So far as capital cities went, Benetia was not very impressive. It was a humbly-sized city nestled between a lake and its merging river waters. Its walls are solid enough, and the bridges leading into the city quite stately, but from outside looking to the city there was just farmland as far as the eye could see. Inside the walls, the architecture could best be described as plain or, in politer terms, "practical" or "functional." In that way, the city was reflective of the wealth and status of the Caernling-ruled realm.

The road to Benetia was a long one from any other major settlement. There was a great need for proper boarding houses and inns in the city. A wealthy merchant might stop at the Blade's Rest, a stately inn with all the fineries and comforts one might ask for, and impeccable service at that. Others might stop at the Princely Pig, whose sign depicted the a fat pig in the garb of the King-Bishop of Lithenia. That place was popular with patriots. The Dancing Flame, Markam's Meadhouse, the House of the Silver Moon, all were respectable places to stop for the night.

All these inns could be found in such strategically placed locations as by the city gates, or overlooking the lakeside, or in the center of the busy market. But if one looked toward the innermost sections of the city, toward the poor district and the sprawl of Caernling-style houses - or, in some cases, huts - one could find a rather different sort of inn. Its faded sign depicted a colorful red boar with a wild eye and a huge grin biting down onto the buttocks of a barmaid. Above the doorway was another sign, old and scratched, on which were carved two words: Bawdy Boar.

It is here that our story begins.

---

It was a quiet place so far as inns went, the Bawdy Boar. It was a cold autumn night, and with harvest season in full swing and the gawdy sign outside, one might have suspected a little more business in the Boar. It was, however, fairly quiet that evening, with perhaps eight customers (if you counted the beggarly loiterer napping at the table beneath the stairs) and a lone minstrel playing on a lute in a lazy fashion. The innkeeper - a pale, fat, wormy looking fellow - focused his attention on his mugs, seeming just fine with the quiet air of the place. The barmaid was an older woman of about forty years. She brought the food in a professional, no-nonsense manner. She wasn't polite, either.

The food was of passable fare, though it smelled a little too strongly of spice, and the furnishings were quite plain. There was a faded red rug on the gray wooden floor. A wind coursed outside the building, smacking the sign against the building every now and then. The dining room was a little claustrophobic, with four tables in total and a single bar, and most of them were taken by the regulars. However, they seemed to be giving a certain berth to one of the tables tonight: the one closest to the door. It also happened to be the one furthest from the fireplace, and given how cold it was outside, that might have been reason enough to avoid it.

Of course, they might also have been avoiding it because there were was a stranger occupying the seat. That, or they left the coldest table to the stranger so they could enjoy the warmth in their clannish way.

---

Lothair sat at the far table, largely covered in a hooded traveler's cloak. It did help a bit while he walked around the city and helped to hide his distinct figure. However, in here, there wasn't much to look at so that briefest glimpse of his pale skin would catch anyone's eye. Thus, with his cloak doing little to help him here, he boldly took off the hood. If there was anything he learned while travelling, then it was to not act like he was hiding. Otherwise, it would draw more attention from the keen-eyed who could notice such behavior quite easily. He would simply don his role as a mercenary. How he did so was still up to him to decide, but trying to be sneaky wouldn't accomplish him much. He staggered over to the bar and casually said to the barkeep "A tankard of mead for me!" He would then look around at the nearest people sitting at the bar, and try to casually start a conversation. "How goes the war?"

He was a mercenary, not a noble, or so he behaved. Any physical proof his nobility was locked up in a safe at his room at Blade's Rest along with his horse. Whether others knew more had yet to be seen, but Lothair would continue to play his mercenary persona and express interest in heading north to find employment in this bitter war.

the Bawdy Boar, a worn tavern in the poor district, it seemed a strange place for a lord to want to gather. Nonetheless, Riley welcomed the familiar ground, she'd have been out of place in most fancier establishments and that would have just led to an awkward situation, besides, if the pay for this job is what they say it is they could send her to the sewers for all she cared. A few looks came her way as she entered but almost all returned to what they were doing when they realized she was rather unremarkable, at least to them. She did catch the sleeper's gaze despite his efforts to hide it, however, and as she flipped a few coins to the innkeeper for food and drink she noticed she wasn't the only one with his attention.

