It wasn't long before Kat saw the blue sparkles that signaled the sprite had made her appearance. She considered flagging her down and ordering food if only to annoy Naida, but decided against it. Kat was bored, but not that bored. Besides, that imp would probably just spit in her food anyway. Kat raised an eyebrow when a walking, talking rat sauntered into the tavern, ordering a round for everyone present. Exchanging a glance with Hel (Is this guy for real?) she shrugged. If he was paying, she wasn't gonna turn down a meal. Not that the tavern actually ever made you pay. It was the principle of the thing. She motioned to a waitress skittering back and forth through the tables and ordered a drink and a healthy plate of food. She almost spat out said drink when an ogre of all things busted through the tavern door. Some dark newcomer to the tavern was already on her feet, blade drawn. Well, she's a twitchy thing. This would be entertaining sure, but Kat wasn't really in the mood to watch someone get slaughtered. "Hey," she called out, still leaning casually at her table, "big guy." She gave a short whistle and raised her arm above her head, beconning the ogre towards her with two fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hel looking up at her, decidedly unimpressed. She winked back at him and he just rolled his eyes with a huff. Still, his tail flicked back and forth across the tavern floor, the only sign that he tensed in case any trouble came from Kat's… socialization. "You looking for the boss?" she asked him. Gesturing with her chin at Azzrix, she continued, "That's him over there. They call him Sir Rat, the Inexterminable. He likes it when you bow and kiss his hand."

@Forsythe Old parchment rustled soothingly as Tahira turned to the next page in A History of Elrikur, which she read with a complacent smile in the shadows of her hood. She sat cross-legged between two bookshelves on the floor of the tavern’s library, absorbed in her reading as usual, with the gentle murmur of conversation and revelry drifting in from the rest of the tavern to provide a warm atmosphere. As she read, many new sounds mixed in with the conversation, adding flavor to that atmosphere. The harmonious melody undoubtedly played by Viggo, and the excited chatter that could only mean the arrival of Naida. These things were interesting, yes, but they didn’t break her concentration on the book before her. At least until she felt the backlash. Expanding outwards from a single point beyond the door, a virulent wave of arcane energy washed over the tavern. Tahira had little time to prepare, so as it passed through the library it scalded her delicately attuned magical senses, much like walking from the darkness into bright sunlight would sting the eyes. The book dropped from her hands, followed quickly by a foreign curse which would have revealed her coastal heritage were there any in earshot. Rubbing her temples, Tahira climbed to her feet cautiously. Whatever that had been, it was likely not intentional and she sensed no further spikes in magic coming from the next room. However, just to be safe she erected a spirit barrier around herself, invisible to normal eyes, which would protect her from the disorientation of another wave. Picking up the fallen book, she placed it back on itself and brushed off her knee-length robes. There would be no going back to reading now, she had a few herbal remedies which would soothe her headache, but a drink would do the same and it gave her an excuse to investigate what had just happened. Naida was apologizing to Sessamaru profusely as Tahira stepped out of the library and into the tavern. It seemed that his potent magic was at the center of this issue, but they were not well-acquainted enough for Tahira to feel comfortable prying. Instead, her eye caught the Witch, Margaret, who was ensconced in the same bench she had been the night prior. It was a safe assumption that she had been similarly affected by the magic, so Tahira thought it would be a good opportunity to approach her. Of course, she didn’t consider what the combined effect of alcohol and volatile magic might have felt like at so close a range. Stepping up the witch’s table, she addressed her prone form. “Was that as...uncomfortable...for you as it was for me?” she asked, her voice it’s typical low-pitched murmur.

It was a strange feeling that the blue bloke had left Drubbins with. It wasn't very common that something as big as him experienced what it was like to be run down by a donkey cart, but this was a close approximation. Still, he'd told him who Da Boss was and Drubbins attention was drawn further by the pointed ringing of a bell. Good Gods, how had he not known? He should have sensed this bloke before he even came in the door, which he remembered and reached back to shut out of due respect. Da Boss typically liked the doors to his lair closed. It was then that he heard someone call for him. Not by name, but in general whenever someone called out "big guy" they were talking to him. He looked over to some dark bloke who looked like he'd been krumped but good, who pointed out the rat bloke as Da Boss. But Drubbins had been through this before. This was typical new guy hazing, and he wasn't going to fall for it "Nah." He called over to the one armed bloke. "Dat guy ain't Da Boss. He's all little an stuff, and all nobby. Not Boss at all." He said, pointing at the rat bloke. "It ain't even dat dog bloke what did da big magic just now." He called over. This was some more smart thinkin'. He was two for two today, and on a role. "Dats a trick." He said, thundering steps bringing him before the bar. He slides the bar stools aside so he can sit, eye level, with Bernard. You only has to look at him to know. The strong build, the air of stoic command, the way his subordinates obeyed with such speed and with so little prompting. "Da only Boss, da only bloke you can call Boss in da room," he said, raising one long arm to point a finger at Bernard. "Is dis bloke right here!" He smiled, having actually passed the test. "Dats right, ain't it Boss? I'm your boy from now on!"

