(this story takes place in a small tavern outside of Vesper. Ongoing story - open for involvement/investigation.)
The crowd had begun to clear as the two men entered the tavern. Taking an empty table near the center of the room, they both looked around nervously as they waited for the barmaid to arrive.
Near the bar a gathering a soldiers caught the eye of one of the newcomers. Turning his head slightly he pulled his cloak tighter around his face and continued to scan the room. In one corner, a bard in flamboyantly bright clothing strummed a lute as he whistled a slow, seductive tune.
As his gaze continued, the man saw a group of young ladies seated together near the bard. Further along his visual path he spotted a group of workmen, miners by their look, drinking heavily and becoming more and more rambunctious.
Turning his head to the other side of the room he finally began to calm. No one had given the two a second look when they arrived. Drinking heavily from the tankard of ale the serving girl had set before him he leaned back in his chair to relax. The bard's song had begun to increase in pace. The whistling had become more intense, taking lead as the lute began to soften. It was an oddly riveting combination.
His eyes were closed when he heard the first shout. Leaping to his feet he turned and saw the table of workers engaged in a serious brawl. Angry shouts had quickly turned to punches and now several of the men had drawn ugly looking pick axes from their packs.
The soldiers at the bar moved to intervene when the young serving girl rushed towards them, hands before her. A look of shock reached the observer's face when he realized what she carried. The nearest solider looked down at the girl as she reached him, the jagged tip of a broken bottled entering his stomach as he did. She gave a shout of rage as the others rushed in to attack.
The now panicked watcher turned to his companion- only to see the man holding his throat. Blood poured over hands desperate to stop the flow, and failing miserably. A blade entered his back then and he fell to his knees. Struggling to rise he looked to the exit and saw just a glimpse of a bright cloak as the bard left the building, whistling a foreboding tune.
House D'Amavir
The crowd had begun to clear as the two men entered the tavern. Taking an empty table near the center of the room, they both looked around nervously as they waited for the barmaid to arrive.
Near the bar a gathering a soldiers caught the eye of one of the newcomers. Turning his head slightly he pulled his cloak tighter around his face and continued to scan the room. In one corner, a bard in flamboyantly bright clothing strummed a lute as he whistled a slow, seductive tune.
As his gaze continued, the man saw a group of young ladies seated together near the bard. Further along his visual path he spotted a group of workmen, miners by their look, drinking heavily and becoming more and more rambunctious.
Turning his head to the other side of the room he finally began to calm. No one had given the two a second look when they arrived. Drinking heavily from the tankard of ale the serving girl had set before him he leaned back in his chair to relax. The bard's song had begun to increase in pace. The whistling had become more intense, taking lead as the lute began to soften. It was an oddly riveting combination.
His eyes were closed when he heard the first shout. Leaping to his feet he turned and saw the table of workers engaged in a serious brawl. Angry shouts had quickly turned to punches and now several of the men had drawn ugly looking pick axes from their packs.
The soldiers at the bar moved to intervene when the young serving girl rushed towards them, hands before her. A look of shock reached the observer's face when he realized what she carried. The nearest solider looked down at the girl as she reached him, the jagged tip of a broken bottled entering his stomach as he did. She gave a shout of rage as the others rushed in to attack.
The now panicked watcher turned to his companion- only to see the man holding his throat. Blood poured over hands desperate to stop the flow, and failing miserably. A blade entered his back then and he fell to his knees. Struggling to rise he looked to the exit and saw just a glimpse of a bright cloak as the bard left the building, whistling a foreboding tune.
House D'Amavir