She wanted to find a place she could see the whole inn, or at least the sleeper and the Aldonian he was watching, but that seemed to only really be two places: either the table the man was sleeping at or the table by the door occupied by only one stranger. She decided for the latter, taking a seat across from the stranger and only giving them a slight nod in acknowledgement hoping they were content if they both kept to themselves. From there she tried her best to keep an eye on the Aldonian, the sleeper, and anyone else the odd man thought was worth watching, curious as to what lot she was being thrown with. Other than that she simply ate and passed the time waiting for whatever form of entrance her employee saw fit.

While Boran didn't have the pleasure of visiting the Bawdy Boar before, he was nonetheless familiar with such establishments. Just shady enough to conduct all manner of no-questions-asked business, yet decent enough for respectable "entrepreneurs" like Boran himself. He blended in well with the regular crowd, though a keener eye would notice he wasn't there to simply pass the time. To fight the cold in what seemed to be the least popular table in the room, he had ordered a glass of amber brandy; anything that wasn't strong enough to scald off your tongue was bound to taste... poorly in a place like this. Slowly sipping, he watched as other people started to arrive. People that, much like Boran, were something more than regular customers.

The first was an Aldonian. A rare sight in this part of the world; or any part that wasn't New Aldonia for that matter. The man's attempts to remain unnoticed were both comical and futile as a suspicious looking fellow under a heavy dark hood, sitting in the darkest corner of the room would stick out like a sore thumb. He did realize his position, though, as he removed the disguise and made small talk over at the bar. His gait and posture, however, revealed much about him.

The second was a small woman, perhaps even a teenager still. She sat across the table from Boran, but aside from a small greeting, they didn't say a word. Boran continued his drink, shooting the occasional measuring glance at everyone in the inn; sure enough, he was equally measured back by the others as well.

Flint emerged from the back rooms, exchanging a small nod with the waitress as she passed by. He had arrived the night before, and given its low price and it was the place he heard he was to come, he had rented a key. The bed hadn’t been so comfortable, but it was a roof over his head.

His normal action would usually be to sweep his eyes around the room, but before anything else, his eyes went to a man with pale skin and paler hair. A High Aldonian, it would seem. And to see him here was more than surprising. Then it went to the other two oddities, at the far table. Unusual for an inn, for a table to be empty, but it made it an apt choice for a barricade. Maybe that’s why the girl and the old man were sitting there.

Skirting around the other patrons, he moved towards the table - but not obviously. Instead, he went for the window nearby. Turning his back to the wall and leaning against it, his back was now guarded. He lifted his leg so that his boot created a triangle out of the wall and the floor, in the event he needed to deliver a swift kick. He crossed his arms. Then he began scanning the small crowd for anything out of the ordinary, though he didn’t pick up on anything just yet.

It was a minute after the middle-aged warrior had set himself up at the end of the table nearest the wall that yet another figure entered. This one, however, was not dressed for war. This one was dressed to impress.

In strode a tall and pale fellow draped in red fineries, the arms of his shirt puffed out beneath his vest. He wore a feathered beret - one feather was pure white, and the other a rich black - and had a jeweled sword at his side. His mustache was long and waxed, his black shoes reflected light like mirrors, and his brown eyes gleamed with cunning. He was flanked by a pair of brutish looking fellows in fancy clothes, both of them wearing falchions strapped to their hips.

As the man regarded the group, he wore a strange expression for the briefest of moments. Then he cracked open in a wide grin and waved over to the silent mercenaries.

