PM to join [Pig's Foot Tavern] A New Face (Akhen)

[Baran]

58th Summer, 516 AV, The Pig's Foot Tavern, early evening

Throbbing pain was the only way Baran could describe his head as of today. Specifically, throbbing, aching, stabbing pain over his right eye. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that he'd been involved in a bar fight, or brawl or something, but instead he knew it for what it was- just the result of a lousy night's sleep and a nightmare or ten.

This was why the man was in the Pig's Foot Tavern that evening. Although he'd found from experience that alcohol plus headaches wasn't a brilliant mix, he figured that if he got so drunk then he wouldn't care. And perhaps the nightmares would leave him be that evening.

Unusually, he'd left his gamba behind that evening, worried that he'd break it if he got too drunk. His pocket hung heavy with coin, and all of it was for drink. With a confident step, the man entered the tavern, heading straight for the bar through the smoky, busy interior. The bar was busy but not overly so, and because Baran was feeling rather brazen, he planted his elbows across the desk and announced, "First round for the bar on me!"

Ears of course pricked up, and a general roar of approval followed, where Baran ended up forking out more than he'd meant to on ale for the lot of them at the bar. Several pats on the back and a large mug of ale later and Baran was half-way through his first pint of the evening when he noticed quite by chance two men with greedy eyes discreetly watching him.

He continued drinking his ale, and the men seemed to look away, but there was something there that the man noted. Those men wanted something, and he wasn't sure he wanted to give it up willingly, whatever it was. But, the matter was ignored for now, as he looked over the rest of the bar, looking for someone interesting with which to talk to. He was in need of a few friends in this place.

OOC :

Ledger: - (roughly 25 drinks at 4 CM each) -1 GM
Feel free to assume that Baran has bought you a drink! xD

[Akhen]

The candlelight flickered and danced with a slow, enticing easiness. His stomach growled. His mind raced to and fro with thoughts of forgotten days, of times yearning for remembrance but he wished to forget. The Blue Vision had no taste tonight. Only a veil of bad, deathless memories. Dim light hung from the ceiling and cast strange, supernatural shadows that weaved and crashed with a prophetic melody. The voices in the tavern were low and wild like the bodies of wolves in the shadow of a forest flame. “You're in here almost everyday, honey. What's your name?” a voice, warm and laden with a sweetness that seemed distant from the city, distant from this savage paradise he knew as Sunberth, asked. The afro-haired man turned and looked up; a swath of brunette touched his tired eyes – her skin was bronzed by the sun and she was as firm as a freshly ripened pear. “Akhen,” he replied humbly from the cloud of pipe-smoke he created. She smiled. Her lean shoulders hunched up with excitement as intrigue sparkled her chestnut-coloured eyes. “You aren't from around here are you?” He nodded cautiously and she chuckled. Akhen could sense the curiosity bristle from her as she held the tray to her breasts to speak. Her lips parted but no words came rushing out; she merely stood there and blushed rosily. What words would be said, he never got to know. She yelped suddenly! A slam on the bar's counter was the cause of her fright. Akhen followed her startled gaze and saw the origin of the noise; it came from a tall young man who seemed cleaner than the rest of the patrons in the tavern. He said something that Akhen caught faintly but from the way the tavern was suddenly roused it seemed to be bearing some good with it. Some good for these people would do, especially with what's happened in the city thus far. Akhen mused internally. Though that did nothing for him, he thought sourly. The girl perked up and turned with flushed cheeks toward the mercenary. “I... I have to go, there's work to be done! So many customers to serve now! What did you want to order? Let me guess, the cheapest thing we've got?” With a solemn nod the brunette departed to the kitchen and came rushing out a few chimes later with a tray of tankards. Akhen watched the tavern liven up suddenly as the ale came abundantly. A frothing tankard clanked onto his rough table with a generous smile from one of the other barmaids and she left as quickly as she came. Akhen eyed the bronzy foaming liquor and sneered. He wasn't fond of the stuff, no matter how free it was. Brushing it aside with his palm and taking a pull of his herb, he fell into a lassitude of thoughts at the far end of the tavern. The bodies of the patrons swayed in his bleary eyes and he heard a shanty lumber from the drunken bellies of the tavern's citizens. His stomach still growled and if it were wild and vicious, the sword leaning against his chair would have made short work of the threat – but no, it was merely hunger. Silent, gnawing hunger...

[Baran]

The tavern was filling up with laughter and chatter now, with Baran a quiet island in the middle. He smiled contentedly, merely happy to watch the other patrons go about their business. The mug of ale was weak, and tasted more like flavoured water to his lips, but it was thirst-quenching, and that was enough. He leaned back on his chair, sighing and scratching his head.

A solitary figure caught his eye. He sat alone at a table haunted by smoke, an untouched tankard at his elbow. He regarded him for a moment, and concluded he was a strange fellow. But Baran was in need of a friend, or at least some kind of conversationalist. He gave a brief flick over the pub, but couldn't see the two starers from before. Hopping down from the bar stool he sat upon, the man wandered over to the stranger's table.

"Mind if I sit here?" Whether he replied in the positive or negative, he pretended not to hear and sat down anyway. He'd taken his tankard along with him, but it was soon finished with a large, satisfied sigh. "You going to drink that, or shall I?" He gestured to the abandoned mug. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke up again.

