Flashback [The Rearing Stallion] Where there's smoke.. 510 AV, Spring.

[Adlard Brightmoor]

The night had begun. A dark sky falling upon Mizahar, lit only, in the Gate district, by the inns and taverns glowing orange onto the cobbled roads. Adlard walked highshouldered to the Stallion, back from getting supplies. A small naif boy tripped into him from behind and begged his pardon. Adlard held back a glare and told him to watch where he was going, before the abashed boy scampered off along the cobblestones, between the infernal nuances draped across the road from the lit and dimming houses of the district. Adlard pushed open the door with his arm and set several things on the bar, which Seth took down out of site. He took place behind the bar and fixed drinks for several customers. It was a busy hour and he made good work of it. A gold mizah in tips. Drinks clanged together, a gentle hum of chatter carried through the room. People were smiling, candles were lit, and the drunks were jolly. Adlard grimaced and wondered if he came across glum. Adlard had not had a drink himself in months. Something satisfying about being on the straight and narrow. He pushed past Seth, who came across as some weak-willed mard when he was working, and would rabbit on continuously about how he would, one day, own the place. Adlard looked out the window as he had much recently, being bored with the flow of things. He pondered what would come of the day proceeding.

[Reaver Riatal]

A tall young man in a red button up shirt and black vest walked through the streets. His dark hair longer than the average male's but it didn't dare flow beyond a title to be claimed of short. The night air was a delightfully warm as his brown boots trodden upon the ground. Midnight cotton pants helped to emphasize the red worn by this man no older than seventeen. Though he looked his age his sharp blue eyes held wisdom within them that was not to be taken as lightly as his appearance. The lanky figure walked standing at a full six feet and six inches, though tall his thin arms and frame betrayed him. Showing he was more the academic rather than the athlete. In his pocket a few gold miza's clinked, money that his father had given him after his long day of learning under his keen mentoring. Though his hands sported plenty of burn marks the black gloves he wore kept them hidden from the world. Likewise the feel of the leather on his hands was soothing, and it made the injuries hurt a lot less when he touched something. His feet came to a halt upon the thresh hold of The Rearing Stallion, not his most favored place to visit. But he had made a deal with his father to keep out of trouble tonight. And if there was a place to drink and be safe it was the Stallion.

Moving into the dimly lit bar he couldn't help but feel a strong smile spread right across his lips. The smell of ale, good food, the sound of a few bards playing away on their instruments. There where quite a few patrons spotted around the crowd. None looked too rough and he recognized one or two from other less respectable bars. Letting his long lengthy strides of black bringing him towards the bar. Nodding to the bartender as he approached, the smell of food easily forcing a small growl from his stomach. Meeting at the bar he offered a friendly and charming smile. A smile that would swiftly develop over the years to be quite the eye catcher. As he strode to the bar he gave the bartender another look over. Trying to get a feel for who he would be dealing with. The man was tall, though Reaver's own dark hair pushed him past the man's height. He seemed well kept and well mannered, at least from what he could tell. His eyes kept fixed on him for the moment before finally looking at what they had to serve. With his brilliant mind he made a snap decision, though truthfully it was just his arrogance taking form. Looking towards the bartender again he readied his order.

"Hello my good man, I'd like to inquire upon what dinner entails for the eve? It smells rather delicious, though I'd prefer a smaller portion. As well I'd like a mug of ale. Nothing washes down a good meal quite like a superior tasting drink eh?" He kept up the smile, the merry mood in the tavern was perhaps his second most favorite thing in this life. It was always in this type of atmosphere that made him smile . He even felt the drive to be friendlier, though with the rumors often spread by the other kids his age. It was hard to make friends, the term 'touched in the head' often came into conversation if his name was ever mentioned. That mattered little however as he felt compelled to see if he could ply a good conversation from this rather neutral bartender. Even if the man's intellect didn't rival his own it would still be a fun conversation, more so when he was able to get drunk. He just hoped that his prescience didn't attract unwanted attention. In previous punch ups he'd usually firmly got his rear handed to him when it came to physical prowess. However, when he had a little too much to drink and he was a little less restrained by his good senses. He had a small tendency to let his djed go to his head. And more often than not he ended up lighting someone's hair ablaze. But not tonight! Tonight it was conversation, drink, good food, and relaxation!