"Thank you for meeting here tonight," the stranger began. "I am Lord Guthbert, as you may have guessed already, and I have need of brave warriors with steady hands. I need people who aren't afraid of ghost stories.

"Tell me," continued Guthbert, stepping forward and setting one hand on the table, "have you heard of Blackmire Keep?" He leaned in conspiratorially, his gray eyes gleaming. "A fascinating place, that one. It so happens to be my ancestral home, and the source of a great many supposed evils that plague the southern lands. But I will cut to the chase.

"In order to maximize our gains in the war with Lithenia, we need the peasants here at home to do their share for the war effort. The fields must be reaped; timber must be fetched; stone must be quarried. So you will understand my discontent when I tell you that some damned fools in the southern reaches of Beldemar have stopped work because of a few disappearances." The noble's voice had a bitter tone, like he had been chewing on a mouthful of wormwood. Guthbert's nostrils flared up in annoyance, and he began circling the table, stepping around the back of the boy - wait, girl? - and the Aldonian, but his stare was on the two older and more experienced fellows. He seemed to be speaking directly to them. "Supposedly, there are all manner of nasty, ghastly things foraying out from the keep and plucking away the peasantry for whatever purpose. I need you to head on down south, find out what's actually happening from the mayor of Halden, then go to the Keep and clear out whatever bandits or the like have claimed it as their home."

Before anything else could be said, Guthbert reached into his vest and removed a fat purse. He opened it up, then poured some of its contents into his hand: gemstones. Rubies and sapphires and emeralds tumbled into his pale hand, not to mention a few diamonds. He carefully selected a few specimens and set them down on the table for the group to inspect. "Consider those gems an incentive," he said after a pause, "a down payment for the services you will render. Put an end to whatever is troubling the king's subjects and you'll get paid ten times the worth of this purse for your efforts in silver bars and precious stones. Each."

Lord Guthbert smiled at the collected mercenaries. "Any questions?"

Flint let his eyes wander around the room in favour of looking towards the new arrival, but turned his gaze when the fanciest of the three began to speak. This was the one looking for mercenaries? From the look of him, shouldn’t he have a legion of serfs to do his bidding instead?

Unless you needed somebody to do the dirty work, which this was looking to entail. Flint leaned forward and plucked a single diamond off of the table.

“And what is to stop us from just... taking these and running?” he said, waving the same hand, the small stone held between finger and thumb. His eyes flicked to his bodyguards, then back to Lord Guthbert. “Aside from the obvious, of course. The thing being, m’lord, these stones are Cardinal Gemstones. They’re not exactly common - and thus, worth a lot more. As often as the word ‘mercenary’ can mean ‘soldier’, I’ve seen enough take it for the word ‘bandit’ and turn tail. We’re not exactly meeting in the most regal part of town, are we?”

Guthbert smiled a little. He reached up and stroked his chin, then mused as he regarded Flint, "Well, if you just ran and took the gemstones, you'd be missing out on a lot more. And I chose this part of town for a reason. Everyone in this room has gotten a good look at all of you, and if you should choose to try and cheat me, well..."

One of the more thuggish looking folk in the background peered back at the gathering and sipped from his mug. He definitely didn't look gentle.

"But it won't come to that, because we're all smart men here, aren't we?" Lord Guthbert paced over to the side and inspected his fingernails. "I need people I can depend on, people that aren't going to be frightened off by a few rumored phantoms in the rubble of an old fort. I need people who are willing to banish the fears of the stupid folk dwelling down south, people without superstitions. You'd be surprised how rare that is in these parts."

Lothair's right eye cocked slightly as he listened to the Lord's monologue. He couldn't tell if he should be amused or concerned at all the... implications that his words had. With that said, he had come all the way here for a reason... to simply walk away was not possible. Thus, Lothair spoke up "Well, Lord Guthbert, this issue of yours has been going on for quite a while, yes? I imagine that a man as accomplished and intelligent as you wouldn't have just sat around and done nothing about the problem. Surely, we're not the only people that you have reached out to in order to deal with this issue you have in the south? Not to mention... this generous payment that you're offering. This isn't a small problem. Nay, this is a problem that has so far plagued even the hardy men of Beldemar for who knows how long."