[Sessamaru] Sess slowly regained his senses and heard Naida continuously apologize, but he simply looked back up at her and smiled. It was a nervous smile, his hand scratching the back of his head. "It's alright, really!" He pleaded, his face blushing due to the attention. "You don't have to worry about me, Miss Naida, honest." Naida swiftly left him to take care of things for a brief moment, such as speaking to the ogre at the doorway. He chuckled, his glowing emerald eyes darting to the creature calling him a "dog bloke." Unsure what the ogre was meaning by it, Sess simply let it go, unconcerned if it was a challenge or not. His first concern was Naida, who's return alleviated his spirits. "We weren't talking about anything, Miss Naida." Sessamaru replied kindly, bowing his head. He slowly rose to his feet and noticed that Tahira was in the bar, as well. The half-breed turned to stare at Naida. "Is there anything I may help you with, Miss Naida?" He asked politely. Perhaps shirking his training for a few hours wouldn't be a bad idea; after all, he was kind of hungry after the expulsion of his own magical energy. [Bernard] Bernard kept his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, waiting for everything to be repaired and replaced. When Naida approached him, he simply shrugged at her proposition. After all, accidents happen... unfortunately, they were very expensive accidents. Nevertheless, he cataloged the problem in the depths of his thoughts and continued to watch the events unfold in the tavern. There, coming towards him, was an ogre. Bernard eyed him as he had everyone else who entered, just peering into the depths of his soul. A subtle nod of his head and he approached the ogre, producing a pint of ale. He pointed to the Mission Board and muttered. "Boss." Without another word, he went back to his wall and continued overlooking the tavern, ensuring nothing went out of hand. [Rupert] Rupert felt the flux of magical energy and leaped from his seat. "Dagnabbit, Fox Boy McGee!" Rupert crowed, agitated. "If I had a pence for every time a whippersnapper like you went willy-nilly and gung-ho with magic, I'd be a filthy rich wizard with a harem of succubi!" The old wizard went on and rambled about "kids these days" and "back in my day." The flustered wizard knocked on the bar three times, which Bernard retrieved for him a rather expensive bottle of "Regulus Blue," a potent mead made with the finest honey and the richest of magic, combined with very powerful alchemical ingredients. A wizard's drink. Rupert's drink. The old codger downed the bottle in one go, ordering another with three knocks, this time taking his time. "Damned kids and their magic yeehaws, and hormonal yahoos."

Azzrix heard several people give a cheer when he said that he would buy free drinks for everyone and he smiled. This made his ego rise a bit and he felt like the center of the tavern right now. Once he got his large mug of mead Azzrix heard Kat mention him and like the messenger god he went over to her with another mug of mead to share. "Did I hear my name uttered? Hello, your name is Katelia isn't it? I would assume that you know who I am by how you just spoke my name, but do you really know who I am?" asked her as he held out the extra mug for her to take it. He then noticed the ogre and whistled a bit at the sight of such a being. "You're a big one, hello my large friend. My name is Azzrix Grimmor, I am a glorious noble by day and a mysterious phantom by night. I stand before you as friend and speak the truth that friendship with a member of the noble Grimmor family is worth more than ten mountains of gold. My deeds though in shadows are above all in skill outside of my family and you will not find one as talented as I in any land. If it is a boss you're looking for then I am the one" Azzrix said to the ogre with a grin.

