The atmosphere inside the tavern could easily be summed up by some as warm and friendly, with a few exceptions of some rather shady-looking individuals off in the corners. The fireplace was roaring and filling the room with warmth, the tables were full of people in varying states of merriment and sobriety, and in general it seemed like quite the happy place. The girl tending the bar was a slight blonde, appearing to be no older then around seventeen.

One particular patron, however, disapproved of just about everything around her. Tanya Palayan, her armor currently stored elsewhere, sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest. So many drunks. Certainly, her religion did not have anything against the consumption of alcohol, but Tanya definitely did. The taste, the state it left people in, she had nothing but disapproval for those around her. She did in fact radiate a strong field of irritation as she sat upon. Currently, the small paladin was not wearing her armor, instead only carrying her bastard sword, Repharion. The sizable blade was sheathed on her hip, or rather slightly higher in order to ensure it wouldn’t drag upon the ground.
In normal circumstances, Tanya would never be found in a place like this. It was too loud, too full of alcohol. To put it simply, she absolutely hated being in taverns and quite truthfully wished she was almost anywhere else. But the Paladin of Reon had an assignment, and it was an important one at that. And one of the … recommendations from the priestesses was that she seek further assistance in this task. As confident in her abilities as Tanya was, she eventually begrudgingly agreed that it would be for the best to have allies for this mission. With many of Reon’s loyal paladins aboard, Tanya had been instructed to seek those who may be willing to help her closer to her destination.

That is what lead the purple-haired girl here. The town of Balendale was not far from the ruin she intended to reach. It was a simple place, defended by a simple wooden wall surrounding it. She had heard many adventurers stopped at the place, for whatever reason.

Tanya had little excuse to put it off any longer. She had drained her mug of milk completely dry at this point.

Signing to herself, she got to her feet and climbed onto the bench, as to make herself more noticeable. Well, at least this would get potential applicants’ attention more quickly.

“I am a warrior, seeking to reach the deepest level of the Prison-Castle!” she declared. Indeed, there were few who did not know of what some people called King Haldric’s tomb. Indeed, the allure of the treasure that was rumored to litter it was something she was counting on. “If any wish to join me in this quest, speak now!”

Tanya paused. Now there were so many people looking at her… Grumbling under her breath, she looked away.

“… Or something.”

With that, she sat back down, arms folded firmly across her chest.

She knew it could only get more irritating from here. And yet… her duty was crucial. The thing that lurked deep within the Prison-Castle…

It had to be destroyed.

Beer. No matter how hard Kaghad tried, he could never say 'no' to the stuff after a long day of traveling, particularly one as disappointing as this. As much as he wanted to sit down, he knew when he had arrived that climbing atop one would be a chore given his physique and clothes, and that staying on one would be a trick since his legs wouldn't be able to touch the ground. As such, when he had first approached the counter to request two pints of dark beer, he remained standing. It helped keep him from becoming too engrossed in his drinks, though he still didn't bother to wipe the cream-colored foam from his cloud-white beard.

What a day! First he had nearly gotten run over by a carriage while strolling down the main road, then he had tripped on an uneven clod of dirt and dropped his Portable Forge into a ditch, nearly starting a brushfire in the process. With no place to stop for a proper lunch, he had been forced to turn to his own rations of hard cheese and stale bread, and when he finally reached the small town of Balendale, he had found that the local smith was both appallingly incompetent and intolerably nasty. No wonder his equipment was so poor; he had likely driven away any potential customers with his sharp tongue. After a lifetime of smithing, Kaghad knew that one had to be at least passingly pleasant to people to be bought from. The thought of setting up shop in Balendale to disgrace the unpleasant man's work had indeed occurred to him, but he wasn't waltzing across the countryside to find a new place to start a forge in.

No, thought the dwarf as he clapped the second mug down on the table a little too heavily. He was here for adventure!