[Adlard Brightmoor]

The tavern groaned with uneasy chatter. Some patrons looked at the hearth, some at the bar and out the window but mostly between themselves. Crude come-ons and teethy guffaws. A man had doubled over, wet himself and been taken out of the tavern not long before things started picking up again. Some laughed and jeered still from the inside. The laughter hadn't subsided for some minutes and it tried the patience of those more dullminded drinkers. Some dim fool staggered to Adlard and asked him if there was any legs to spread in the joint, to which he said nothing. He noticed business was better than usual, and wondered how much money the owner had pocketed in recent days. The owner never much talked to him. He was a stern man and previously a Syliran knight, Adlard gathered. His retirement was something to do with losing his left arm. He was good with businessman, and arguably a good deal much more likeable than his son, or wife.  Remi was busy cooking meals and Seth had left the tavern for reasons unknown. Adlard suspected he was with company in the back alley, and. His family were no more likely to catch on than the patrons. Adlard had caught him once before, when he first started working, at which time he knew he'd secured the job. Seth had developed some place in friendship for Adlard after he hadn't told Seth's father. Adlard did not know whether Seth payed or was in a relationship with one of the working girls, but it did not matter to him. One barmaid was sick, and the other filled in for Seth waiting, so Adlard staffed the drinks himself.  Adlard had been loading a waiting girl with ale as he spotted some lanky boy coming in like a sore thumb. Towering above most others in the room, wearing a bright red coat. Adlard eyed he, who was looking around curiously, with a slight annoyance. He had been tetchy of late, and didn't have time for street performers, much less lanky extravagant ones. He tapped a coin on the table and turned eagerly to the waiting girl. He gave her the last of the drinks and looked back to the young man dismissively. Another commonfolk of the hearty merriness of the tavern that day. Some grin on his face Adlard dared not parry. Some patrons had looked him up and down, parting their lips and whispering things amongst themselves. The boy seemed oblivious. He approached Adlard with that some grin still shining and seemed to request a meal, and bevvy, dripping the words like smalltalk. Adlard cursored his hand to the boy's chest and drew back a mug which had been left standing. He gestured to a piece of slate on which specials were carved. Stir stick stout braised rib skillet, bread, various cuts and offal... Adlard set his hands on the table and peered up and the tall figure and poured a drink and served it. The drink swished and settled. Adlard fixed his sleeves and   wavered his hand at the various chairs and dining tables of the Stallion.  Adlard marked up expenses and profits in a small notebook with one hand whilst reaching for a tankard with the other as he served an old woman her drink and laid out a meal. He asked the cook to prepare another for the young man, who had not sat down. He raised his brows and asked the boy: 'You from around here?'

[Reaver Riatal]

Reaver found a stool at the bar and sat down, his grin never fading from his lips as he drank in the atmosphere once more. The dim light a perfect setting to the taverns almost homely decor. Though he couldn't actually call it home, he remembered being told that no rooms where available at the bar. A shame, he wouldn't mind chatting up one of the waitresses to see if they could flirt. In private and behind a locked door. His thoughts where distracted as the music of the bards breached his thoughts. Setting into him a feel for the rhythm and movement though he'd dare not act upon it. His spindly arms and legs where a mess on the dance floor and that was not something he'd be willing to show this crowd. Not without a good few more mugs of Ale in him. Speaking of Ale he heard his mug clink upon the wooden counter top. Turning to it he grabbed it with a black gloved hand and dragged it too him. Smiling he was quick and all to eager to lift the lip of the mug to his mouth. Steadily downing a good bit of the fluid he paused and smiled. Already feeling the warmth spread through his body, this was good ale. Its taste had a pleasant after taste and he may be forced to order a few more before the night finally came to an end.

Watching as the bartender ordered him a meal he smiled and waited patiently for it. The bartender seemed a might boring, as he did his job and simply went about his business. However when he was asked a question he found himself more than happy to answer him. The ale had been fast to make him merry. Giving another large and charming smile he looked up at the man and gave his throat a quick clearing. "Ah, I am native to this fair city. Though I have found myself in the past in lackluster of coming to this particular tavern. I'm pleased to find the establishment so pleasant though the brawls at other bars made for a good bit of entertainment. Though fighting is not so my sport it is quite fun to watch." He paused as he took another long drink from his mug before letting out a pleased breath. Looking up at the man as his grin reappeared fresh on his face. "Oh right my manners, my name is Reaver, Reaver Riatal. A pleasure to meet you sir." He smiled as he lifted his mug towards the man while nodding his head. Tilting his mug back he let the smooth ale flow freely down his throat. The mug was about half empty now and he was more than happy to order another once this one was up and gone.