Kat pouted a little when her attempt at entertaining herself fell flat. Hel just huffed and flicked her in the face with his tail. Leave it to Naida to spoil her fun. Guess the big lug's not as dumb as he looks, she thought to herself. Still pretty dumb, she amended at seeing him practically throw himself at Bernard's feet. Old Rupert was kicking up a fuss over magic again (something to do with Sess and Naida, of course) but that's not what took Kat by surprise. No, instead it was the fact that in front of her stood the very rat she'd attempted to make mischief on, noble and proud like a champion home from war and holding a drink out to her. Kat just exchanged a look with Hel, eyebrow raised. The snow leopard's ears twitched in a sign of amusement. This is what you get. Turning back to Azzrix, Kat opened her mouth to say the first thing that popped into her mind (Your name is actually Sir Rat, the Inexterminable?) when Hel lifted his head and dropped its significant weight onto her lap, pinning her down to the seat. To anyone else it would just look like an act of affection from a lazy cat, but she knew the warning for what it was: Don't start any shit. So instead, Kat shut her mouth into a closed-lip smile and tilted her head in a mock display of friendliness. Though Hel was preoccupied making sure his charge didn't do anything idiotic, he still watched the newcomer with his silver eyes, always wary. "Already got myself a drink on your behalf," she said, holding up her tankard. "Thanks." Gods above and below, this guy was for real, wasn't he? The corners of her mouth twitched up at the way he oh so gallantly introduced himself, calling himself the 'boss' to the ogre who'd just rebuffed him. Maybe there was still fun to be had.

The sun peeked in past the wooden shutters of a cozy home. The house wasn't too big, but it didn't need to be. A fireplace smoldered on one end of the large, single room. A hand crafted table sat by the window, two slightly larger than normal chairs tucked in under it. The floor was dirt, swept and kept uniform. Several piles of pelts were nestled into various corners, with dogs sprawled across them lazily. A bed sat on the other end of the room, made of strong wood and cushioned with a mattress stuffed with feather and fleece. A couple blankets made up of various animal pelts covered the large man that slumbered there. A few more dogs had made themselves at home, one across his legs and one curled up at his back. The door of the house was left cracked open, fear of intruders not even a thought. Who would trifle with such a sizable resident and his many hounds? However, the heavy wooden door creaked open as someone dared to enter the home. Soft footfalls patted across the dirt floor, approaching the bed where the man slept. A soft, fuzzy white nose pressed into one of his large shoulders, exposed by the slipping blanket. The man grumbled and shifted, encouraging another poke. He blinked awake to look into the shiny black eyes of a young lamb, curious and eager for morning treats. It gave a soft bleat. A sleepy smile spread across the man's face as he reached out a massive hand to caress the lamb's head, fingers scratching under it's chin. "Good morning to you too, little girl," He said, voice gruff with sleep. The man slowly sat up, the excited lamb bleating and scampering back outside. One of the two dogs that laid on the bed lifted its head to watch. The man stood and began going about his morning routine. He pulled on some clothes: a pair of brown wool pants and a soft leather vest, trimmed with sheepskin. A couple of the canines in his home followed him around as he checked on the livestock. Some were not dogs at all, but wild wolves who had made themselves at home there. They seemed to enjoy the man's company; and as long as they didn't harm his sheep or livestock, they were welcomed to stay. The farmer hauled a few bales of hay out to his fields, dividing it among the sheep, goats, donkeys, and equines. He dug handfuls of seeds from a barrel to toss onto the ground for his chickens, exchanging them for a basket full of fresh eggs. The eggs were almost immediately turned into breakfast. Between the man and whatever begging hound was lucky enough to win his pity, they were mostly devoured. As the morning went on, the chores did not end. The firewood was chopped, the horses were groomed, hooves were trimmed, goats were shaved, and sheep were sheared. Of all the sheep in land, the ones on this farm seemed to yield the finest wool. The rate at which it grew was almost alarming. Between being spoiled by their shepherd, and never having to worry about a wolf attacking them, they were perhaps the happiest sheep as well. The goats grew soft coats of cashmere that needed shaving about once every four months. It could be made into soft clothing or blankets, easily dyed any sort of color. The upper class seemed to enjoy wearing it. Mostly because they could afford it. Once the animals were cared for, the garden came next. Fruits and vegetables were picked from the vines and taken into the house. The man himself didn't care much for food grown from the ground. Most of it was to feed his livestock. The lambs trailed after him eagerly as he walked into his home and dumped his pickings onto his counter. After having a few tiny hoofed feet jump up on his legs, the farmer finally caved and handed down a chopped apple. As the sun grew higher into the sky, the fleece and cashmere cut from the morning were bagged up into burlap sacks. With the aid of one of his donkeys, the man headed off towards the town with his load. ======================== It didn't take long to sell off his stock. The town's merchants always kept an eye out for the large man, whose head poked up above most others. When they saw his donkey carrying sacks, they would approach him with all ranges of offers. They would buy his fleece and process it, then sell it for twice the amount. The farmer knew good and well that he could make more profit if he really wanted to, but what use did he have for so much money? He took the pay he had and went down the road to his favorite tavern. It was an old tradition to come into town about once a week and enjoy the company of other people for a change. The man patted his donkey on the head as he tossed the loose sacks over it's back, sending it off to find its way home. For a beast of burden, it was incredibly smart. All of his creatures seemed to be. The man ducked his head as he stepped inside the tavern, his bare feet padding softly as he walked across the old wood floor to find a seat. It was a bit busy today, with faces that were both familiar and strange. The man sat himself down at one of the tables and waited for the nice young woman that worked here to bring him his usual.

