When Morality Clashes (Craevan)

[Darian]

(1st of Spring, The Pig’s Foot Tavern)
Darian strode into the smoky tavern, a heavy cloak draped across his shoulders, and pulled tight over his face, so to more disguise his presence there. He made a point to walk with a definite amble to one of the many rough hew tables that lay scattered across the floor, and with a brief grunt, and wave to the bar maid, he maintained an examination of who was in the room, trying to see who was in attendance today. Mostly it consisted of the same rowdy bunch of ruffians that it usually had, and the fact didn’t faze him in the slightest. Their where of no concern to him, and indeed not important enough to deserve more than the occasional glance he threw their way, and besides he was far more concerned with trying to notice any new faces within the crowd than anything else. Dropping two silver mizas on the table before him, he ordered a pitcher of wine from the lovely lass before once more gazing about the room. The wine would likely taste sour, and stale but it was the appearances that really mattered, in fact he really counted on the fact that it might be watered down to get him through this little ordeal.

Seeing no new faces yet, he sighed, dissatisfied, and looked to the now waiting pitcher in front of him. He grabbed both sides of the clay pitcher, and moving the edge of the container to his lips, he poured the liquid into his mouth, downing the wine in a series of gulps, the remnants of the wine dripping down his cheeks. With a loud belch, he wiped off the left over wine with the back of the cloak on his arm, and tossed another two silver mizas onto the table as a invitation for the barmaid to bring more. As he expected the wine was horrible, tasting more like a mixture of water, along with blood, than anything delicate or smooth. It took every ounce of his will just to keep from hurling the fowl mixture up, and tripping his way out of the horrid establishment, but years of practiced calm help him keep it down somewhat, though he grew slightly green at the thought of maybe having to down another pitcher of the sour stuff.

He was of course at the very tavern to look for help, which is why he wore a disguise. Frustratingly however, it seemed his contact was not to show, and he made a little mental side note to remember to pay back the little rat for leaving him waiting. He didn’t to mind the disgusting tavern; he’d grown up around such things all his life, and cared very little about his own personal hygiene, preferring to focus more on his physical shape, then how unclean he was. Today was no different with the addition of soot he’d picked up from a blacksmiths shop; he looked as dirty and unrecognizable as usual. With a sigh of dissatisfaction, he gradually rose from his chair, and left the bar, leaving the untouched pitcher there as there was no need to continue the charade. Once outside in the cool fresh air of the night, he breathed in deeply and enjoyed being away from all the pipe weed smoke inside, even though it still hazily wafted out from behind him from the open door of the tavern.

Looking up at the shining stars outside, he quickly determined his general area, but since he had no relative place to stay within the city, he settled for leaning against the side of the tavern wall, the passing folks thankfully leaving him to his thoughts for the time being.

[Craevan]

Craevan's form, muddled by a large black cloak, crept between buildings cautiously. He wasn't used to the urban environment of Sunberth, he spent most of his time in the forest. Being in the city at night was making him nervous. Craevan knew that the streets were crawling with dangerous personas. He remembered the time he had been cornered behind a tavern when he was only 24. He had been lucky to get out of there alive. He refocused himself upon prowling the alleys of Sunberth and decided he was going to treat himself tonight. The smell of liquor and smoke wafted towards him, he followed the smell, wary and careful not to be noticed. The night air chilled his bones, despite the heavy cloak wrapped around him. His steps made hardly any noise, partly because his boots were so soft with wear. No matter how quietly he stepped, he knew he had to be as inconspicuous as possible. He spotted candlelight and a sign bearing a pig's foot in a pool of blood. As he neared the tavern, he pulled down his cowl, contorted his arms, added a slight limp to his usual confident saunter, and hunched his back so as to make him look far older than 34, his true age. The Pig's Foot was the most popular tavern in town and a haven for all the types of people that Craevan found revolting. He stopped outside the bar, looked to the sky, and gave a silent plea to the earth, "I just be wantin' me some whiskey, I don't want ter die!" He rested his hand on his knife and made sure he could get to his bow, but he doubted a bow's effectiveness in a crowded tavern. As he opened the door to the tavern, he noticed a man leaning against the wall beside the door. The man was covered in soot and seemed occupied in his own machinations. He noted the man's features, being the paranoid man that Craevan was, and entered the tavern. Craevan was assaulted with the sounds of bickering gamblers and the smell of smoke, liquor, and filth. He spotted an empty table at the back of the crowded, smoky pub. He weaved between the massive, heavily muscled men that filled the tavern. He recognized some to be highwaymen, thieves and murderers. If he wasn't nervous before, he was now. An attractive young woman tentatively approached his table and took his order. She spoke with good manners and she spoke softly, Craevan's diguise must be working.