He paused and slightly sighed. "Lord Guthbert, I will be frank. It appears that you're not telling us everything that you know of the situation. I would like to be WELL prepared for this job, but that requires more knowledge."

The lord's entrance wasn't as grand as Riley had assumed it would be but his appearance was still noticeable, fancy as he was. She caught the expression on his face as he entered but thought nothing of it, she was perfectly fine taking Guthbert's money regardless of what he thought of her.

Riley was silent like most of the others as the man started speaking, slowly coming around the table as he went on. When he passed near to her it began to nag on her slightly that she couldn't smell him, nobles especially like their perfumes but the fact that nothing seemed to come of the man struck her as a bit strange. Her confusion was lost only a moment later, however, when the lord casually dropped a fortune on the table in front of them. Riley's eyes widened and her mouth gaped slightly. She quickly snatched up one of the gems and turned it over in her hands, clearly dazzled by the pretty little things. Given how she was faced with a small fortune in her hands and the promise of the kind of wealth her kind don't even see in dreams it was needless to say she was in.

She remained quiet though, at least in part because she was still awestruck by the gems on the table, giving Guthbert time to answer the other's questions, and despite her fascination with the shinies on the table she had an ear for the answers.

Lord Guthbert seemed to fit into the stereotypical rich dandy role like a glove. His flamboyant style, overconfidence (in his wealth) and that excessively theatrical speech made Boran roll his eyes and chuckle in amusement. Nevertheless, this was about the job; about the money, and as the gemstones hit the table, he sipped the last drop of the cheap brandy from the glass and picked up a stone for examination. His lips widened into a smile as he rolled the diamond in his hand, imagining what leisures this little thing could possibly buy him. Yes, he liked it.

"My colleagues are quite perceptive," he started, still examining the shiny rock, "much more than I would have thought."

"No offense, of course," he continued, sending the men an apologetic look that one could perceive as sincere.

Boran pocketed the diamond and leaned back on the chair, stretching his legs and resting his arms on his lap while doing so.

"I'm usually not one to turn down a hefty salary, or to believe in ghost stories, or otherwise ask too many questions... but... blondie here makes some compelling arguments."

A dark look fell over Guthbert's face as Lothair made his observations, and it grew a bit darker still as Boran made his point. It was passing, though, like a fleeting shadow, like a cloud that had merely lingered for a breath before being blown away. The noble exhaled, and he wore a more somber expression.

"I suppose if you are so keen on knowing a little more of my difficulties, I should acquiesce. You are right, of course - there have been others who went before you, and they're no longer with us." Guthbert's eyes flicked to the fire. His voice was tired as he spoke, and he took a seat at the table with the mercenaries. "But saying that sort of thing doesn't typically encourage people to take up your cause, does it?

"I don't know precisely what lurks in the old keep. I can tell you that no less than three other bands of warriors have gone before you, and none have returned. One didn't even make it to the village of Halden before being routed by bandits." Guthbert rolled his eyes; apparently, he didn't think highly of that group. "Nevertheless, there is something besides bandits in the countryside. The forest has been stretching out, growing faster than it has in the past, and people have been simply vanishing in the night. The peasants say they've seen impossibly tall shapes moving through the treeline, and they've awoken in the night to the sound of their herds being ripped to shreds. Personally, I don't know what to believe.

"But I do know that I want that filthy pit cleaned out!" he finished with a thud of his fist on the table. It took the man a moment to calm down, and he spent that time with his eyes closed. Then he continued: "With banditry on the rise and deserters from the wars around us likely to run to Beldemar, well... I'd rather not have to send my personal retinue." Guthbert sighed, leaning back into his seat. "And so you see why I'm willing to pay a hefty price for a solution. Solve my problem for me and you'll live richly 'til the end of your days. You could retire with the reward I'm offering.