Horse hooves clopped along the rocky dirt road. A lone hooded figure in a brown cloak steered his horse forward. A great sword three-quarters a man's height shifted in rhyme with the horse's movements. "Three weeks and no sight of any remnants," he thought glumly. He frowned and looked at his bruised hands. It had been months since he had left the boundaries of the Dukedom. Months of traversing hilly terran, fighting bandits, and looking for anything that might help him on his mission. Months, and all he had to show for progress was an unkempt grizzled face, clothes that badly needed to washed, and the smoking paralyzed corpses of dead highwaymen and creatures on the road behind. He was exhausted, and his horse's sluggish movements indicated that it too was growing weary of the long journey. His bruised hands were only a small part of his suffering. His feet were cold and aching, there was an itch on his back he couldn't reach, and now his stomach growled in complaint. Rouen never really learned to scavenge, so food was scarce. The silver and gold coins that jingled in his belt-pouch had little value in the woods, where civilization and consequently anything that could be bought could be weeks away. They neared a turn and Rouen could see in the corner of the treeline, looked like a tavern. "Finally! Civilization!" he thought as his face beamed with excitement. In his joy he discharged a jolt of electricity from his hand into his mount. The shock caused the horse to shriek and start jumping and tossing in a panic. "Whoa! Whoa! Easy girl! Easy!" he shouted as he jerked on the riding handles. The mount kept trying to shake him off and suddenly bolted into full speed towards the tavern. Rouen was too busy trying to stay on that he didn't realize the growing sight of the tavern's signpost, a blue half-moon. With an audible smack his head collided with the wooden plaque and he fell onto the ground.

Azzrix heard several people give a cheer when he said that he would buy free drinks for everyone and he smiled. This made his ego rise a bit and he felt like the center of the tavern right now. Once he got his large mug of mead Azzrix heard Kat mention him and like the messenger god he went over to her with another mug of mead to share. "Did I hear my name uttered? Hello, your name is Katelia isn't it? I would assume that you know who I am by how you just spoke my name, but do you really know who I am?" asked her as he held out the extra mug for her to take it. He then noticed the ogre and whistled a bit at the sight of such a being. "You're a big one, hello my large friend. My name is Azzrix Grimmor, I am a glorious noble by day and a mysterious phantom by night. I stand before you as friend and speak the truth that friendship with a member of the noble Grimmor family is worth more than ten mountains of gold. My deeds though in shadows are above all in skill outside of my family and you will not find one as talented as I in any land. If it is a boss you're looking for then I am the one" Azzrix said to the ogre with a grin.

Drubbins accepts the pint with as much grace as he can muster, holding the mugs handle between his forefinger and thumb. Da Boss pointed over to the thing in the back covered in papers and notices. He'd seen maps before, bosses sometimes had those, along with a whole bunch of plans and notes that made no sense to him. Usually someone smarter than him just pointed to a place on the map, then a bunch of boys would take him to that place where they'd find a thing, or take a thing, or find a man, or krump a man, or something along those lines. Just his luck that the nobby looking rat bloke decided just that moment to come over and introduce himself. Funny thing, though, saying he was the boss. Drubbins took the whole introduction in with a sort of detached calm, taking the opportunity to down his entire pint in a single gulp, before shifting his big red eyes back to Bernard. There was usually one or two blokes in every organization that was planning to krump the boss and take over the operation, but they didn't make habit of saying so right in front of the boss. That, and the fact that Da Boss wasn't making any indication that he wanted the rat bloke krumped, convinced him that this was another joke. "Ahhhhhhhahahahaha," he laughed, taking one massive hand and slapping Azzrix as lightly as he could on the back. "Ya got some funny boys 'round here Boss." He said to Bernard, setting the empty mug back on the bar before turning back to Azzrix. "'Ey funny boy, what's dat for?" He said, pointing to the notice board. "Dat da plan? S'my job on dere?"