Reaver gave a quick survey of the bar, there was a rather rough looking pair of men by the hearth. A pair he had seen in a few of the less respected bars. Though his face didn't turn sour as most would he kept his smile, however he was no fool. He didn't let his gaze linger for more than a chime if not less before moving them on to give the other patrons a good quick look. Snapping his attention back the bartender the man held his attention for the moment. Though he felt it slipping, he had yet to prove interesting, but he supposed he should give the man some time. Perhaps he was holding out something delightfully fun from him. Surely this man had a tale or two to tell? He lifted the mug from the bar again and let down another gulp. Goodness he'd need another mug before his food even got here. Not that he was complaining he was more than happy to keep drinking. It was his father's money he was using and the merriment the drink was adding to the evening was much needed on his part. He had been focused and diligent in his training for most of the day. It was only fair that he got to let his hair down after a long hard days work, well metaphorically at least. His mind turned sharp as he heard the bartenders response, eager to converse as his smile seemed to grow all the more upon his young face.

[Adlard Brightmoor]

The bar bustled with merriment at the far corner and under it a dull clang which Adlard recognised to be the sound of Brucila Sauvi dropping her load. Adlard didn't roll his eyes and he did not look away but rather patiently awaited her return and gave a sympathetic look. 'Clean yourself up, dear.' he said, almost nodding with a sincere enthusiasm to the advice. She looked at him as if he was mocking her and walked faster to a the kitchen faucet where she could wipe any remaining pubgrub from herself. Adlard brushed his apron which was brown and speckless instinctively and then snapped forward his wrist in the air as if to shake free the nonexistent specks of gristle and dank stodge on it. When she returned, he'd given up on open sympathy and looked vacantly through the walls of the tavern. His mind focused on that which was outside and unseen. The moon was likely still bright and the thick midnight smog blocking its simple blue-hued contribution to the slate of the houses that night. Mutts would still be scampering in the poorer districts as would children be at the docks with pockets of stone and scrapped lint. It felt as though his eyes were closed but they were only distant and in wonder. No sooner had Adlard spoke did the extravagant boy in red reply. He listened in one ear whilst exchanging tankards empty and full between himself and Carmen. He looked at the boy who smiled so openly and talked so kindly and found himself perturbed by his own lack of enthusiasm in smalltalk these days. The boy had seemed disrupted in thought when he received the ale and Adlard thought about whether or not he had any care for whether a drinker was young or old. Of course, younger men did not know good drink and Adlard had oft kept this in mind when choosing his partners. He looked at his hand for a waver but saw none and raised his brow. He wondered whether Beatrix or Gypsy or Old Man Crewe still drained their hours to a barkeep. He wondered if Crewe were dead. So well mannered, was the customer; so refined was he and Adlard thought too that perhaps he was neither a street performer nor magician but a rich child with a quirky fashion sense. He looked at the gloves, which he had not sussed yet. If the boy were rich, he wouldn't be drinking at the Stallion. No no, somewhere far more refined. What was it the boy kept beneath his gloves when the room was so warm and merry? Perhaps some disfigurement no so bad as to hinder his drinking ability. He listened and heard that his name was Riatal. Adlard wiped his hands with a cloth and looked at the boy with no particular joy in his face, which seemed somewhat more worn than before. He spoke without kindness, nor manners, but rather eloquently and said: 'I'm Ad.' He waited a moment, brushing his hands gently with the cloth and setting it down. 'What brings you to wear gloves inside?' Adlard fixed a stare and turned back to see Seth entering through the back of the bar. Seth looked at Adlard guiltily and ducked his head, walking to him. Adlard asked him where he'd been and when Seth hadn't responded, pushed a serving of drinks to his stomach gently and considered patting him on the back, but didn't. He turned back to Reaver and questioned him. 'Your coat isn't much for the season either. Do you always dress so dapper, Mr. Riatal?'

