[Pig's Foot Tavern] Who not to steal from.

by **Eleazar Victor Syroin** on January 17th, 2014, 8:42 pm

The 48th day of Winter,513AV

The skies over the city of Sunberth were for the first time in days free of snow clouds, clear and crisp. Below in the streets the fallen snow had been reduced to a red brown slush, soaking into the boots of it's occupants. The city was in a scary state of tension. Food was rotting in the market stalls, despite the cold, a mystery to all. With this, the prices for it had sky-rocketed, sending many into near bankruptcy for the bare minimum of food for their families. Many had taken to stealing, causing not only fights to break out but the merchants to hire in extra guards too. Even politically there was unrest with the sudden death of an important traitor gang general sending each Sunberthian fraction scrambling for arms and men, least the spark light the ancient powder keg of distrust between them. Every man, woman and child of the city could feel the pressure of the cold month building. Each waiting, listening and watching for what would happen next.

It was during this time, Eleazar was successfully picking the pockets of many a drunk person in the Pig's foot tavern. The place was fairly full, despite the circumstances, and was as loud and boisterous as ever. No brawls yet but it was only a matter of time thought the teen as he relieved a couple more coins from the man next to him. His customary single mug of untouched ale in hand, the thief was enjoying the feeling of sitting down without his body aching. The bruises and cuts of his 'little' scuffle in the Seaside market had finally healed up, much to his relief.

Sending a small wink and a grin at the barmaid at work as she gave a scolding look at his hand in someone else's pocket, the local crook took a small sip of his drink. It was a fine life after all. Petch the weather and the Merchants for all their worth, the shykes. From his comfy seat by the bar the world was in the right, regardless of what anyone would say. Eleazar wouldn't pay all the money in the world to be anywhere else at the moment. Especially where his 'borrowing' became noticed and started bar brawls. Like right now.

“Oi where is mi- You petching shyke! You gone n' stole mi Money!”

“Look around ya witless vagik, It coulda been any one of 'is lot!”

“Aye! But is was you wasn't it!”

“Oh really! And what, O' genius, makes you thing 'at!”

“This is what!”

The first punch sent them both into full swing. It was two dockworkers, both significantly pissed to make the show amusing. Cheering egged them on as punches and curses were exchanged. The teen's own sadistic laughter was drowned out by the over excited cries on the large man behind him, who would shriek out unheard advice at one of the two every few ticks. The chaotic noise seem to draw in more potential patrons from the early afternoon streets, adding to the noise and commotion. With so many bodies cramming to get a better view, Eleazar was spoiled for choice on whom to steal from next.

However, some things in Sunberth are the unspoken law of the lawless city; like never bad mouth Brega or never punch a dagger-hand or never, ever under any circumstances damage the Pig's Tavern in any way. This rule was well and truly broken as a bar stool was smashed over a head causing the owner of the tavern to make a notable appearance. The silence that followed as the wooden structure splinted off into pieces was deafening. Merv didn't need to say a word his presence alone sent the two scampering out of the tavern to continue their quarrel elsewhere.

As the fools scurried out the wooden doors, a man entering the tavern caught the teen's eyes. Or more what said man had on his possession. The thief’s eyes couldn't seem to leave the bouncing gold bottle tied man's waist. That had to be worth something.

by **Wrenmae** on January 29th, 2014, 8:14 pm

48 Winter 513

Standing in the doorway of the Pig's Foot, Wren took a moment to breathe in Sunberth. The rank smell of sour hops, body odor, blood, and the sickly sweet of rot crawled over his mind, reminding him where he was...exactly. Pushing the wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes, he pushed past the escaping ruffians and into the tavern.

The Pig's Foot was a familiar haunt for most berthians, tired muscles and scars drowning sorrows in solitude. Every now and then there was a scuffle, folks died, the world moved on. For Wren this place was a reminder of everything he had hated about the world...although opportunity crept the darkened corners of the city, the chaos obstinately refused to dissipate. The derelicts lived here, broken shells that played at men...just angry enough to fight the hand of order when it descended on this skyke hole. True to their name, the people of Sunberth were superstitious, obstinate, and wild. Untamed beasts that petched each other and made more of their kind...wallowing in their own filth.