"Hmmm, well usually you can get rooms pretty easily and they're not too expensive here." Historia told her. Then she noticed the look on her face. It was the almost the same "I'm hungry" look she had when she walked into the tavern for the first time. Historia was about to offer to buy Miss Mysaren a meal, as the mysterious kind patron had done for her, when suddenly there was some ruckus outside and sudden a shower of blue glitter entered the tavern. Which meant one thing. Miss Naida was here. Historia watched as Miss Naida flew over the counter and got to work, being sure to greet everyone as she did so. Historia watched as Miss Naida's hand became almost a blur as she started mixing the drinks together. "Hello Miss Naida!" Historia called back when Miss Naida greeted her. Then she turned back to Miss Mysaren, ready to offer her a meal again when suddenly a rather loud, happy sounding man came into the tavern, telling everyone he was going to pay for all of their meals and drinks. Well, it looked like Historia didn't have to do any good deeds today. "The people here are so nice." Historia told the two sitting beside her with a smile. She was waiting for Mr. Bernard and Miss Naida to do something along the lines of getting everyone some food and what not when there was another voice that broke over the noise of the Tavern. Historia turned around to see...well this was her first time seeing an ogre though she had read some about them. All the books had described them as dangerous...but this one was just looking for work, so she promptly turned around back to the bar, letting someone else handle the situation. She was looking for more work herself, so she wasn't the person that could help the ogre. But, when Historia was back to her normal sitting position, she did notice that Miss Mysaren was standing up her sword slightly drawn. She wondered if she should say a word of comfort to help her calm down, but Miss Mysaren seemed to calm down quickly enough so she kept on like she didn't see what happened. "Well, I'm not exactly-" Historia started to answer Miss Claire's question, but she heard Sessamru cry out in surprise and turned quick enough to see a ball of energy come flying her way. "Ack!" She too cried out in surprise and her wings quickly unfolded from her back as they reflexively tried to shield her. She ended up shielding Miss Claire and Miss Mysaren as well, though it wasn't needed as the energy missed all three of them. Historia stayed like that for a few minutes before letting out a sigh of relief that it was over and she promptly folded her wings back to her back. "Heh, sorry about that, really shouldn't use my wings like that." She apologized to Miss Claire and Miss Mysaren. "It's a terrible habit." She laughed awkwardly, she was more bothered over possibly bothering her two new aquaintances then the energy that had just swept passed them, more or less because the energy scare had come and passed. "Yeah..." Historia continued to try to answer Miss Claire's question after making her apologies. "I don't think this happens frequently, but I've been here a week..." She sighed and glanced back over to Miss Naida and Mr.Sess...and Miss Naida was being Miss Naida as she went back to talking fast and flying here and there. Well, at least she and no one else got hurt apparently which was good. And what was even better was that there was food being put down in front of her. "Well," Historia said, grabbing her fork, "I learned a couple of things today, "Most of them involve avoiding Mr.Sess when he's meditating." She smiled a little. "But you know, I don't think it gets too bad around here. It's a nice place to stay awhile for sure.

"...Son of a gun." ...A voice echoed from within the depths of a seemingly endless cavern of colossal proportions. It was the only noise within the cavern's mass, a complete absence of most of the usual cavern suspects such as bats, dirt, and internal wind. The only light formed something on an island in the corner of the great void. The light didn't seem to have any source, but it did illuminate something quite remarkable. An enormous Dragon with vibrant blue scales laid, dead, atop a glowing mountain of gold and treasure, its eye bubbling with blood which flowed down its face and the treasure hoard like a volcano. Out of the darkness, the old Zizz emerged. The lizard with the gun and the eccentric dress sense. Pattering along the rocky cavern floor, he had his rifle rested upon his shoulder and a great, toothy grin on his face. His pattering sped up considerably as he approached the sight in the middle of the isle of light, eventually dropping his rifle as he fell to his knees to start frantically rummaging through the mountain of treasure. "Where is that frickin' thing, where is it, where is it..." He muttered to himself as he dug through the mound like a mole, jangling gold and getting Dragon's blood on his hands. Eventually, his jaw dropped as he grasped one item in particular, still buried beyond his reach. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he loosened his grasp on the item and it fell back into the depths, frustrating him to no end. His face now turning to anger, he continued to rummage, until he noticed something familiar. An item off to the left, just as shiny and bloody as everything else. He grabbed at it without hesitation. Upon closer inspection, he realised that he was holding an alarm clock, of typical Zizz design. He was about to toss it away when... "BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIII-" ----------------- "-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-" Back in the place widely known as 'Reality', the old, snoring lizard shuffled about on the bed, creaking the wooden floor beneath its weight. He had no covers to speak of, and the blinds were wide open, exposing the heat of the sun upon his aged, reptilian body. As his eyes twitched open with irritation, he swung over onto his stomach and punched the alarm clock on the bedside table next to him (much more brown and rusty than its dreamworld counterpart), slicing it in half. Again. As the tape holding it together came apart. Again. Swivelling his legs towards the direction of the bright light outside, he very slowly moved one of his clawed hands off to the side to tightly grip the black barrel of his beloved Rifle; Skrin-Ko, he calls it, leaning against the wall next to his bed. "...Gah, the same damn dream again..." He mumbled to himself as he placed the Rifle onto his lap. Pulling back the Revolver action, he removed six bullets from his bandolier (having gone to sleep fully-clothed like usual) and individually placed each one inside the cylinder. "That frickin' dream, always in this tavern..." He mumbled some more, slinging the Rifle onto his back to greet whatever action today would hand him, and heaving himself to the floor, his scaled feet protecting against splinters. "...Somethin' ain't right about this place." The lizard slapped himself upside the head. It wasn't good to think too much about these things. He'd heard that this tavern could provide steady work, and that's exactly what he wanted. He of all people knows better than to question the nature of any arrangement... beneficial or not.