[Darian]

The cold air of the night clashed against his frame but he reveled in it. It wasn't too often he came this deep within the city unless under special circumstance, as was true for tonight. Too bad his contact didn't show, he would have to find another way to get his hands on a weapon. He found that he felt terribly unsafe in the dangerous city without a weapon, and he would definitely need to acquisition one soon as possible. One did not survive here long without a means to defend themselves, and he was not an exception to the rule.

A man in a large black cloak, not so much unlike his passed by him into the tavern, and he mused that their cloaks might in fact be the same size. He understood the man's want for secrecy as he himself was similarly disguised, and for a brief moment thought that maybe this man could help him in what he wanted. Surely someone who disguised themselves like him did not want company, but he was confident that he could persuade this man or woman, he didn't quite get a good enough look at the figure, that it would be in their best interest to work with him.

Silently he disappeared back into the tavern, and quickly spotted the large form of the person weaving through the crowds as they limped to their table. The further actions of who ever this was intrigued him, and not using his regular stooping posture with a jerky gait, he instead decided to walk over there with his shoulders held straight, and his walk smoothed. Using a disguise against this one would be of no use, since it seemed that he used similar tactics as he himself did. His knowledge of disguise was severely limited and he would have no luck against someone equally careful as himself.

As he walked towards the man's table he pulled his hood lower, taking advantage of the dim lighting of the area, and sheathing his face in shadow. At least he still had one thing that would work no matter what, unless this figure possessed night eyes as well.

Darian came upon the back of the chair directly across from the man just as the barmaid left to get his order, his large sweeping cloak flowing around him as he suddenly stood still before taking a seat. Unconsciously he pulled the cowl lower and he rested the edges of his elbows on the flat of the table as he seemingly stared at form that now looked more like a large man, across from him. " Greetings, how does the night greet you sir? " he asked coolly, seeing no reason not to be cordial to the man.

[Craevan]

He had felt eyes on him ever since he saw the soot-covered man outside the tavern. As he waited for the whiskey he had asked of the young serving girl, Craevan scanned the tavern. Before he had reached his table, he felt a gust of wind enter through the doorway and suspected the man from outside was in pursuit. His suspicions confirmed, the man sat down in front of him, lowered his cowl, rested his elbows on the table, and gave him a polite greeting. As the man sat, Craevan had placed a hand on his bow and on his knife. Strangely, the man across from him had not. Did the man not have a weapon or was he not concerned for his safety? Craevan hoped that the latter was true. You need a weapon, especially in a city like Sunberth. He noticed the man's cloak was almost identical to his own. From the look of the man, he and Craevan seemed to be of similar walks of life. Craevan couldn't see the man's face well now, but from what he saw outside, he was rough looking. He considered shedding his disguise... The soot covering the man's figure was probably a disguise itself and not a by-product of his profession, whatever it may be. Placing more trust than usual in the stranger, he straightened his back and pulled back the cowl of his cloak to reveal his sunken face, heavy brow, long and unruly hair, wild beard, and animalistic looking eyes. "Well, the night be treatin' me fairly good. Aside from chillin' me bones, the night's always been a great ally o' mine," Craevan responded. "And, from the look a ye, shadows are also a friend o' yer's," he stated plainly.

[Darian]

" The shadows keep people like us safe, and in a city like this, that’s an advantage most can't ignore " he responded, his eyes locking on the man’s as soon as he revealed his features. The man revealed his face as well, another gesture of trust that was not easily missed. Darian breathed easy, glad things where starting on the right foot so far. Maybe this man could help him with my little problem he mused. The man certainly seemed the type that would know his fair share about weapons. Only thing that be a little bit challenging would be bringing it up, and convincing the man. Who knows he might even get a little training out of it should the impromptu meeting go well enough.