"There is... one other matter." Lord Guthbert slowly rose from his seat, flicking a glance about at the small collection of mercenaries. "I am a collector of objects of historical value. Should you find anything from the era of the Aldonian Empire, I would be grateful - that is, I will see you are rewarded - if you would bring those objects to my estate here in Benetia. And trust me, I can reward you in either more wealth or in... tools that befit your trade.

"So," finished the man, clapping his hands together, "do we have a deal?"

“So... do we have a deal?”

The words hung in the air for a few moments. Flint looked around at his probable companions. They weren’t your usual group, that was for certain.

The High Aldonian was young, strong, but very likely to draw attention. The girl couldn’t have much experience, might last a few seconds in a melee, but she looked fast, and might be a good scout. As for the third... he had maybe a decade on Flint, and a fair amount of muscle. Capable of large amounts of damage, but only if he could stay standing long enough. Add Flint himself, and with a great deal of cooperation, they might stand more than a chance. They could move swiftly, travel light, and pose enough of a threat that they might make a bandit think twice.

Although that one bandit could just as easily be their downfall. It was a risky balance, one that could fall either way. One a mercenary has to make every time he’s contracted.

Ultimately, it was the weight of his purse - or lack of weight - that made him choose. He stood straight, and placed his hand on the table.

”I can’t tell you if the fool is the one who signs on or the one that walks away. But aye, you have my blade, ser. Flint Ambrose is at your service.”

Lothar frowned slightly. Was this job really worth it? He looked at his supposed "peers" for this job and didn't feel too confident in the motley group's abilities based on first look. He had some coin on him, so he was far from desperate for this contract. But this job would allow him to travel and search the world without a concern for money... and focus only on searching for her. He sighed again and replied "Aye, I shall join. This down payment should be enough to buy the needed equipment... and maybe some extra muscle or guides." He then paused to think. They would need to get several things. At the minimum, they would want to hire a local hunter or a guide who knows the area decently. They should also visit a local historian to see if they know more about the history of the area and the Keep.

Lothair then asked one final question "Are we allowed to act as your agents and use your name in getting things that we may need?"

Boran listened intently as Guthbert seemingly relented and spared some additional details about the job, growing visibly more serious as the Lord continued. The mention of mysterious artifacts was especially intriguing, perhaps even more so than the allusions to supernatural dealings in the keep.
He snapped out of his contemplation as the one calling himself Flint made clear his decision.

"Well," Boran joined, replacing the frown with a wide smile. "As I said, I'm not one to easily turn down ridiculous amounts of money."
He stood up, stretching his back while filling his lungs with the cool autumn air and exhaling with an audible grunt. He looked over the group with a nod of approval like a proud father watches over his children.

"Name's Boran, by the way. And seeing that this deal is going underway, we should properly seal it... or at least I will."
Boran turned away towards the bar to grab a drink as a sort of unofficial validation for securing the contract. He also needed to burn away that distant voice in his head that kept whispering "don't do it!".

"Splendid." Lord Guthbert tucked what remained of his purse of precious stones away, waving toward the small group of mercenaries. "You are allowed to use my name while you're in this city to help you get whatever resources you may need. Unfortunately, you'll find that names have less influence out in the southern reaches out Beldemar, where the village of Halden is located. The provincials have ever been a reclusive and independent lot.

"You have two days in which to make your preparations," Lord Guthbert said firmly. "If I find you are still in the city on the third dawn or have fled with your wealth, I will have someone have a word with you. This is a matter of some urgency, as you've probably deduced, so act appropriately.

"Finally, should you need to see me at my estate, well... Ask around. You're capable of that, I think." And with that, the wealthy fellow lifted his hand in a sort of beckoning gesture. His guards moved to flank him, and he started on out the door of the inn.