[Beshira]

She got mad at Trista again. She let loose sharp words and cruel thoughts toward her only friend and benefactor. Drawing back her hood, Beshira escaped into the warmth and carefree nature of the pub closest to her, eyes drifting up to the simple wooden sign displaying the word ‘Tavern’ before taking her first steps inside. Weaving her way between laughing and shouting patrons, she seated herself at the bar, a conversation between a bartender and a customer catching her attention for a brief second, the reflection of the hearth’s flames flickering brightly in her golden eyes and imbuing her fiery-red hair with a prominent gleam. It didn't look like there were any other bartenders standing by, so she turned to the same well-tailored man situated behind the counter. “Water,” she said, a certain dryness in her throat keeping her normally loud and abrasive voice level with the rest of the room. Though taverns were certainly not her favorite place to visit, she found their high accessibility and relaxed nature appealing. She needed to find somewhere she could let herself cool down, though interaction often wrought out her argumentative and forceful personality against her own will.

Much of her vocabulary was mainly comprised of threats and insults in accordance to her delinquent appearance, and that almost always resulted in some kind of scuffle followed by an expulsion from wherever she happened to be sticking around at the time. She remembered her first experience with alcohol, and it was not a pleasant one. It could be equated to adding a volatile catalyst to an already unstable specimen, most usually bearing a catastrophic outcome. As such, she always opted for a milder beverage if water wasn’t currently available. But one thing for sure, Beshira had decided, was that she had to be back at least by the next day, otherwise she was afraid that the girl would worry herself to death. In a fit of baseless rage, she had departed from the household of her own volition and she had only taken a couple steps outside before she had started to regret it.

Blinking hard a couple times, Beshira began to feel the effects of time alleviating stress from her mind, loosening the tension in her curled fingers, smoothing out the faint folds and creases in her sullen visage. Finding her mind wandering again as per usual, it nestled back into the middle of the pleasant exchange the two men seemed to be having since she’d walked into the tavern, though she kept her head turned forward and her hand set casually atop the counter. Lightly closing her eyes, she pictured her return under a variety of circumstances. An inattentive stride through the front entrance with a forced smile, a wave and greeting followed in suit by a hopefully sincere sounding apology. It was strange to think about it, considering that she would’ve been just as easily forgiven regardless of all that layered fakery, a contrived and thoughtless action in contrast to her blunt but honest approach to the rest of society.

[Reaver Riatal]

Reaver raised his mug to the man known simply as 'Ad', a simple name but one that still held allure to him. Taking another swig of his mug he felt its delightful effects slowly pulling to a start in his body. A gentle buzz moving in his mind, though he was still very much aware of his surroundings. So much so he noticed a young woman with red hair and gold eyes walk into the tavern. She was his senior by a few years though he placed her no older than twenty at his guess. However she wasn't bothering him so as soon as she ordered her drink he paid her no heed. The bartender known as 'Ad' had asked his questions and was quick to regain Reaver's attention. Looking to the man his sharp blue eyes looking right into the shorter man's eyes. He lifted his mug and swirled its contents a few times before thinking of a good excuse. Surely telling this man of his profession would be utter madness, if the good folk in here heard of djed, of magic. He'd be torn apart by a mob filled in fear of rumors of the deadly arts alone. Though a dishonest answer would easily get him noticed, he wasn't much for lying. Perhaps a half truth would soothe the question? Yes he supposed that would work out just as he'd need.

Taking not even a fraction of a chime he looked to Ad and smiled as he played with his now almost half empty mug. "Well my attire is simply because I came from my job. It involves quite a bit of heat and protection from that heat. Though it is odd to wear a coat and gloves in spring, my flesh would be riddled with boils and burns where it not for this coat and gloves. And though there are clothes one could have simpler for such work, I do enjoy looking dapper. It makes me feel like I've more coin in my pocket than I actually have. And please, I'm your junior good Mr. Ad, just call me Reaver." Lifting his drink to his lips he downed another few gulps with ease. Though he soon found his mug emptied and sighed. Looking at his new acquaintance he knew full well the miza's in his pocket could buy him a few more drinks. Though to excess here wouldn't be much of a good idea. Least his little secret be uncovered by the general populace. A fear he was not so delightfully fond of making a reality that he would have the honor of living through. To Ivak's prison with it, he was here to relax and have a good time and he'd do so. Pushing the empty mug aside he looked at Ad and set out his charming smile again. "Another please."