At that moment, a woman a few seats away stood up. Naturally this failed to interest Kaghad; a female advancing into an upright position was a fairly everyday phenomenon. Her voice, however, breaking over the dull roar of conversation and hearth-fire everpresent in the tavern, gave him reason to look her way. At first glance, she seemed fairly unremarkable except for her locks, which were both exceedingly long and purple. This struck the practical craftsman as needlessly garish, and her comment about being a warrior -while it would explain her stiff manner- did not sufficiently convince him. He knew he didn't really have the place to judge, since he knew he himself was no warrior, but at least he owned up to it. Still, a warrior with purple hair, and in a dress no less! As he listened further he found that her proposition struck more of a chord with him than her appearance. What an incredible coincidence that another adventurer had wound up in the exact same spot as he at the same time. The prison-castle she mentioned mystified him somewhat, but the mention of the name filled his old bones with a tingling sort of excitement. The last time he had delved into a fort with a couple of allies at his back, they had all made off with a fair haul. Should a castle be any different?

Making up his mind, Kaghad wiped away the froth from his beard with the back of his gloves hand and pushed off from the bar. Though slightly inebriated, he was no stranger to low-quality liquor, so the vast majority of his senses were still in tact. He navigated the various patrons of the bar until he stood directly in front of Tanya. Her eyes were already on him before he had arrived, examining him critically the whole time, and the dwarf thought he could detect a hint of scorn on her face. Perhaps not. He was not so good with human emotions. Regardless, he was suddenly conscious of his general dinginess. Kaghad crossed his own arms and titled his head until his shiny black eyes were staring down his vast nose into the vibrant purple of Tanya's. "Hallo," he began, "Wot exactly does thess quest o' yourn entail?"

Alexander had been playing his mandolin for a bit of spending money, and earned quite a bit from it. It wasn't much, but a lot better than nothing, especially since he could at least get food and drink. He had stopped for a while now to buy himself a nice meal and a glass of water. The meal was mediocre, but he would live to see the next day. He did not indulge in alcohol, though. He had learned long ago that he could not handle it, and was about to make a fool out of himself again.

After finishing his meal, he picked up his mandolin and was about to play it again when a woman stood up. He turned his head to look, as did many others, and the woman began to announce a quest of sorts. The Prison-Castle... King Haldric's tomb? Quite an infamous reputation it had. He had taken a look at it before, but never ventured inside. Some had lost interest, and some had even looked scared and pretended to not hear it, but others were taking an interest it. Already a dwarf was going up to her to ask for details. At any rate, it certainly sounded interesting to him. He sat down on a chair nearby, to the left of the woman, and pretended to tune his mandolin, listening in on the conversation.

"An' so I said, 'Naw, that's m' sister!"

The table in the back corner erupted with boisterous laughter. Several burly men were circled around it, each with a flagon in hand and a smile on their face. Alrik chuckled at the man's joke, but couldn't shake the wistful feeling it had brought on afterwards. It had been weeks now, and there were no signs of his own missing sister. Still, he wouldn't give up. She deserved better. He excused himself from the table, and headed up to the bar for another drink.

The main problem is that he barely knew where to begin looking. His dear sister hadn't gone into much detail about where exactly in Velt she moved. It was a fool's errand, but one he was obligated to go on anyway. Family sticks together, and that's an ideal he'd carry to the grave. He took a swig of his drink, and swished it around for a moment, lost in thought, before swallowing. He lost his train of thought as he noticed a young woman - a girl, really - stand up on a bench.

“I am a warrior, seeking to reach the deepest level of the Prison-Castle!” she announced.
“If any wish to join me in this quest, speak now!”

Alrik ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered the offer. What he really needed right now were people to share an adventure with. If he couldn't progress with his own, at least he could help someone else along the way. He glanced back over to the table he was seated at. Their drinks were raised in celebration, probably just another joke. There was nothing left for him here.

He made his way over to the girl, who was now seated back down. He'd come over just in time to hear the dwarf speak.

"Wot exactly does thess quest o' yourn entail?"

Alrik folded his arms, and nodded. "Int'rested," he stated simply, "but I'd like to hear that first."

