Dark looks followed those who walked away to shelter, each stared at disapprovingly by Eomer. None of them had decided to listen to what he had said it seemed, and as nice as warm comfort and security would be after the day they'd had, he had refused. It also left him slightly aback however, as he was not used to people ignoring what he wanted in favour of their own ideas, even though he knew it would be something he needed to learn to live with for as long as he remained down south. Even so, to literally turn your back on someone in your party...

It wasn't long though until the group found somewhere close by to their companions settlement to settle; a copse with some large trees that could be used for shelter from the elements. Dumping most of his equipment bar his knife, Eomer left the others in search of some firewood before the darkness crept in to such a degree it was no longer possible to see.

Darkness arrived much sooner than had been expected by the Badlander however, brought on mainly by the opening of the heavens pouring as much water from the Narrow Sea as it believed possible. The clothing he wore offered no protection to the elements, and was only protected slightly by the foliage hanging on the trees, but unfortunately there is only so much water that leaves can hold back. Wet to the bone, firewood beginning to get damp, Eomer gave up searching for anything else and slowly tried to make his way back to the camp through the darkness and the rain.

Several trips later there were several stacks of wood organised by size, from small kindling up to a few proper log sized pieces Eomer had managed to find in the wood. By the time he returned from the final excursion he saw little different than when he had left the first time, mainly just a fire with a rather damp tiefling sat at it. Even from the distance between them however, he could read her face through the flickering flames; the anger buried within her could outburn even the hottest fire that could have been produced by them that night. Eomer could only imagine the reason why she was angry, and assumed it was for much the same reasoning he was annoyed at the others for too. Still though he sat with her, not so much to talk, not that she really seemed to want conversation on the occasions he tried, but to almost reassure her that although the others were willing to leave her out here to suffer, he was not.

He retired eventually, leaving the first watch to the tiefling who honestly seemed in no mood to sleep at the moment anyway. It was a difficult sleep, compared to the sort Eomer had been used to in Gallant, however far easier than most nights he had experienced in the Badlands. At least down here you can trust, to a degree, someone to watch your back and ensure a bandit doesn't put a knife through you whilst you sleep.

He awake though a while before dawn, at that point where light was just beginning to crest the horizon. If he had to guess, it was maybe four in the morning. As nice as the sleep was, water had managed to seep everywhere, through everything, and Eomer sat there chilled to the bone for a few moments before slowly walking over to the little one and relieving him of his night duty. As hungry as he was, he still took his time pacing around the camp, assessing both how well their equipment had survived (his staff could most definitely do with cleaning, it had fallen into the mud at some point whilst he slept), and just attempting to keep warm. The embers had seemed to long died down, and the wood was far too damp to start a fire.

When the time came to travel again the group met with the others, Eomer refused to even acknowledge their presence in his ire, but did notice Ezlan to be surprisingly quiet, well, except for him screaming at mud. That sure made Eomer chuckle. Comeuppance to a degree. Still, as far as they had to go, it almost seemed like no time at all passed. But somehow he was happy, whether that was the ability to actually sleep somewhere warm, or just the feeling of being able to relax without being on edge fearing bandits or animals.

In his exuberance, he bought two tankards of drink, and plopped a second one down next to Nem before joining her himself. Watching his equipment by the fire to ensure no one stole it whilst it dried, he attempted to start a casual conversation with her. Both to see if she was coping alright after the last couple days, which he could only imagine could take their toll on someone, but to also try to dig a bit deeper into the type of person she was.

"I remember, back at the guild, the Guild Master mentioned something about you knowing this place well. Why is it you know down here so well, this where you were raised?"

---

Nem offered a brief smile to the Badlander as he sat down next to her. Finishing her own tankard of ale, she nodded gratefully and took a long pull from the fresh tankard that he had placed next to her. Free ale and a fire were good ways to warm up and to kindle the spirit. She was pleasantly surprised and pleased by the loyalty the Badlander had shown in the short time she had known him. They were walking into danger, which she did not mind, but she preferred to adventure with people she could trust and depend on. Eomer seemed to be a survivor, he seemed like the dependable sort.