He let his answer and request carry off to Ad as he let his body sway in its seat to the music. The noise of the patrons little to his concern, though the woman that sat at the bar with him was brought back to his mind. Sparing a look to her he saw she was of the Inarta peoples. Honestly he didn't care about race as he saw that all people where similar in many ways. Being a child labeled outcast had its advantages. He was able to see outside of the usual close minded ways of thinking. To transcend a situation and see it from more than one side was his largest advantage in life. It showed him how wasteful words became when you discriminated rather than holding an open mind to something new. But his mind was only running off of its own volition once more. He gave an examination of the young woman and tried to read her body language and expression. See seemed to be in a mood that suggested he didn't trifle with her, he had seen a woman's anger only once before. And though he could turn that red hair into a true fire. He preferred to avoid fights when he could, though he knew at least how to handle a blade. His only real defense was those that had been taught to him with the manipulation of djed. And since glyphing was something he was still learning, shielding was solely defense and his reimancy was his only offense. A fight he got in would likely set he bar ablaze unless he got clever. His attention broke from the woman once more as he faced his conversational partner once more. Spying to see if his request had been filled.

[Adlard Brightmoor]

Adlard had taken to cleaning the surface of the bar as the boy spoke. With heat in mind, he certainly looked like no smithy. Neither did the suit like it would actually protect the user from any harm and Adlard pondered what the fabric was made out of to so well protect the user from burns. Why his apron would surely be of more use than frail gloves. He could not complain with the dapper wishes of the boy; flash looks were most appealing to the womenfolk of Syliras. In similarity to Adlard's thoughts, a girl entered the tavern, in cotton clothing and a hood let down. Adlard looked at the boy as he continued to speak, perhaps a slight tipsier than when he'd begun. He allowed the boy to empty his pockets and ask for another. 'Mr. Riatal,' he said comfortably as he poured a glass and slid it towards him. Adlard let loose his mind and questioned whether the boy really was at an age to handle drink, as he attempted a smile to charm. The boy was good looking, and seemed to have a pocket to spend. No doubt he was of some wealth, and popularity to women. He finished working the table with a cloth and carefully set it down below the bar, where other sorts were kept. The boy had been eyeing the girl at first entrance and Adlard wondered if he were the romantic type. His advice would be to buy the lady a drink, if Reaver were so interested but as it did happen, the girl asked Adlard for water which he promptly served her. Somewhat musty, the water was at least better than what he'd heard of in Ravok. As a young boy he heard tales that tapwater in such a place was black as ebony. Thinking back on it, Adlard decided this was likely a rumour made by those Sylirans who disliked Ravoks. He peered into the water as he served the girl with some suspicion and looked back at Reaver who drank happily. Adlard made a small weak gesture to him. 'She's pretty,' said Adlard with some uncertainty. It was not that he disagreed with the statement but rather that his words were rarely for his own benefit. He looked at Reaver quite directly and back to the ale which he returned. At the far end of the room, a short, bald man with stunted legs was thumping at a taller fellow with his fist against his chest and finger pointed upwards against his chin. Adlard, unaware of the conflict until now, raised his expression with some curiousity and edged around Reaver for a better view, leaning into the bar ever so slightly. This pudgy man yelled incoherently and waggled his finger ferociously at the endrykas, who was quite rarely bald but with many tattoos who towered over him. Adlard was unsure of the cause of the conflict but was nonetheless bemused considering a previous lack of interest in the night. Such encounters in the Stallion were not uncommon. Most often stemming from the most minor disagreements or even a drink spilled, a knocked chair. He looked at the now returning Brucila and motioned his head to the fuss at which she walked back out, perhaps gaining the company of the brewmaster Kevith Argon. Argon was a man of fair stature, despite being one arm less than the average man and would likely with the help of the one barmaid be able to diffuse the situation, or escalate it in his favour. Adlard had never really considered the lack of brawn on his part for the job. Never had he needed to truly deal with much disruption in the bar, or any job he'd held and ever was he thankful. He continued to stare at the pudgy man, who was running out of steam slowly and decided to count down in his head to the moment when the first hit would land.