Momentary silence was broken by the sound of liquid sloshing into mugs. "One for the road, boys?" asked the worm-like man. "Might be the last good drink you get 'fore you enter that place."

Flint looked at Boran's back as the man ordered himself a pint. He clicked his tongue and, shaking his head, he scooped up the jewels that still lay on the table.

"Maybe in a few hours, Master Gunther. Since you heard all of that, you know what the Lord wants us to do. The nobility often dislikes being made to wait." He glanced at the two younger ones, and took a moment to examine them again. It couldn't hurt to try and figure out who his allies were. Especially since both of them had yet to introduce themselves.

The girl - who he hadn't been certain actually was a girl, perhaps a delicately-featured boy - couldn't have been much older than he was when he was starting his career. If she survived whatever bandits or animals fate threw at them, she wouldn't need to be in the game as long as he was, either. So long as she didn't think it was a quick-and-easy path to fortune. As for the youth; he seemed to lack the common faults of other High ones, healthy and proud, and was well equipped besides; but Flint knew how things worked. If the Aldonian had seen any battles with mercenaries, he was just as likely to have been a figurehead, more of a dressed-up house cat than a lion. The only question was, would they understand that they had to put in some effort and teamwork?

He put his room key down on the table. "You two wait here. I'll be taking the big one and going to find a jeweller who'll buy some of these, if we have any hope of funds. When we get back, if everyone's in agreement, we need to plan how we're going to do this. I don't know about you three, but I don't fancy ending up like the last lot."

Flint paused, sensing mistrust in the air. He couldn't tell if it was one of the two, both, or just his imagination. Shaking his head again, he reached up and took off his pendant, laying it gently on the table next to the key. The chain was made from simple iron, but the pendant itself was silver - and ancient. Faintly engraved with a web of twisting lines, it had been passed down for generations. He had no clue as to how many. It was the one relic of his past that he wouldn't, couldn't let go of.

"Proof that I don't plan on leaving this venture penniless."

Without looking at either of them, Flint turned and approached Boran, and grimaced when he saw the tankard in his hand. That was a big one.

"I'm hoping that's only your first drink, old man." he said, his tone half-way between joking and stern. "You and I are going to find a shop."

Riley was still turning a fine emerald in her hands with a grin and muttering to herself "heh, few bolts in the baddies and I can live like a queen...hmm?" She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, specifically the sleeper's movement. That suspicious character from before with a particular interest in the Aldonian sitting next to her.

With her reverie broken she also noticed as some of the others were getting up to go prepare for their journey. She would have been a bit hesitant to let Flint handle all of the gems laid out so far but knew better than to cause problems, especially this early, besides there would be plenty more where they came from if the lord was to be believed. Of course, this didn't stop her from pocketing the gem she held.

It actually worked out that she was left alone with Lothair, with the other two occupied they could handle the issue of this mysterious sleeper. She scooted a bit closer to the Aldonian "Hey, we're gonna be working to together, right? means we aught to be watching each other's backs" she kept her voice low, trying to be discrete "Been a shady sort with his eyes on you since we got here, while thems two's busy I figure we should find out what he's up to 'afore we got problems" finally turning her head to look in his direction she ended with "Whaddya say?"

Lothair was surprised by the teen suddenly getting close to him. But her words got him thinking and he calmed himself quickly. This girl, or so he assumed based on her voice, what was she doing here... doing mercenary work. He initially thought that maybe she was someone's escort or something. Regardless, she was clearly very perceptive. He had a feeling that someone was watching him in particular when he first arrived, but couldn't tell who exactly. Now he could deal with this issue directly. He reached for the pendant to keep it safe for now in one of his pouches. Then he reached over to the girl's far shoulder with an arm to pull her a bit closer so that he could play along "No need to be shy! A lot of girls long for me at the sight of my fair skin and hair!" he loudly boasted so that anyone listening in the pub could hear.

