brusque indignation, the patrons of the tavern of Vi'Zur proceeded with their business for the most part as normal. Though in Alicia's eyes the entire group had been harassing Susanna, perhaps to suit her idea of how men behaved, in fact only one had been. None of the other soldiers felt obliged to help their overeager companion now that he'd gotten himself into a scrape, even though Alicia had in fact now stolen from him -when did people with royalty not take from the smallfolk?- and the unkind belittlement of Alicia gave them no obligation to listen to her. Women with sharp tongues could be found everywhere, and while the men of the Stormbringer company were, as she said, little more than a band of peasants, they had been fighting and killing demons nevertheless. For all their apparent lack of honor and pride, theirs were brave souls, and inklings of pride deafened them to Alicia's rant. Golden heroes radiant in valor they were not by any means, nor did most of them harbor any delusions concerning their status. Next to none knew the exact nature or history of the Stormbringer order, but all knew and followed by its most renowned tenet: to fight demons. Yet, in retribution for a single man's lasciviousness and in accordance with her prejudice against lesser soldiers than she, Alicia likened their collective worth to dirt. The men aside from the one she gripped, therefore, remained with their cups, quietly nursing their pride, and nobody else acknowledged her challenge. Their recent victory had left nearly all of them with wounds and fatigue, but joy and celebration had drowned them out until the Royal Guard slew them.
The Stormbringers' collective attention did shift, however, when a chorus of metallic clanks and scrapes reached them through the tavern door. After a moment of anticipation, the door swung open, and in limped a knight in full armor leaning heavily on the shoulder of a fellow mongrel, a heavy-set and brutish-looking man who nevertheless bore the weight gladly. One of the men broke off from the bar to assist him, and together they navigated the wounded knight to the counter sufficiently far away from Alicia and the newly-arrived blacksmith. Collapsing weightily onto the stool, he fumbled at a little satchel for a small object of glass, which his comrade helped retrieve for him. “Water,” the big man rumbled, setting the blue-stained flask on the countertop. Fascinated, the bartender obliged, filling the flask to the brim with plain water. Instantly, an unnatural glow emanated from the cup, and a plethora of wide eyes watched as the water became a cobalt-blue concoction, softly luminescent. Without waiting on ceremony, the knight grabbed at the flask, tilted his head back, and upended the whole thing onto his helmet. The potions ran into the helmet, some of it presumably into his mouth, and the knight sighed in relief. Shoulders quivering, setting up a quiet but steady clink-clink-clink, he composed himself before he said in a rather high and raspy voice, “Thanks. That was awful. Good work back there, guys.” Seemingly pleased with his unsophisticated turn of phrase, he allowed himself to relax somewhat. To anyone looking, it would by now be obvious that this knight's eyes glowed yellow beneath his helmet.
A few of the Stormbringers glanced at Alicia defiantly. Their looks seemingly said, Look at this guy. He's one of us. We're better than you think, lady. One, after casting such a glance, even moved around to clap a hand on the knight's shoulder, saying, “Alistair! You did good yourself. Tell me: are we Stormbringers thugs without honor? Are we just peasants pretending to be heroes?” He crossed his arms.
A moment passed in quizzical consideration before Alistair's voice issued from his helmet. “Well, maybe, but we're good peasants. We don't rob or hurt people. That's honor, right? We kill demons. I got two in the last fight!” he bragged, though his following wince could be sensed by others even through plate steel. “Even though that one jerk did get my leg.” As it happened, though, that wound's recovery was already underway thanks to the contents of his flask. He followed his questioner's glance to the lady with the fancy armor, down the bar. Unaware of her comments, he gave a little wave before pushing his flask at the bartender to be refilled. He gripped the flask with fingers of iron, ready to splash it over his face as he had the first. “We're not, um, storybook heroes, but we're the good guys! Definitely.” His friend clapped him on the back, and beneath the helmet, Alistair grinned despite the pain. Though to Susanna, Alicia, or Silvana he might seem out of place among the poorman's Stormbringers, he in fact cherished belonging and believing—naive, idealistic, and even childish perhaps, but a testament to the fundamental purpose of the order overall. The other Stormbringers raised their mugs to affirm Alistair's statement before drinking, and the young knight followed suit.
Member
CabbageAngel,
TruthHurts,
Eviledd1984,
DancesWMonsters,
Archmage MC,
Dyelli Beybi,
FujiwaraPhoenix,
Bingelly,
XoXKieroBombXoX
