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Uncaring Night


Defeatist Elitist

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Perovac can be a depressing place, and for this reason, or some other, you have found yourself in an inn towards the edge of the city, near the eastern gate of the city, instead of gazing in awe at its ancient splendor, or what remains of it. The sun is setting, though this doesn't seem to affect the patrons, as few have seen it fit to head to bed yet.

OOC: So basically you can do RP and whatnot in here, I'm just not going to get going until we have a few more players/and or a day or two has passed.

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As the night wears on, more and more patrons head off to bed, though a few remain. Of those remaining, you see more than just yourself who seem out of place.

OOC: gogogo

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Eyeing Sternblade wearily, the innkeeper picks up a fresh mug and fills it from a nearby barrel.

"Just so as to make things clear here," says the bartender queitly, handing Sternblade the mug, "You've got to pay for all this eventually."

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Damios sighed. He had spent all day asking people if they had seen anyone matching the description of his brothers, but while they had been friendly and willing to help, not a one had seen anything. The trail had grown truly cold. It had been a week since anyone had had a clue. He'd have to find a mage and spend some of his dwindling money to pick up where they were. But each day he lost was a day they remained free... and no doubt, up to no good.

With this failure weighing on his mind, Damios didn't really feel like drinking. And he certainly didn't feel like listening to this buffoon throwing mugs around. Each one only seemed to make him louder and drunker.

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Stella's eyes danced around the inn. She thought about how strange the outside world was, after having spent much of her childhood and teenage years studying in her master's basement. Her eyes finally settled on the scene at the bar, at the drunk throwing his mug at the bartender. "Is this what people are really like?" Stella mused herself with this question before finishing her meal and pulling her hood back on.

"The world is such a strange place... how much have I missed over the past... 13 years...?"

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Dwayne has been sitting against the wall adjacent to the short staircase up to his room and things, trying to unravel the art of tying rope, using his shoelace to try and make a pendulum with a coin. "Wait, not unravel," he muttered, staring at the ceiling. While he was hoping that the tiny rope hadn't noticed his inner voice's choice of words, the coin came undone and fell to the ground, jolting Dwayne to a start as the coin rolled away.

He let out an "ack," quickly muffling himself to avoid drawing any more attention than whatever was already directed his way. After briefly struggling to decide whether it would be worse to lose the coin or to face the embarrassment of going after the coin with only one shoe, Dwayne beat a brisk, if sheepish one-shoed walk after it. Dwayne couldn't tell if the grating sound of the coin rolling had gotten anybody else's attention, least of all the large and possibly drunk human of questionable temperament in whose direction it was headed, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know, either. Blocking everything else out, Dwayne caught up to the coin and snatched it in-hand, his eyes wandering up slightly as he noticed the bartender addressing the large man in a quiet tone.

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Damios noticed the woman sitting in the corner with her hood up. She seemed aloof from the other patrons. Noone was sitting next to her. Perhaps she might know a powerful mage? Damios did not know anyone in this city, having only arrived two days ago, and she seemed as good a place to start as any. He moved and sat next to her. And then realised he didn't really know what to say.

"So, do you normally get people like this in here?" Damios said. He kept his voice low, so the large man couldn't hear by accident. He didn't want to get in a fight... but the man seemed to be completely focused on his beer.

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Completely lost in thought, Stella jumped in her seat when she thought she heard someone talking to her; she was caught completely off guard by the nearby stranger's words and the fact that for the first time in years, someone other than her wizened master was talking to her.

"Are... are you talking... to me...?"

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By the time he opened the door to the inn, Matthis could barely muster the strength to run. He had challenged himself to travel for the rest of the day without stopping. For that situation, he kept his armour and gear all in the large sack he dragged across the floor. Covered in dirt and grim, anyone who saw him and the large bag of clanking materials he brought with him would not have guessed his true status. Which was helpful as that line of thought kept bandits from ambushing him, for they thought him some poor begger with a bunch of pots and pans in tow.

Grabbing a seat as close to the fire as possible, Matthis rubbed his hands to warm them. Producing a silver coin from his pouch, Matthis called out to the innkeeper, "Ale, my good sir, some ale to warm the bones of a traveler."