Now that they were uncomfortably close, he could tell that she... wasn't the most affluent person in the world. He kept himself well kempt and clean. In fact, he had lightly applied some scented oils to his neck so that the stench of the bad parts of the city wouldn't offend him. Regardless, this was a matter of life or death. He had to do what he had to do. Thus, he gently whispered into Riley's ear "I'll play along. Hope you have a plan to get him isolated... if not... perhaps... we could request a room? If someone is following me... I want some answers from them. Oh, and of course the room is my treat, Lady..." Lothair paused as he didn't know her name.

With a faint smirk Riley leaned into the man "Riley, name's Riley" Her head rested on his shoulder, the Aldonian had something pleasant smelling on his neck and she tilted her head up slightly to catch a whiff of it herself, inhaling slowly through her nose before whispering back "and while a room does sound nice, shady's already on his way out" She nodded in the direction of the door and smiled up at him to keep up the facade "We aught to be careful though, I don't like his look"

Lothair took a quick glance at the guy who was supposedly already leaving. He then loudly said "I've got a room at the House of the Silver Moon. We can talk all night long there. Or, if you like this place, then I'm sure we can find somewhere cozy here." with a beaming smile as he looked at Riley. He got up from his chair, offering a hand to help Riley up. They had to hurry and follow the guy as he was leaving the room. He whispered into her ear "If things get rough, stay behind me."

Riley nodded and giggled under her breath. Taking his hand she hung on his arm when she was up to keep them looking like a couple. She whispered to him again as they left"hehe, I hope you really do have a room there, I could do with a nice bed" She kept up the image, at least as long as they were in public view, and took the lead as they followed the man out, keeping her eyes on the strange man and subtly guiding Lothair along.

"Oh do I need a good drink right now!" exclaimed Boran as the barman filled up some tankards. Turning around, he saw the party leaving. Flint had offered himself and Boran to start preparing for the job by getting supplies. He got no objections from the other two, who suddenly seemed to be too preoccupied with embracing each other to notice anything else.

"Will you look at that," Boran said with a chuckle, pointing at the leaving pair, "kids these days!" When Flint approached, he raised his hand to take a drink, but continued with a slightly more serious tone: "Gonna turn some heads on the streets."

The mead was... less than adequate. After a big sip of the watery liquid, Boran put the tankard down and pushed it as far away from himself as he could. This confirmed his earlier suspicion about the quality of the booze.

"Well," he started, turning his attention to Flint, "just this once I'm gonna let the "old man" comment slide, but in the future, you'd better watch it." His tone was suddenly cold and serious; his gaze piercing Flint as he continued: "And this was in no way my first drink. But it sure will be my last."

He paused for a moment, dropping the aggressive mask.
"Wow, that sounded kinda ominous, didn't it?"

Visibly offended by Boran's opinion about the quality of the mead, the innkeeper exchanged some threatening glances with Boran.
"Alright, boy, we'd better get a move on before we're gonna get in some biiig trouble." He gave Flint a joyous pat on the shoulder and headed towards the exit into the cold autumn night, stopping briefly at the door before finally stepping out: "We might find some places still open at this hour."

Flint paused as Boran made a not-quite-subtle note on the drink. Couldn't he have at least waited until they were out of earshot to say that? Nevertheless, he trudged after his chosen companion to the door. Once outside, he took a deep breath of the evening air. The cool air was sharp in his throat, and he wanted nothing more. It would keep him alert on this little escapade.

"You underestimate merchants, Boran. Or at the very least, jewellers. If we can find one of those, we're a lot more likely to find ourselves with some coins to spare. They're always in need of stock, and good stock, at that. My main reason for bringing you is the look of you. I warrant that you've got a shrewd eye, and if anything, I'd appreciate the back-up."

He kept in stride with the taller man until they reached the end of the street. He cast his gaze about to get his bearings - things always looked different in the dark - then nodded down another lane.

"The market's down this way." he said briefly, before beginning to walk at a brisk pace.