Another day in the Tavern

[cbolt_toak]

The Lifefire Mage

*A parchment with a message in the common tongue burned into it rests on the corkboard pinned by a black point. Behind the parchment lies other scraps of paper, as though inviting response of any sort*

Hello there whether you be a sir or a miss, my name is Cbolt Toak. You could note me quickly in sight by my cloak of black feathers or by touch the warming presence I tend to give off much like the fires from the pit.

I have seemingly been in the area around this tavern for a while, and am looking for anyone who may find my company or talents of some regard. I am more than willing to hear stories and news of any sort, and pass it on to whomever I meet, or in some cases, to specific people if I find the chance and time. I seem to be a minor craftsman of sorts in coal-like trinkets and wooden statues, if anyone could use such skill. I grew up to be a writer, and though my life has changed dramatically I always look for an oppurtunity to write a tale, if there be such to write.

I leave this message with the oppurtunity of future messages, for if you wish to speak with me than give me what time ((as in what /time would give you)) you would be in the tavern and I'll look to speaking with you if I can.

 

[Lucian Frost]

As quickly as he'd arrived, the stranger ate, paid his tab then stood and headed for the door. He headed out into the night, flicking his cloak back up over his head and vanishing into the shadows of a nearby alley. The only trace he left of his passage was the scant memories of the few people who'd bothered to spare him a glance.

 

[eriwoj]

An elf enters the tavern shaking snow from his cloak. He glances over all of the messages posted along the walls. A man and his page enter. The man removes his cloak, shaking the snow from it, as he approaches the elf and whispers something to him. The elf knods and continues to scan the walls as the man and his heavily cloaked squire walk up to the bar, place an order, and then retire to a table.

The elf sees that many of the messages have been left by a band of warriors who are grouping to preserve and defend local forest lands. "Good," he thinks, "It is about time someone did that. I would join, but I am too busy."

He continues to scan as his friends sip their drinks at a table near the fire place. He spots a few papers with letters to home written on them. His interest is sparked by one addressed to "Czasohil and Luka Timaukogacki". He quickly reads through it and then rips it from the wall and tucks it in his bracer as he makes his way to the bar to order a drink and ask a few questions.

A hunched over form in a heavy, undied, wool cloak limps in by another door. The elf at the bar takes no notice as this new comer limps to a dark corner leaning on an unstrung bow for support. He limp seems faked but not many notice.

As this figure seats himself and sets aside the bow, one of the bar maids approachs to take his order. The person speaks not, but simply waves a hand, gesturing to be left alone. His dark fleshed hand reached into a pouch at the belt and remove a pipe and some smoking herb.

After lighting the pipe with the candle on the table, and snubbing its flame, the figure pulls one foot up on to the chair and begins to scan the room. The man by the fire meets his eyes but turns away. His page notices his master dodge the glance but says nothing.

The dark man stays silent in the corner watching and waiting as the rest of the other tavern patrons continue on with their normal evening.