This was dumb. The room smelled of the worst elements of dejected peasantry and the second coming of their lunch. But Lucius, Tyrant Prince of Gor, would not be so easily sent packing. Even if it was gross and he missed his family. No, he could not return unless he was victorious. And all the old stories his father told him about HIS adventuring days always started in a tavern. Though that might be because Uncle Granitechest was always there. The point was, a tavern reeked of adventure (alongside the aforementioned grossness). The young prince continued drinking his milk until the woman spoke up. Yes, a paladin of a noble order... a worthy companion and lackey for a prince seeking adventure. He got up, taking his staff in hand and walking over, doing his best to look sagely... and most likely failing, due to being a scrawny ten-year-old wizard.

"Paladin! Know this, for I, Lucius Serpentson, will grace your quest with my mystic might! ...for a share of the treasure. And telling my mom and dad how helpful I was please."

Amongst the many burly men and other strangely armoured folk, there sat a human slowly sipping away at the unidentifiable brown murk--whatever passed in this place for a good drink--she had ordered from the proprietor. This was a strange land and only made stranger by their choice of intoxicants as an essential component of one's daily diet. Perhaps it was good for avoiding various water-borne diseases, but it still left something to be desired. This barbaric land could stand to treat tea as something other than a weird novelty for the traders.

With the call to adventure, Silva took her drink in hand and rose to her full height: towering over the majority of the tavern's patrons, it was easy to track the foreigner as she made her way over to the small paladin, half-emptied tankard in one hand and what appeared to be a pair of sticks in the other. She had no knowledge of the tomb itself, but the need for help was all that called the penitent mage to the small paladin.

"Should you need support magics, I can provide."

Va'ralan was definitely still getting used to human society, despite experiencing it for 20 years, which is a drop in the bucket compared to his 295 years living in High Elven culture. Despite the constant learning of human intricacies, Va'ralan enjoyed himself. He was sitting at a table next to a group of what seemed to be human warriors, though they did not carry themselves with the discipline he was accustomed to back in Vindasel. Then the biggest one in the group started making jokes about his siblings.

"An' so I said, 'Naw, that's m' sister!"

Shaking his head in annoyance, Va'ralan felt a slight tap on his shoulder. Turning his head around to see who it was, a young human female barmaid was standing in front of him. She was rather beautiful which made Va'ralan blush. Seeing this the barmaid saw her chance.

Leaning in such a way as to show her cleavage, the barmaid whispered in Va'ralan's ear,"If you want in a few minutes, we go somewhere else and get to know each other a little bit better, hehe."

The fact that Va'ralan was not used to sexual advances from women; whether it be human or elven, made Va'ralan very uncomfortable. Standing up Va'ralan was about almost a head taller than the woman. Annoyed he sighed,"Please leave me woman, I have no need of your services." With that Va'ralan walked away from the table.

Heading towards the bar counter, Va'ralan almost ran into the big lumbering human who recently was having a good time with the other human males in the back of the tavern. Upon getting nearer to the bar counter, Va'ralan heard the voice of a boisterous young woman. Looking in the direction of the voice, Va'ralan saw who it was. It was a young human woman speaking quite loudly about wanting to go to some ruins of some kind.

Seeing this opportunity to interact with one of his people, Va'ralan approached the young woman and said to her in elvish, <"Greetings child. Are you in need of help?">

At this point, Alexander stopped pretending to tune his mandolin. He placed his right leg on his left, and rested his mandolin on his right leg. "How eager you all are," Alexander said. He started playing an eerie tune to get into the mood, continuing on, "Must you be reminded of the ill reputation of the Mad King Grigori Fel Haldric?" He sighed. "Setting traps within his own castle so no one could steal his treasure, while trapping everyone inside the castle. The castle itself is indeed a ruin, but creatures have taken up residence within it, and they are no laughing matter. I have heard tales of giant vermin, the dead who do not stay dead, and more."

He played the last note on his little melody, then smiled. "Of course, that's not to say that I'm not interested. It does leave me wondering, though..." Alexander said as he turned toward the woman. "You don't seem like the type who would venture into such a dangerous place for glory and riches. If anything, you seem to radiate an aura of steel determination and an iron will." He paused for a second to let it sink in, then finally said, "You have another reason why you wish to venture into the Tomb of Mad King Haldric."