Gangs had tried to unite Sunberth before, only to fall to their own infighting and to the anger of the consistently frightened people...would his own ventures be similar?

Daggerhand blood was on his skin, washed away but leaving the residue of memory all other blood had left on his person. Years ago, a lifetime perhaps, he was nothing more than a simple storyteller, a rogue in a city of shifting streets and people. Now look...look where his ambition had brought him.

Sighing, he reached up and removed the hat from his head, placing it on the table in front of him and laying back in the chair. Just a bell or two of patience and he could leave and meet up with another potential ally in his front against the Daggerhands. What would Mok think of him now? The half-Myrian was as close to a brother as the mage had back then...and he was gone now, killed by the very people he now sought to depose.

But in a sense, perhaps he was only compensating for being too late...for not driving the blade into Robern himself.

The Crimson Edge was dead...its ruins lay here in Sunberth. Then, Wren had been content as a cog in the machine, but now his hand was forced to build the contraption. Fallon, sister he had taken from the safety of Syliras, aided him...but sometimes he wondered if perhaps he had chosen poorly seeking her out.

Perhaps she would have been better where she was.

Closing his eyes, Wren lay back against the chair, not really meaning to, but slipping into slumber for a few moments, the weight of the world pressing his body into a lust for rest.

Slipping.

Slipping.

Silence.

Common
Thought
"Speech"
Zan

by **Eleazar Victor Syroin** on February 16th, 2014, 2:10 pm

Greedy eyes followed the flask across the bar. It's beauty was mesmerising. Taunting gold in colour with soft engravings down the side, bound at the top with thick string causing it to swing from where it had been tied to the man's belt. With each step taken on it's master's journey, the metal container would bound up to kiss the sunlight, flashing it gold wonder into Eleazar's eyes before sinking back down again into the shadows. The more the thief gazed at it, the more his fingers sat itching to take a grab at that shiny neck and take off as fast as his legs would go.

Near falling from his seat in the midst of his intense staring contest with the temptress, the teen broke his gaze, calmed his desire and turned back to the bar. Taking a hesitant sip from his mug, he remained slouched over before his eyes rolled in their sockets to see where the bar maid was currently. Lucky for him, the woman was busy serving drinks to a few rowdy thugs. Her attention right now was definitely more focused on stopping the men slap her bottom than what was happening else where, making for a perfect opportunity for the thief. Ignoring the drunkard next to him, smile playing across his face, the teen slipped off away from the bar leaving nothing but his unfinished drink, a single grimy silver miza and a warmed seat where he had been.

Rocking around deliberated on the balls of his feet, the thief kept his head down as he sauntered towards his prize. Eye contact always drew attention, something he had learned only through fists and raised voices. Playing the unsteady drunk, Eleazar closed in on the man. A quick glance up to double check if he was actually stumbling over to the right person, showed his target laying back in his chair, eyes closed. The man was asleep. Wait what? Dropping his little facade, Eleazar observed the stranger breathe out and in in a slow deep pattern. He was really napping, at least for the moment, a chance the thief didn't waste.

Double checking where the barmaid was, the thief crouched down to sit on the floor next to the man. Taking a deep breathe and swallowing down anxiety, Eleazar's ringed hand slowly moved to cup the base of the flask.. Lifting the golden bottle away from the man's hip, the teen's terrified eyes were glued firmly to the man's face, least he suddenly rouse from his slumber. If that were to happen judging by the width of the strangers arms alone, Eleazar wouldn't live to see another dawn. Ducking his head down to focus of his work again, the dark haired teen began picking at the knotted string holding his prize from him.

Although obvious what his intentions were, none of the patrons of the tavern saw reason to alert the snoozing fool in anyway. Daylight thievery was not uncommon in the city, nor were incidents like this. Feeling the knot finally loosen, the teen flicked his gaze up again to the man's face. Still sleeping like a babe, even as the string finally unraveled from his belt and the prize was pulled away from his sleeping figure to be cradled in Eleazar's arms. Grinning at his triumph, he brought the bottle closer to his face to examining it, unconsciously muttering to the thing of value.