"In a way, I did. Not here specifically mind you. I've only passed through Blightstone a couple of times and it was never for long," Nem began, taking another drink of ale. A thoughtful look passed over the young tieflings features as she thought back to her life before she had traveled south to the Lowlands. "Before I joined the guild I was a bounty hunter, I traveled up and down the Swamp Road plenty of times in pursuit of some wanted criminal and the bounty on their head.

There was a subtle hint of pride in her voice as she spoke about her knowledge of the road, "I know the wilds here better than most, better than the those fleeing form the law, and even better than the smugglers who think they are the only ones that know their way around these parts."

The crackling of the wood fire and the loud conversation of everyone else in the inn seemed to be drowned out rather suddenly by the tiefling's words. A small amount of panic rose within Eomer's chest, and he could even feel his heart beating much faster in his chest. In a mild attempt to quell his newfound nerves, he reached, somewhat clumsily, for the drink in front of him and took a few deep draughts in a weak attempt to steady himself. Even he knew that such a small amount of such a weak drink would do barely anything to help, but even this was better than nothing.

"'Was a bounty hunter'?" He asked somewhat shakily, if nothing else just to reassure himself. "As in no longer a bounty hunter? Not even for guild jobs?" As he asked this, he made a mental checklist of all his personal equipment, eyes darting around towards each location just to double check they lay where he left them. Svärdstav by the door, knife on his belt along with his coin pouch and diary, and his carry sack sat alone by the fire with some nonessentials strewn beside it to dry. He didn't care she knew the area better than him, a little hope was better than no hope.

"Nah, not anymore," Nem replied with a rueful grin, mistakenly attributing the smallest hints of panic in Eomer and his sudden clumsiness to the ale. It wasn't very strong, but after a day of marching, even a weak ale could feel stronger than it normally would. "I'm retired, at least that's what I promised my father. He wanted me to do something else, something a bit less dangerous, so I took up being a bodyguard. But watching leading members of society as they wiled away their days safe in their castles wasn't really my thing, so here I am, off seeking the next great adventure."

Rubbing a hand lightly against one of her horns, as if thinking, she smiled even more broadly in Eomer's direction, "However, if it was a guild job...then sure, I'd do it. I'd go chasing some fool bounty down the entire length of the Swamp Road again. A job is a job after all, and orders are orders."

"Yeah, guild job" muttered the Badlander somewhat incoherently, his heart beginning to slow down now, not back to normal yet but slowly getting there. Even the panic began to slowly ebb away, as he looked at her. Somehow Nem's words managed to being some relief to Eomer, that or the alcohol was beginning to enter his system, either way, maybe even both, but he was far more at ease than he had been before. Finishing the last of his first tankard, he hesitated momentarily before lowering the container to the table with an unimpressed thud. No more alcohol, he told himself resolutely, no more alcohol or there is a chance I'll say something I'll regret.

A smirk crossed his face before he rekindled the conversation. "I just can't imagine you being a body guard for some uppity fool. I mean, the way they behave, they almost asking for someone to stab them". A small chuckle escaped his lips; as startled as he was, even with the unknowing reassurance the tiefling had provided, morbid jokes still held their humour. If nothing else, it was a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, just pretending it was as normal.

"Still though, I can't imagine someone wanting to approach one of them with you around, no offense. As pretty as you are, I can just imagine how intimidating some folks'd find you". Another laugh permeated the air as Eomer forgot about his steadfast "no more alcohol" decision. Whether it was her words or the booze that calmed him down, it worked. Catching the attention of a barmaid who removed his initial tankard from the table, along with Nem's first one, the barmaid took orders for more. "Another one, Nem?" He asked quietly. As long as she stays drunker than I it's fine, Eomer reasoned with himself.

"Sure, another drink it is," Nem replied with a grin as she tossed a coin to serving girl. Eomer had bought the first round so it was only right that she buy the second.

Grabbing a hold of her new, freshly filled tankard, Nem nodded wisely, "Yes, it wasn't exactly my favorite sort of job. But it paid the bills. And what steward doesn't want his own pet demon to keep the peasants in line?"

Although she hid it well, there was a spark of anger in her eyes as she uttered the familiar insult that had been hurled in her direction so many times.

"Enough about me and the souls I've drunk," Nem continued making it clear she was joking. "You sound and look like a man of the North. How did you end up so far South and in this humble company of adventurers?"