@Guilty Spark Just when Margaret thought her prediction about the day would true, a few things happened that spoke otherwise. At first, the one called Azzrix arrived and ordered ale. Perfect! Nothing like a glass of something mild to ease the body out of the hangover. Just as she was about to thank the rat, the light dimmed significantly in the room. Squinting, she found out it was an ogre obstructing her sun. Were it anyone else, she might have gone to complain, but with the sheer size of him and his most likely disproportionate intellect, the witch thought it wise to keep her mouth shut. Oh, and somebody unleashed the magical equivalent of a fart. Oh joy. Fortunately, Margaret wasn't as affected as one might believe. first of all, her affinity for magic was considerably lower than that of a wizard, and second was the little charm hanging around her neck. It was a silver chain with a stylized figure of a human hanging on it, with it's head replaced by a sapphire decorated with cracks that were tainted in crimson. the stone seemed to be giving off a faint glow that was diminishing slowly. Still, it wasn't anything she would like to repeat. If only because it made the bartender use that hellish bell that made her head ring for long minutes afterwards. She was soon distracted form her misery though as she was approached by someone. Looking at the source of the question, her eyes fell on a robed woman, possibly younger than herself but who could tell under that hood. Tahira, was it? She has seen - or rather not - her around the library. It sparked a little bit of interest in the witch, even if only a professional one. "Aye, it wasn't anything worth repeating. Much like most of the musical numbers around here." Margaret nodded, waving her hand to an empty chair at the table she was occupying. "But these things make wonders." she said and tucked on the charm around her neck.

Mysaren felt the burst of energy, and felt Historia's wings close around her. She was forced back into her seat, her hand slipping from her blade again from the force of it all. It all happened so fast, and her entire body shook by the end of it, her mouth held open. She had her hand on her bag, about to run, but decided to stay. Some of the commotion had finally calmed down, and the plate was set in front of her by one of the mysterious men the owner brought in. "T-thanks." She gulped to Historia. She started to nibble on her food, her hunger replaced by panic and hysteria. Yet, the screaming still hadn't started. This was past weird, and ventured into utterly terrifying. A burst of energy like that should've killed something, he knew it. One of the older folks in the tavern, hell even a gnat on the wall, but death seemed to escape this place, and it scared her. Death was natural, something that was around every corner. Mysaren was almost too well acquainted with how common death was, especially in a tavern like this, but she felt a deep worry in her chest. Something was off. She started to eat anyways, though. Maybe the lack of food recently was makin her a bit skittish. She still scarfed down the meal quickly though, not caring that anyone was watching. She was starving, utterly and truly starving, and a hot meal was happily accepted. She still needed a bath though, a bath and some nice clothes. That would make the day go a whole lot better.