“Please permit mi to speak fer ay speak 'cause ay can no 'old mi tongue. 'At o' which can no be held as it would only wriggle free ta whisper eh single word o' ya beauty to 'e world. Golden vessel o' kingly aura pure, ay shall make you mine least the world seek to tarnish the face of ya elegance. So come away with me to tales of old and lands a far, ta joy unkno-”

Midway through his poetic love confession to the gold flask, the barmaid scurrying along to answer the call of a patron on the other side of the bar tripped over the sitting thief. The collision of the bodies and following cursing by the woman, brought the pair and shining bottle to the immediate attention of the nearby locals of the tavern. Sensing eyes zoned in on his prize, Eleazar slowly tucked away the flask into the inner folds of his ragged coat before doing what he did best and bolting out of the tavern like a rabbit from a fox den. Crashing into cold passers by the teen eventually settled after few chimes of sprinting in an alleyway to catch his breath and examine the flask once again.

by **Wrenmae** on February 21st, 2014, 9:27 pm

48 Winter 513

Wren continued to slumber, unaware that his companion had been spirited away. Zan might have woken him at some point...MIGHT have. But the boy spoke with such earnest words...and although Zan was only sleeping in the form of the bottle, the gratitude extolled was significant enough to give him pause from rousing his partner. At worst, he could always come back later. There was little that could contain him...especially now that he shared all of Wren's skills.

So Zan went along with the young man, across the tavern floor, to the cobblestone, and into an alley. In his sweaty grip, the sarawanki felt more appreciated than he ever had before with Wren. There...sure, it was mutually beneficial. Zan got out of Fyreden, the most awful homeworld in the universe, and Wren got the pleasure of his company. Win win, mutually beneficial. But here, with this one...he took Zan because he admired the way the sealed Sarawanki looked, spoke such sweet words to him.

Screw Wren and his demands and morale fallacies, this kid was the way to go. Not that Zan could switch contracts, but hey...Wren was a big boy, maybe it was time for him to spread his thin, spindly, fleshbag wings and fly for himself.

Zan would be fine right here.

They stole into an alley, slinking past the drunks and the thugs with all the grace small, unimportant people offer. Eleazar was invisible, just another moving body in the misanthropic Sunberth ecosystem. As long as he crossed the path of no predators, he would remain safe by his own power.

As the thief stared at his prize, the bottle melted, shifted, lost the gold allure and became the roiling ball of water, Zan, in his palms.

"Hey there partner," The sarawanki chirped, "Today's your lucky day. Turns out you snatched up a magic bottle...or...I dunno, you people hate magic right? I guess I'm just an...otherworldly bottle. Or...no, that's confusing. Only know one world probably. Erm. I'm from really far away. Like...Ahnatep far away, only farther."

Slipping from Eleazar's grasp, the Sarwanki swirled above him and then settled at eye level. "Name is Zan, fleshba-err...human...thief...thing. Anyways. Figured you could use a heart to...whatever I have in place of a heart kinda talk. Let's get this straight. I'm not going to hurt you, and you probably can't hurt me. Life's terrible that way, but what are you gonna do? Answer: Improve it. And I'll tell you how, three easy little steps that'll upgrade your life from slinking street rat to...slightly wealthier slinking street rat. First step, don't freak out. I know I look amazing and you are stunned with jealousy, but get over it...not all of us grow up perfect, like me. Step two, Listen. The mark of success in any new relationship is Listening. You Listen, I Listen, we become best of friends. Plus I have plans and stuff, and those are important for these kinds of dynamic teamups. Third, have fun. For the sake of all the gods, don't be a drag. Everyone hates dragging, it's even an unattractive word. That said. Hi. Zan. Sarawanki. From far away. Sometimes a bottle."

The blob of water shook, twisting and twirling with slightly luminescent energy, "Your turn. Try to put some presentation into it."

Common
Thought
"Speech"
Zan

by **Avarice** on September 22nd, 2014, 11:39 pm

Succumb to Your Desires
.

Eleazar :

Wrenmae :

Comments :

Closed [Pig's Foot Tavern] Who not to steal from.