"Pet demon? That's something I'd almost pay to see. Two days and I cant think of anyone who'd have a chance to tame you a little" Eomer laughed, muttering a quiet 'thank you' to the barmaid who brought them a fresh round. The Badlander again drunk deep, this time however using it as an excuse to mull over her question. She won't trust me again if I tell her truthfully, he thought to himself, I mean, who'd rightfully trust a bandit?. No, I won't say that...

"Aye, is it that obvious?" He answered quietly, buying himself a little more time to think. "You'd've thought the dialect would have faded from my voice a little over the last few years. Maybe it has, but not exactly many people around here to compare it with, no?" A small smirk crossed Eomer's face.

"I used to lead a small militia up north. Mainly men, some women, and a few children" he added. "It's not a good place to raise children, it's too dangerous, and you don't always know who's going to wake up when the sun rises, especially with the amount of bandits in the area. My mother bore and raised me there, so the dangers of the Badlands are something that created me just as much as she did if I am honest."

A pause came as he took another drink before continuing. "The problem is, with leading a group like that, you become a target. Both in the literal sense of people taking hits out on you, which you can see worked so successfully" he laughed, "but also become a scapegoat for the things that go wrong. Not enough food for the winter? My fault. Disease taken loved ones? My fault. I became fed up and bitter with everyone trying to blame their problems on me, and fed up of sleeping with an eye open in the night watching for assassins. One night I just packed up the essentials and left, heading far enough south until my name no longer held any weight, and began to forge myself a new name."

"What else is someone with skills like ours meant to do? Odd jobs, such as guarding trade caravans was what I ended up specialising in. It suited me, moving constantly from place to place, no one knowing who you were; it's safer that way. I found myself in Gallant though, about a year back, trader went bankrupt not long after arriving, and ended up talking to a man in a pub about jobs around the area. You can probably imagine which direction he pointed me in"

"It is hard to lead, that much is true," Nem agreed with a solemn nod as Eomer told the story of his past. She knew well the struggles of guiding others through the wilderness, through lands plagued by bandits, and forgotten places long since consigned to monsters or worse. She had rarely lead more than a couple of other bounty hunters in the pursuit of a fleeing criminal, but on occasion, when the mark was dangerous or powerful enough she had been given command of a small number of sellswords. Many had not made it. The Swamp Road showed little mercy towards the weak. It was why she preferred to work with a few others she could trust. A small unit could be flexible, they could adapt, they could move stealthily, as quietly as the great predators of the Swamp Road, and they could run if things took a turn for the worse.

As Eomer continued to spin his tale, Nem felt an itch, an old familiar feeling gnawing at her bones. She did not believe him. His story was believable enough. Plausible even. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was lying to her about something. The scent of the lie sent a shiver down her neck and filled her stomach with newfound dread that she carefully buried beneath a smile and softening eyes. A life as a bounty hunter had shaped her, it had molded her, and she had not forgotten the tools of her past. Hunting wanted criminals required an ability to gather information and a talent for spotting a lie.

Hiding her thoughts in another pull from her tankard of ale, Nem reminded herself that Eomer did not owe her the truth of his past. Few men managed to live their lives without some modest regrets. He might have been a coward, perhaps he had run from a battle. He could have been defeated, losing his subordinates. The Badlands were infamous for the criminals that plied their trade far beyond the sharp sword of the law, perhaps Eomer had been a band-.. No, no, he couldn't have been a bandit, Nem quickly thought. Surely, the guild wouldn't allow criminals in their midst. And even so, maybe had been pardoned? Maybe had paid his debt? She wanted to trust him. It was a dangerous hope, but he had been reliable, he had been friendly, and he had stood up for her. She had met few in the Lowlands who were willing to suffer her company in private, much less support her in public.

She would give him a chance Nem decided as she drained the last of her ale. She owed him that much, but only that much. Stretching as she rose Nem feigned a deep yawn and slapped Eomer good-naturedly on the shoulder,"Many thanks for the drink and company Eomer, but given the hour and my weariness, I do believe it is time for me to find my room and bed. We will no doubt have a day full of adventure ahead of us and I don't want to slow us down."