The first one to approach, it seemed, was a dwarf. Tanya hardly had anything against dwarves. There were fine craftsmen, and though they did not look to the light of the sun or the light of the moon, the Church of Reon did not deny the existence of other deities. It was merely a fact that Reon and Mayon were the two most important, and for Tanya's sect Reon was the focus. No, no, her critical expression and general irritation was instead due to the expectation of something headache-inducingly idiotic to spill forth from his mouth. Tanya's hopes for the patrons in the bar were so impossibly low that if one of them fell down halfway to walking over to her it would have been a pleasant surprise, so his heavily-accented-yet-coherent question was nearly a shock. Tanya scooted back slightly in her seat and straightened. Indeed, she also noted the approach of an Elf, of some variation(Tanya didn't expect to see high elves around here but it wouldn't necessarily shock her either) rather close... and a huge man appearing ans inquiring into her intent as well.

And still others appeared. Serpentson? The name was somewhat familiar to Tanya. That... dark land, she though. Perhaps nobility from that country? She wasn't certain. Velt conducted some diplomacy with them and to be truthful her knowledge ended there. He was rather young, and Tanya felt some reservations about bringing him along. However, if he possessed enough skill she would let him come along. He made it this far without any assistance, it seemed. Even if that was counteracted by his lackluster attempt to be impressive. Tanya forced herself not to make a scathing comment. As much as she wanted to, it didn't seem like the best idea.

The approach of... of... surprise was the first emotion rising within her at the sight of the immensely tall women. Not only was she a foreigner, from the distant east it seemed... but she was so tall! ... Jealous rose in the small paladin's heart, and she had to force her annoyance down within herself. No, she had to at least introduce these people to the intended mission before insulting them...

... And then some idiot approached and spoke to her in Elvish as if he expected her to understand. Tanya stared blankly at him for a few moments, a long enough delay in her explanation for the earlier Elf to strike up a tune and give his own introduction to the Prison-Castle. At least he seemed to notice her determination.

"... Yes," Tanya's tone was sharp and short. "Yes, that would be the place. Now, before this idiot starts rambling in a language I can't understand again..."

The small girl gave a short gesture to the high elf who had approached her, before nodding towards the elf with the mandolin. "The bard is right. I'm not going down there for something like treasure, so beyond what I can give back to the Church I don't have any interest in it. The rest is free to whoever accompanies me on this venture. And I'm not some fool who goes into dangerous places for the thrill of it."

The paladin rose to her feet. "I wish to reach the lowest chamber of the Prison-Castle. Down there's something dark that does not sleep. There is a reason the dead do not rest in that pit. As for what I'll do when I get there, I'll carry about my duty as a Paladin of Reon. I'll kill it and whatever evil it sends to stop me. After that's done, whatever treasure beyond a small portion I'm claiming for the Church is to be divided among yourselves if you choose to come with me."

Tanya had only passing interest in the treasure. Sure enough, money was useful, but her family was nobility and had it in no small amount. This was a mission for the Church, and she would see it finished.

Jon had been sitting in the tavern mulling over his options over a meal. His objective was to clear the infamous prison-dungeon of the mad king, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. For all of his strength and battle prowess, he didn't know the first thing about dungeons or traps. The obvious solution was to look for companions, and that was what Jon had been doing for the past day.

He'd arrived a few days ago and bought a room at the inn for somewhere to stay. After resting, he got up to look for people to join him in his expedition. Unfortunately for him, pretty much no one would brave the depths of the dungeon for all the treasure in the world. Pity, since there were even deadlier dungeons out there. He'd have a hard time looking for team members if he really wanted to brave the dungeons.

A few hours ago, Jon had decided to give up looking for team members because no one wanted in on it. He'd settled down to eat a meal at the inn when a woman declared her intention to clear the prison castle. Jon would've joined but he sat back and observed to see who was interested. He didn't want to be disappointed after all, and if the dungeon was as deadly as everyone made it out to be, they'd need more than 2 people.