"What are you doing here today then?" The question was friendly, but whether the stranger wanted to trust him of no was another matter. The people of Sunberth didn't seem particularly trusting. But then, perhaps, this man might not be from Sunberth, not originally anyway. Baran promised to himself that he'd figure it out.

Despite the travels he'd already been on, Baran knew less of the world than he'd care to admit. Although there were many places he'd visited, the majority of places were in the Sylira region. He had a deep, deep desire to visit other places, far away from here. Yet, he knew almost nothing of them. The scant knowledge he did have was also, without him knowing, faulty and untrue, for the most part. His Mizahar mind map was not exactly all in the right place. Indeed, when he'd spent long enough here he planned to journey onwards. Always onwards and upwards.

[Akhen]

How the light caught the bodies and made the shadows move was unerringly familiar, or was it the haze caused by the Blue Vision that made them seem like the motions captured only in a battlefield? A swinging arm was a sword. A laugh booming, a wrenching scream. Drunk eyes were dead eyes and the froth on their lips was like that which hung on dying men! Akhen's thoughts wandered chaotically, the cherry rumble which rose up from the forms about the tavern was no different from one in an arena filled with wickering swords, clubs, axes and mac– “Mind if I sit here?” a voice started Akhen from his dreamy recline. He looked up and saw a man, the young man he'd seen earlier. He seemed a bit older than the mercenary himself and held an air about him that was ablaze with mystery and curiosity. He sat without consent, Akhen didn't mind. He was too busy collecting his thoughts anyway. “You going to drink that, or shall I?” a gesture toward the mug brought Akhen's full attention and the sell-sword eased slightly. “Go ahead, ale never really settled well with me,” he emphasized with a exhale of smoke out his nostrils. A few chimes passed, Akhen looked at the man across him almost inquisitively and suddenly drew back the hand which had subconsciously receded to the hilt of his sword at the first question. From the little interaction between them, Akhen was undoubtedly sure the man was Syliran, whether he was a native of Sunberth or some other city-state, Akhen wasn't was definite in coming to a conclusion. He was cleaner than most of the tavern, that was for sure. He smelt like it too. There was a squeal from a tavern wench, a reprimanding hiss and a cacophony of laughter which followed and in it all, Akhen realized how tentatively strange it was that, in the loud, shrilly tavern, an odd silence only hovered between him and his companion... “What are you doing here today then?” the man ejected suddenly. Akhen eyed him and leaned into his seat, “Waiting for my food,” the reply was flat. “And if you want to know what I'm doing here,” the last word hung on his lips to broaden the concept outside the walls of the tavern, “exclusively.” Akhen slipped a hand and tapped his sword with two fingers. “Work.” the mercenary's reply was low and simple and he was sure the man knew what he was talking about anyway. The shadows around him curled at the pull of the carved pipe whose smoke made white serpentine patterns. For a moment the smell of Blue Vision hung strongly and was quickly chased away by a strong, spicy aroma. A flutter of brunette came rushing and disappeared almost instantly, leaving behind it a bowl of chunky soup and stale cubes of bread. Akhen leaned into the soup, grabbed a rusty spoon, thumbed out burning pipe and sank further to taste the bland flavours of the mire. “And what about you?” he voice must've sounded like a growl. “I conjecture you're not here to kill for profit. You look much too clean for that,” Akhen crushed a cube of bread and mixed the crumbs with the soup to thicken its watery texture. “A male-whore, perhaps? They're much cleaner than most of these poor bastards in the city anyway.” Akhen ate and eyed the man again. A brow raised doubtfully.

[Baran]

Baran snorted with derision and let out a brief, "Ha!" of laughter. Then he realise the stranger meant what he said, and he scowled fiercely, causing his headache to flare up again. "Oh, you were serious." He cleared his throat, and ran an eye over the stranger again. It was true the man did have a tough appearance. His voice certainly fit the part, low and sounding like his voicebox had been savaged by a beast. He had barely noticed the sword at his hip until he had withdrawn his hand from it. Perhaps there was a reason he had been sitting alone up to this point. But Baran wouldn't be put off, at least not yet.

"Musician, having a night off." Usually prone to long strings of conversation, the man was slightly wary of his companion now. The vague threat of the sword helped that. He took a deep breath in, and promptly got a whiff of the stranger's tobacco of choice, if that was even what it was. "Gods, what's that you're smoking? Doesn't smell like regular tobacco to me." He grinned warily and took another swig of the beer, feeling himself sinking into the tipsy stage slowly, like one sinking into a warm, sleep-inducing bath. It was a pleasant feeling only slightly diminished by the headache and present company.

"Sell-swording. Now that's an interesting career. You must have seen some curious sights in your time. I know I have, even as a musician. Although I suppose to one like you that's equal to male-whore." He rubbed a thumb across his eyebrows. "Gods, is that really how I come across?" It wasn't an acrossctual question, but he somehow felt that the stranger would answer it anyway. Or perhaps not, he did seem rather... moody to say the least.

Baran fell quiet again, and looked around the tavern. The starers were somewhere in here, of that he was sure. It was acrossctualround little easier to scope the room here, where he could hide behind conversation and normalcy. It was after a few chimes of silence whilst the man ate that Baran finally picked up one if the men who had been staring. He was no longer looking at Baran, but he decided suddenly that there was something off about him. Whether it was the drooping face, or the gigantic scar across his left cheek, the man seemed threatening. Baran felt his pocket for his dagger, and found it there. Whether he would need it, or even be able to use it against a person was another question.