Burrai Steelborn
Burrai gave the Gnome an absent nod and watched him walk away from the table, vanishing amongst the much larger bodies. The crowd shuffled, as though it were some much larger beast sighing, then closed around him. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned back to his mug.
"I'm sorry Burrai, bumping into him was such a surprise I didn't think to explain anything. Vanlen was never told of your families death because, as you know, dwarves don't go around speaking of such tragedies to outsiders. Family business is private business. I should have anticipated his questions. If you feel like talking to him again he's selling goods in the east market. He's got pretty good connections in the merchant trade now. He's also some sort of wizards apprentice, I guess that's what he meant all this time when he referred to his master."
Burrai shrugged, then scratched at the scars cascading down from his brow, a livid waterfall he had to peer through. It wasn't Elloral's fault - acquaintances were acquaintances, wherever you were.
"There's no offence to be taken," he rumbled.
"It's just I believed that time was buried and done with, and now there are two people who know the truth. It's not...comfortable. Perhaps we might need his help anyway if Jabbar reveals something that might require arcane gloves to handle." There wasn't much else to say, and they continued with their meal, both chewing their own thoughts.
Just as they finished, even as the wooden bowls were stacked and hauled away and the first slug of dark earthy ale wetted Burrai's throat, the mood nearby almost palpably shifted. At one table there was an exchange of load voices, the dull thumping of heavy tankards on rough planks, and suddenly an elf stood to his feet, casting down his travelling accoutrements and hoisting his drink overhead. The elf was much like most of his race, all lean, lithe limbs and silken skin; Burrai didn't know if he was tall or short - all elves looked as though they'd been pulled and stretched out of proportion like some demented child toying with a gingerbread man before it went in the oven. His long black hair was braided casually and it hung down over a heavy bow. That gave Burrai a pause - it was a fine weapon.
"Take a look here, my friends, we are honored to have these kind Dwarves 'neath our roof! This calls for a mining chanty!"
Burrai rolled his eyes.
~Elves singing mining chanties?~ Some people wouldn't know irony if it caved in on top of them. Burrai returned to his mug. To the elf's credit, he gave Lenore's Toil a fair crack, but it barely registered on him. The change of words in the verse, however, would have been enough to catch his attention, but to hear Avar's name dropped in so casually was like a slap to the sneses. He looked up, straight into Elloral's confused expression, then they both turned to the elf. Clearly he was speaking to them judging by the meaningful stares bookended with sidelong glances tossed into a booth to one side. Burrai turned back to Elloral.
"Avar?" She mouthed. Burrai nodded back. As odd as it sounded, there altered lyrics carried the hint off a message. Coupled with the looks, it was apparent: Avar sends word, and there might be danger within Putyuk's.
With a final stumble, a twirl, and a loud
"Huzzah!" the elf interposed himself neatly between Burrai and the booth he was so interested in.
"You've attracted unwanted attention, my friend. Those two cloaked goons behind me. I fear they mean you ill will."
Burrai stared up at him, one eye sharp from within the folds of his scars. It seemed meeting Jabbar wasn't going to be as simple as wine and ale over a hot meal in a private dining room somewhere in Cabarda. The question was, were the cloaked men there for him, or the smuggler.
"It wouldn't be the first this week. You're a friend of Avar's?" The elf nodded ever so slightly.
"Fine. I'm going to leave and head around the back of the inn, just in the lee of the wall. If they follow, follow too." He slammed to his feet and grabbed the front of the elf's shirt, pulling him down to eye level.
"If not, meet me there in five minutes. Hopefully, we'll catch them between us and, assuming your skill matches the quality of that bow of yours, we can have a nice chat with them about why we're being watched. Now, brace yourself. This won't hurt much." With a quick shirting of weight, Burrai punched the elf in the stomach, enough to move him backwards, but not enough to hurt. Then he gave him a shove away from their table.
"You keep your drunken words in your tankard elf until you've done a hard days toil in a mine." He barked angrily.
"Come on." With Elloral scuttling at his heels he strode outside, ognoring the carousing patrons the elf had stirred from their bored, workmanlike search for inebriation.
Evening had stolen into town, filling the streets with just the faintest hint of a chill. Light from the Inn's door pooled at his feet in a perfect square. Elloral joined him looking nervous, a bundled clutched to her chest - The journal. But there was a steel beneath, as there always had been.
"A wise general picks his battlegrounds," he said quietly, turning towards the back of the inn slow enough it would be visible from inside.
"And we've both got the choice of the land and the element of surprise." He paused for a moment.
"Assuming that elf hasn't played me for a fool."
But Burrai had made his choice now, and the axe and shield a familiar weight on his back had often proved his choices were good ones.
OOC:
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Burrai will move to a place where he's nearly out of sight and wait to see if he's followed, if he is then he'll move just out of sight hoping to draw them around the corner where he'll confront them and try and trap them with Bill blocking their escape
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