Sure enough, several people of different races rallied to her cause. A surprising amount, in fact. And then the woman declared her motivation, as a paladin of the church. Jon wasn't a religious person, but he felt a certain familiarity with her, a sense of duty. She was serving her order as he used to serve his lord. This was enough for Jon to walk up.

"That sounds like as good a cause as any." Jon cut in, striding over to the group. "My blade is yours to use, if you find it in your favour to accept a vagabond knight like me."

Falrien sat in a corner of the pub, surrounded by people that seemed hooked on the words he spoke and gazes he left them with. A small curl of pale pink lips when he smiled or the brief expressions he made showed that the porcelain face of his was in fact living and moving, and not a magicked sculpture come to life. His arm was draped across the shoulders of a young girl, probably twenty by his estimate. Though with his age...estimates could be very wrong. He smiled faintly down at her, his green eyes almost glowing bright emerald through the thick fog of Dwarven smokes, steam from the cook, and the shadow of the corner. All others seemed know their presence was no longer needed and left, some grumbling and muttering under their breath as they retreated to their original company. Falrien's smile grew longer, till it became a predatory scar that cracked his porcelain face. His cold lips flashed to her neck, teeth puncturing her neck. Blood rushed past his lips. He hadn't fed in so long. He pulled his lips away, leaving the girl with a giddy look on her face.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Falrien looked up at the noise that had started occurring around him. A thin eyebrow raised, he stalked closer. His eyes flitted gently as he watched peoples pulses. A smaller girl, her blood smelled of hidden power and fervent faith, made an announcement. 'Raiding a tomb...sounds fun' Falrien caught himself thinking as he watched more people take notice. Each of their scents powerful and giving this creature of the night more intimate details then they would know.

The dwarf that stumbled to the paladin was thick with the heavy stench of beer and stones. Dwarves often claimed they had magma for blood and stone skin. Falrien was not going to deny that myth. Dwarf blood was always thick and hot. Far hotter than any he had tasted before and after that poor Dwarf woman. She did have a prestigious beard though. His eyes flicked over as someone moved close. His blood smelt of magic and arrogance. High elf. Falrien disregarded the scent as another entered his senses. And another. The scents became all too much for Falrien. He breathed in deep and calmed himself. Finding a center and quelling the deep coppery hunger in his stomach. He stepped away from the shadows, seemingly becoming corporeal next the paladin.

"Raiding a dungeon for loot and fame? Count me in" he said with a startling smile as he took the young paladin's hand and pressed his lips to the back of her hand "if you would have me" he released her hand and thanked his Sire that the Paladin wasn't feeling very vengeful and holy at that moment.

Poppy was in a silly mood.

For several hours she darted around the kitchen, hiding spices from the cooks, untying apron knots, and nicking tiny handfuls of sugar. She had just made up a game that had her removing the coppers from a man’s purse and whenever he wasn’t paying attention plopping them into his mug of ale. She wanted to see his round, fat face flush when he had finally noticed her handiwork and the coppers rattled against his teeth. Maybe he'd think he won a prize. It was all she could do not to burst out into a giggle fit just thinking of it.

As the man was about to drink the last gulp of frothy ale and discover her secret game, a voice from behind her filled the room as everyone else seemed to grow quiet. Half-listening, she couldn't make it out. Something about ‘Prism-Cattle’? She turned to see a small group gathering around a table, but from her hiding spot Poppy couldn’t see who or what they were looking at. Her wings hummed softly as she rose through the air above the stinky townsmen until she saw her. In the middle of this slowly forming pack of people was a lady with a large sword at her side and hair that was long and…

“Purple!” she squealed. Poppy whizzed over just behind the the sword-lady, trembling with excitement as she admired the waterfall of soft, tumbling lavender that fell down the lady’s shoulders. Her brown eyes shined with delight--and perhaps a little envy--as she reached out with a tiny hand into the violet hair, slowly removing a long, loose strand. “It’s gorgeous!” Poppy cried. Turning the hair in her palms reverently, she wrapped it around her wrist several times into a loosely woven violet bracelet. Thrilled, Poppy's wings thrummed as she darted around the beautiful head of hair to the front until she hovered about eye level with this magnificent creature.