The old Zizz soon descended the stairs and entered the main room of the tavern, scanning his head from left to right. It was considerably busier than usual this morning, he noticed. Lots of strange folk hanging around, too. There was some fancy-pants Rodent hanging about; could've sworn he's seen that one before. But there was something even stranger next to him; a giant Ogre was standing there with a pint in his hand (seemed like a woefully inadequate amount for a creature of his size), laughing in the Rodent's face. He couldn't see the Rodent's face, and that was a shame, because he'd probably have been putting on a funny expression. Off in one of the corners, he squinted at the redhead witch hanging about in the shade. It wasn't an evil squint, mind you, but a competitive squint; he had been at the tavern for about a week now, and had had ample opportunity to acquaint himself with that one. He couldn't help but admire her ingenuity with that Crossbow of hers. She could prove problematic if any big-time mercenary work pops up, with all that old-school magic of hers. Cheating? Yes, but only if you got caught. Then there was that Sheep herder at one of the tables. Best ignore that one, he thought. He'd been sneaking about 'his' land again, and he didn't seem to have a good sense of humour. The sort of person who'd go nuts if you so much as mentioned the idea of controlling animal population. Which was a shame, given the enormous Wolf he'd spotted in the area. That was going to prove quite the prize, when he had some free time. What was particularly irritating at this time in the morning, though, was the sheer business of the place. The Zizz usually sat in one of the comfy seats off in the corner somewhere, but it seemed like that area was flooded with young fools getting drunk at nine A.M., or whatever time it was. Morons! They'd probably end up dead before the day was done, he thought as he chuckled to himself slightly, though not forgetting his irritation. As a result of these morons, however, the Zizz was forced to manuever his way past quite a few patrons (not an easy task thanks to his height and tail swaying about) and clamber up on top a lone stool at the bar, somewhere he rarely ever sat. There was a good reason for this, which made itself apparent pretty soon. Ignoring the great wall that was the Ogre to his left, he rummaged about in one of his belt pockets to retrieve his prized Pipe, made of dark wood as per usual Zizz preference. Removing the little cap to stop all the pre-packed 'medicinal' herbs from falling out, he removed a match from the same pocket and attempted to strike it against the bar. No luck. He tried it again, and again, and about six more 'agains' before he could finally squeeze a little flame off it, grumbling to himself the entire time. That was another weird thing about the tavern; it always took more effort to light matches. Some sort of newfangled suppression field, perhaps, which might also explain the sheer lack of the usual bar fights he'd seen in... just about every other tavern he'd been to. Except the ones in Tarzblik, obviously. For entirely different reasons. Finally, he stuck his Pipe in his toothy mouth and lit it with the match, waving it about afterwards to turn the fire into a little smoke puff. Of course, that was nothing compared to what happened afterwards as the Zizz began to actually smoke said Pipe, releasing much bigger puffs of smoke which spread across the bar. Of course the Zizz didn't particularly care for any inconvenience this may cause, since the calming herbal sensation had him captivated. It was enough to make him grin again, in that classic terrifying fashion Zizz were known for.

Azzrix was slightly disappointed that Kat hadn't taken the mug he had offered, but she did already have one. He then heard the orge's response and even though he kept a straight face Azzrix had a vein bulging on his head. How dare this creature make his offer of help a game, if he wasn't of noble birth then he would have taken this beast's head. Even though his mind was thinking violent thoughts Azzrix still smiled at the inferior creature before him. "You're a funny one ogre, what is your name, you do have a name right?" he asked with a smile still imagining throwing a knife at him. He took sips of his mead and felt his anger calm down for a bit. He was waiting to see what kind of mission he could take to earn some money and also see if there would be a chance for him to steal from a challenging wealthy person, maybe he would also get an assassination mission. God only knows when he would get a chance to practice his assassin skills on a mission and he wondered how well the others would do on such missions. Azzrix was more interested in working with magic users, muscle was good, but he had plenty of that and anymore stealthy people would mean that he would lose the franchise, he had enough stealth. Magic on other hand he had none of and so getting a good magic user to work with him would open up a whole world of possibility and fencing magical artifacts would get him a really great amount of gold, he's heard stories about some magic guilds being loaded thanks some of them being able to make gold with their magic. Azzrix especially would love to get his hands on the alchemy formula to create gold if it existed, an infinite amount of gold would be very useful for expanding his family's influence and ambitions of his own.

"Dat'd be Drubbins." The Ogre announced proudly. "Dats da name..." He quiets down, thinking back. Drubbins didn't have the best memory in the world. He remembered general things, but who's and where's and when's generally leaked out of his head between bosses. He didn't consider this a bad thing, it cleared space for all the new people he'd be putting in his head, but even he wouldn't forget a life changing encounter. "Dats da name I was givin' by Malia Burg, da Source-ress, on account a my big 'ands and what I could do wif 'em."