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Tamara glanced up out of her cups for a brief glance at the bare-chested, oiled berserker making a disgrace of himself. Back where she came from, people showed respect towards a man offering warm hospitality and a warmer hearth.

And, regretfully, lukewarm ale, but she figured you couldn't expect everything.

Tamara was interested in Perovac, perhaps more than common sense would dictate. She'd been mugged twice (unsuccessfully), pickpocketted once (though for only as long as it took for her to lash out with her scythe) and had been forced to heal at least eight people in the street. At the end of all this, she felt she needed a day of rest, and of heavy drinking. Tomorrow, she wasn't entirely sure what she would even do. Try to make a living, most likely killing things. She so hated needing to kill things, although obviously re-killing the undead was honest, delightful work. She just needed to find like-minded heroes and adventurers to seek out and destroy the undead menace in general.

...

It struck her that the barbarian was probably another aspiring adventurer.

If Tamara ever swore, it would likely be now.

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Wordlessly the innkeeper passes Matthis a mug of ale, while simultaneously snatching the coin from him. After examining it for a second or two, he returns to glaring at Sternblade and idly whiping the bar with a dirty rag, less an act of cleaning and more an act of moving the dirt around.

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"By Crom, I shall rather pay than disgrace my name!"

Sternblade threw a bag of coins at the innkeeper.

"Take what you need from that. Take all of it, in fact! It matters not to me, when ale is so good," he said, and downed the next mug of ale in one go.

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This ale? Good? Has he tasted ale BEFORE?

This was officially the dumbest question Tamara had ever asked herself, and she cursed herself out mentally.

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"Look, if you don't want to talk, fine," he said. "Sorry to bother you."

Stella grabbed the man next to her; she saw immediately that she had made a mistake.

"Wait! I'm sorry if I sounded antisocial..."

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"Crom?" Dwayne muttered, pausing to turn to the large stranger. Eased and intrigued, Dwayne pulled up a seat two spots away from the stranger and faced him. Watching the man put away another mug, Dwayne started, "I suppose I'm not the only out-of-towner in here, am I? Ah, beg your pardon, sir, but do you have any particular business in town, yourself?"

Dwayne's ears perked a little at the noise coming from the rest of the tavern, as it washed away the silence that had felt so absolute just minutes ago. Is something different about tonight?

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Stella relaxed. This man seems friendly; his presence is calming.

"You are... the first person I've really talked to... besides my master... in years. It feels... strange... to finally be out in the world and experiencing things on my own now that he passed on..."

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"Glory you say good sir? Surely you must have glorious tales of your mighty exploits to tell us about!" Matthis said, his attention drawn to the loud barbarian. Nothing much to do apart from sleep, might as well try to goad the big man to provide some entertainment.

Turning his head around to look for the innkeeper to refill his mug, Matthis finally noticed an elf...or at least a female with features of an elf in full platemail. Standing up and bringing his sack with him, Matthis cleared his throat and asked Tamara, "Fair elf, I see you have platemail on you. Are you perhaps a paladin too?"

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Caught off-guard by the newcomer (truth be told she had barely noticed him entering at all) Tamara jolted back in her chair. "I, uh... no, I fear not. Merely a shrinekeeper of Galora."

She nodded briefly at the scythe propped up against the wall.

"I take it you are, then? A holy knight, I mean?"

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"Yes, that I am. A champion for Fharlanghn's cause. So what does Galora seek in her faithful?" asked Matthis, subconsciously grabbing himself a seat next to the cleric. A talk about their respective deities might prove refreshing.

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Stella relaxed. This man seems friendly; his presence is calming.

"You are... the first person I've really talked to... besides my master... in years. It feels... strange... to finally be out in the world and experiencing things on my own now that he passed on..."

"What's your name, then?" Damios asked the strange woman. "I'm Damios, by the way."

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"What's your name, then?" Damios asked the strange woman. "I'm Damios, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Stella. My parents gave me that name... before they died."

As she said this, Stella struggled to remember her parents' faces, a parent's unconditional love, or indeed anything that happened before she was taken in by her master.

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