[Beshira]

The bartender swiftly passed Beshira her water before turning away from her. She swished about the mug's contents for a bit, bringing the rim to her lips after inspecting the brackish looking water. It left a faint tinge of what she presumed was alcohol on her tongue. Hand wrapped casually around the cup's handle, her gaze drifted towards two aggressive-looking drunkards, one of them ranting in some unintelligible blather she couldn't be bothered to understand. It was hard to find space to relax in when a pair of idiots seemed as through they were trying to undergo some kind of intimidation ritual in which one would hurl the meanest insults he could muster and whoever gave up first would be permitted to go sulk into a corner and cry in shame.

What a bunch of tiresome curs.

As it happened, she had let loose that last comment aloud without thinking, wondering for a brief second if anyone had been paying enough attention to even hear it. Despite her little jab, she didn't keep her focus on them for long, however, lifting her cup and taking another sip of the murky water. Let them do whatever they want, she thought. Eyeing the remnants of her drink, Beshira set it aside for the moment and considering fishing a few mizas out from her pocket and buying something to eat while she was still around. It just didn't seem right to come barging back in without notice and demanding a meal only an hour after she'd stormed angrily out of the residence. She rested her elbows on the counter and willed herself to melt into the tavern's warm and cheery temperament, instead deciding that all she needed was some rest.

[Reaver Riatal]

Reaver had indeed noticed the girls looks, nodding and silently agreeing with his new friend as he gave her another look. Though he noticed that the fiery red heads gaze was caught on by the scuffle two patrons where having. Looking at them he didn't like the idea of getting into a fight. He had forgotten his short sword back home and with only his magic as a last contingency. Unfortunate indeed that he couldn't play hero in this bar. Especially considering his more recent experiences with people, and their extreme hatred or fear of magic. If he used it here chances where he'd end up being the enemy. And he wasn't quite drunk enough to even consider doing something like that. Yeah two mugs was enough to dim his judgement, not yet quite enough to give loss to reason. And if that happened he'd have to use close range reimancy. Because if he got a little too tipsy his aim was shot and he could burn the bar and every soul in it. Both options weren't enjoyable to think of, one involved getting into a fist fight with fire. And the other involved just torching everything, both options revealed him as a wizard. Though he was digressing.

However he found his attention shifting back to the woman, his sharp blue eyes looking into the crisp gold. Steadily he began to find his opinion matching that of the young woman. They where indeed fools, using ill mannered words and worse poor vocabulary. He had heard Kelvics who had taken maces to the head speak with far better politesse and poise. He didn't enjoy the idea of brutes, unintelligent men who always believed that might will prevail. Shaking his own head and looking to 'Ad' once more to express his opinion more verbally and continue on their discussion. Taking a moment to focus his mind as he looked up at the older man with a light smile on his face. "What is it that makes brutes lose their tempers and for confrontation of one another? What purpose does it serve I wonder? And even when they do use words nothing worth listening to ever comes out of their mouth. Its like they do not even realize their own stupidity will only cause more problems." His words themselves where starting to fall under the influence of his drink. Though he had yet to gain a slur he was slowly losing control on what he was saying. Lifting his mug from the table to take another few mouthfuls of ale.

As he lowered his cup he realized that perhaps he had been a little loud in his expression of belief. Now that it dawned on him that his life was now in jeopardy he sat still as stone. Wondering if he'd be taken by these thugs and beaten by them. Then the cycle would repeat with judging looks, silent whispers, fear growing and discrimination. He understood peoples fears that he was a madman. He didn't exactly soothe nerves when he was around people. But he had yet to do wrong! Only fight in self defense that's all! He wanted to drown out these thoughts. To have a brief respite from them, and with that in mind he began to tilt back on his chair. Bringing his mug to his lips as his knees caught the end of the bar. The ale slip past his lips and down his throat where he drank almost greedily. Groaning gently as the filled him and fogged his sense of do's and don'ts. Once full he pushed on his knees and had all four chair legs on the ground again he smiled as he had successfully emptied his cup yet again. Though he had already spoken his opinion he quickly began to wonder what else he could pick Ad's brain.