“Excuse me, you’re stunning. I’m Poppy,” she said, twirling in the air, holding out her freshly bangled wrist ostentatiously in front of the lady. “Where did you say you were going? ‘Brittle Vassal’ or ‘Risen Gas-Well’? Anyway, I’m coming with you, just let me have some more of your hair. Please. I’ve never seen purple hair on a lady before. Doesn’t it look nice on me too?”

Tanya's purple eyes narrowed as they laid upon the man who approached. For, as a Paladin of Reon, it was an easy task for her to recognize him for what he was. Undead. A vampire. While her distaste was nigh-immediately visible, it was somewhat countered by a logical assumption to be made about the man. If he was so brazenly approaching a Paladin of Reon, it was unlikely he was a wicked undead who sought only evil and death. No, it could only be assumed that he truly desired to join in on the venture into the deepest pit of the Prison-Castle. In spite of this, she was still quick to tug her hand away when he kissed it.

"I know what you are, undead," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "... But a true Paladin only slays the wicked members of your kind. Anything else is merely a murderer, seeking to spill blood for the sake of it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it! Just because I'll accept your help doesn't meant you're my friend, okay?!"

The outburst seemed rather ridiculous, especially with how relatively calm Tanya had been before it. However, she was simply eager to make her feelings abundantly clear on the matter. At least the previous man seemed quite alive and easy to accepted. But before Tanya could continue, she heard a tiny voice cry 'Purple!' and then discomfort on the back of her head. It felt like someone was tugging on one of her hairs! Swiftly, the small, purple-haired paladin turned, her boots clacking on the bench, only to realize by the thrumming of wings that the perpetrator had moved around in front of her. She turned completely around once more to come face-to-face with the mischief-maker.

A fairy.

Oh, Tanya had dealings with fairies before. Once a rather mischevious group of them had managed to remove her skirt... and the underwear beneath it... and spirited them away into a tree. The embarrassment and anger was still rather fresh in Tanya's mind even though it wasn't a recent event. Still, a fairy could be helpful... "You can look at my hair if you want... but don't just go tugging on it like that!"

Okay, so it was a bit nice to have her hair noticed like that... but still!

"And it's the Prison-Castle of the Mad Kind Haldric. With how long your kind lives I'm surprised you don't know of it already," Tanya began, "What are you skills exactly? ... That's a question to all of your. If you're coming on this venture, I'd like to know what you can do if you haven't said so already."

Located a bit farther away than the whole group, a pair of ears visibly perked up as it caught wind of something interesting. The fact that they were pointed were also indications that this individual was somewhat out of the ordinary compared to the regular patrons of this less than fine establishment. "Hum de dum de..." The owner of said pointy ears went on her merry way towards the girl who had so espoused such interesting news. Such a proposition was always a good thing in the being's opinions since it provided adventures, riches, and best of all practice for her sword skills. Yes, life was good for Hardy, elven blademaster.

That said, not even her being an elf in a room full of mostly humans were the extent of her strangeness, oh no. Not by far. Raised by a human ex-adventurer in a human village, the high elf coming close to the girl was all sorts of strange. Even her name was strange, considering it was the decidedly non elven name of Hardy. "Hardy is pleased that quest has come at last!" The fact that Hardy spoke in such a strange manner despite her being well over a century was even more icing on the strange cake known as Hardy.

It was at that particular moment the eccentric blademaster caught sight of what Tanya looked like, once she got close enough to clear the various bodies blocking her view since the target was that small. And now apparently rather adorable looking too! "Waaa... Adorable! Hardy wishes to pat adorable paladin quest giver on the head!~" The rather bubbly elf exclaimed with what appeared to be a figurative sparkle in her eyes as very dexterous fingers began wriggle with anticipation. "You have Hardy's sword for adventure if Hardy is paid by being allowed to give you much pats to your head!" This came from the woman who lived to be in the triple digits and had traversed many a dungeon and field to become one a truly elite sword wielder who was approaching the pinnacle of her weapon class. "Oh, and I guess to stop evil. But mostly for the head pats!~"