The weathered wood of the table seemed to grind into his elbows, and the grain of the oak wood felt easily through the thin cloth of his cloak. He drummed his fingers briefly against the marred wood, as a barmaid came up to him. A sweet thing most likely in her late twenties, with long brown bangs combed to the side in a way that covered her right eye. The left eye had no such obstruction to see him, and the woman stared at him with the crystal blue iris of her eye reflecting him slightly within it. " I'll have a water if you will " he said softy and he was pretty sure she didn't remember him from his previous visit only moments ago. With that she spun easily around, walking off to fulfill his order, and slowly Darian turned to look at the man seated across from him. " Its right deadly to be out there without a blanket or some form of shelter. Do you live anywhere around here, or are you just visiting the fine city " he said with a twinge of sarcasm when he mouthed the words fine city. Truly anyone who ever said the city was safe never had been to the place, but he figured by the look of the man that he was used to the cities peculiar comforts.

You could always tell who had been in the city long enough, they all possessed that similar look in their eyes, the look like they had seen it all, done some dark things, or likely both of the above. In a city like this everyone had their hands dirty and those that didn't soon would, or risk losing their life to the streets. The only thing to guess was what the man does that helps him survive here.

[Craevan]

He didn't pay much attention to the man's face. Anyone living in Sunberth should know that a man's face does not always reveal as much as you would think. Craevan was starting to suspect that the man in front of him was not interested in idle chatter. "Shelter? The night sky's the only shelter I be needin'!" Very promptly, the serving girl returned with his whiskey and the stranger's water. "Water? Can't hold yer liquor can ye," Craevan asked, chuckling. "S'all right. I seen men twice yer size take one sip o' wine and fall on their arses!" He laughed for a moment, but quickly returned to his regular, dark demeanor. "Now I know ye ain't lookin for gossip, or a nice chat. I been in this city too long ter think that ye don't want somethin' from me." "I guess ye seen me bow. Ye want one? Training? What'll it be?" Craevan asked, guessing at the man's intentions. He still didn't trust the man. He'd get him a bow, but he won't show him how to use it until he trusts the man."Or is somethin' else ye be wantin'..." He removed his knife from its sheathe whilst he asked what the man's true motives were. He took the knife's leather-wrapped handle gently in his hand, lifted his weight from the chair, and... THUNK! In an instant, the knife had leapt from Craevan's hand and darted through the air. The knife, now quivering, had burrowed deep into a beam beside the stranger's head. "If what ye want is me money, or me life, then I'll kill ye right here! Now, if ye want ter conduct some civilized business, I'll be waitin' outside." Craevan threw a few mizas onto the table, emptied his tankard, and stormed out of the tavern, wrenching his knife out of the beam as he did so.

[Darian]

" Oh I can hold my liquor just as good as any man, but I drained a jug none too long ago, but the wine tastes like piss, and I’m none too eager to get right at it again " he said, slapping a hand on the wood of the table, and even managing to force a hearty chuckle. The conversation was carrying well at the moment, and it seemed that the stranger would be easy to please. He grinned, and his hands spread themselves about the table in a gesture of trust. There were no weapons he could reach for on his person, nothing to reach for, so he wasn't sacrificing much in this action, but the stranger didn't know that, and it was the thought that count never the less. " Combat training would be nice, but isn't the problem, problem is no weapon to speak of " he answered.

A soft hiss of air, and a thwack sounded beside his left ear, though he had a good enough sense about him not to move a inch, or even blink. Such a hostile move, yet maybe it was a test, or he was a horrible shot. Slowly he closed his eyes and opened them again to stare at the man, but he made no move to speak, even when the man walked past him, and removed his blade from the post. " Yes, this is the man that could be helpful to my cause " he murmured to himself before standing up, taking his leisure to drain the rest of his water, before tossing a few coins as a tip for the hostess on the table, and turning on his heel to leave.

He stepped out into the crisp open night air, and briskly shook his shoulders before spotting the man, and walking towards him. The man’s shoulders remained straight, and he shirked on his cowl for protection against the wind, and soon he was standing before the man again. " So, what say you? "