Claire listened intently to Historia as she answered her question, nodding slightly here and there. As soon as her...friend, here got her food, Claire worked up the courage to try her own. Clearly far behind Mysaren, she took a few dainty bites of her meal. Honestly she was quite hungry, but she never knew eating any other way. "It certainly is..." Claire stopped to look around the place, choosing a word for the tavern. "Warm." She finished. She regarded the large ogre, now enjoying a drink with the stoic barhand and ratman. Next was the white haired boy with animal ears. He was the source of the magic earlier...The cheery blue, working as she wanted, and another new face. A reptilian man smoking to himself at another seat..."and interesting." She continued before going back to eating. Her food was warm and quite good, not what she was used to, but she was enjoying it so far. As she ate she on and off watched her two companions. They were quite different people, but they didn't seem bad. "Thank you." She added softly, avoiding eye contact. She didn't know what exactly she was thanking them for, but it seemed right.

The tavern was certainly getting lively. People were bustling this way and that, mingling with each other, and Kat was just about done with all this for the day. Entertaining characters aside, she was tired. Hunting in the forest all night tended to be a draining experience. Kat knew, tired as she was, any reservations she had about making smartass comments would be all but gone. And Hel could only hold her back so much. "Well," she said with an exaggerated sigh, patting Hel on his great furry head to signal it was time. "This has been a pleasure, my lord," she said to Azzrix, "but I really must be going." Hel got up so Kat could stand. It was time for a nice nap in the forest. She had a permanent room at the tavern, but if the magical mishap had been any indication for the day, it would be too rowdy here to get any rest. On their way out as they weaved through the crowd, Kat saw some people that made her reconsider. The Zizz was out and about, which usually meant a fun time. And Felan had just entered in his quiet way. He wasn't as lively, but Hel was fond enough of him. Kat just gave them both quick nods as she left. When they finally got outside, Hel almost immediately shoved her back through the door. A frantic horse, wild and riderless was thundering towards them. The snow leopard jumped in front of her, baring his fangs and hissing at the mare. The horse slid to a stop, tearing up her front legs with a screech. And then she was turning, dashing away from the two of them. Lowering his hackles, Hel relaxed his stance, while Kat just looked after the horse, eyebrow raised. It was then that she saw the horse's rider, flat on the ground. Glancing at Hel, she walked around her companion to squat next to the man. "Trouble with your horse?" she said slyly, A smirk making its way onto her face. Hel plodded up beside her and nudged him a bit with his nose, sniffing.

"Aye, it wasn't anything worth repeating. Much like most of the musical numbers around here." Margaret nodded, waving her hand to an empty chair at the table she was occupying. "But these things make wonders." she said and tucked on the charm around her neck.

Although she didn’t quite agree, Tahira smiled at the comment about Viggo’s music as she sat down in the chair Margaret had offered her. The charm that the witch was referring to intrigued her, as their magic both strayed along a similar path, so she pulled back her hood far enough to expose her amber eyes so that she could see it in detail. Her senses were still upset from the earlier shock, but she could still identify the trinket’s energy. She was capable of making her own enchantments, but she preferred keeping them temporary, which meant she wasn’t arrayed in enchanted items unless she was going out on one of the few missions that caught her attention. In three months, she had only found a handful of jobs that interested her. Realizing she had been silent for a second longer than was comfortable, Tahira looked up from the charm. “How long have you practiced the arts?” she asked, hesitant at the personal question. However, magic users were so dynamic in skill and knowledge it was natural for her to be curious.

Viggo concludes his ballad and scowls for a minute at the denizens of the tavern, glancing down to find his pail of coins just as full as it had been when he began playing. He grumbles something to himself as he slings his guitar around his back, hopping off the stage and sauntering over to the bar to grab a drink, knowing that for his next song, he'd need his voice to be "well oiled". Putting down a small tower of coins harvested from his donation pail, the bard glances towards Bernard and puts on a guise of friendliness. "Bernard, you stoic son of a bitch, how about a couple of beers" he chimes with a handsome, albeit toothy grin. Assuming he gets his due alcohol, having paid the price in silver, Viggo would return to the stage, sitting down cross legged as he ploughs through the two drinks, abolishing the first in half a minute before swiftly moving onto the next. Once sufficiently drowsed by the beer, Viggo stands once more, kicking the stool backwards and out of the way. Drawing his guitar from his back once more, he adopts a wide-legged stance before he begins to pluck once more at the strings of instrument. The new song begins much like the one before, though after a few seconds the noise of his guitar shifts to become much more metallic and offensive to some ears. The powerful riffs ring out from the instrument with an energetic wave, inspiring courage and vigour in all that listen, unless of course your will is powerful enough to resist Viggo's musical charms. As the song finds its pace, Viggo begins to rock his head up and down with thumping rhythm, causing his hair to flow in time with his movements.