Half disappointed, but also half relieved, Eomer bade her a good night. At the very least it seemed she bought his story, so that definitely put his mind at rest. He stayed in the main bar area for a while longer, sending longing looks towards the entrance. Rain still poured down, unyielding even this night. A sullen sigh escaped his lips. Hope still lingered that one day he could find a way to forgive himself, but until then, he had to live the lie; hoping no one else got hurt along the way.

Trade outpost where the Poor Man's Road meets the Swamp Road...

The day after they arrived was sunny and beautiful. There was not even a cloud visible in the sky and as the sun rose above the land, the soggy ground seemed to dry up swiftly. With a swift breeze still coming in from the East it wasn't even all that muggy. It was quite hot, though, being well into the Summer season at this point.

Early on, as the sun threatened to rise, people were busy in the trade outpost fixing things up and dumping out any instances of standing water. Large insects rose from some and buzzed angrily in the air. Several people began arranging what seemed to incense in lanterns around the camp. Soon after they were lit, when smoke began wafting out, the insects seemed to scatter. Sometime later, the water troughs for horses were cleaned out and filled with fresh water from a covered well.

Despite them being on the Swamp Road and at a trade post specifically located near the swamp itself, the boggy wet lands were still miles away. The grass around the trade post was regularly cut down to keep the more dangerous critters away. There were a few thickets of trees in the mostly open field between there and the swamp proper. It really didn't seem like much from this far away.

The group would rouse and begin their day. At some point after breaking their fast, they would find the tavern with no name. It wasn't that difficult as there were less than a dozen buildings in this outpost. The building was two stories and seemed the typical sturdy-but-uninteresting sort of thing for the Lowlands. There was nothing to advertise itself as a business and, with the boarded up windows, might even be seen as abandoned. When they went inside, they would find a rather comfortable interior but with few people.

The people who were in there, however, looked very much like the veteran adventurers from the guild hall. They had scars, they had weapons and they were all mostly quiet. However, in a room full of people who, on their own, would be the town badasses, two people stood out.

At a table near the bar sat two figures. One was a Lowlander male who was getting along in his years. He was somewhat overweight and had his sandy blond hair tied back in a ponytail that would be fashionable on a younger, fitter man. One leg was missing from just below the knee down and a peg sat near by, not currently being used. Despite his gut and age, the muscles on his arms were firm, his hands steady and his eyes sharp. He did seem thoroughly hobbled from his wounds, though, and had trouble even turning in his seat to see the new people walking in.

The other person who stood out sat next to the older, broken man. He had dark purple scaly skin, yellow starburst pattern eyes and horns. Well, he had stumps where horns used to be; they had been cut off. His ears looked rounded at first, however at a closer inspection, one would see that they had been clipped down. While one might expect to see a tail, there was not one present. Cloven hooves stood in place of feet and the man had a distant, tormented expression as if he were stuck in a grizzly flashback.

A broken former adventurer and an equally broken tiefling.

All eyes in the room turned to face the group (except for the tiefling, who kept his eyes focused on a point far away). It might feel like they had disturbed a sacred place with their very presence.

“Well ain’t this a sorry looking bunch.” Ezlan loudly muses to himself as he casually enters the nameless tavern with long confident strides.
“Well, let’s just hope the ale is better than the atmosphere.”
The Caerbean had an almost eager excitement in his eyes as he took in the rough riff-raff of the room. His lips rolled into a smirk as he eyed the wooden leg but no tangible jokes were ready to leave his lips, clearly though, they were steadily forming in his mind.

Making his way to the bar Ezlan leant on it as he eyed as much as he could of what was behind it. Curiosity either sated or running dry, Ezlan spun around, facing the room he addressed them all in his well practiced deep and attention demanding voice.
“Any of you happen to be serving, or perhaps be the one to run this fine establishment?” He asked while looking around.

Ezlan got near enough straight to the point, not afraid to draw the attention of the near empty room.

The following morning seemed to hold with it some sort of weird elation for Eomer; be it down to the warmth of the night, the nicer weather that seemed to be gracing the party with its presence, or just simply a small remnant of the alcohol left in his system. No matter the cause, the warmth seemed to follow him throughout the morning, and his disposition seemed much more amicable than it had the previous two days.

Rising much earlier than many, if not all of the others, the Badlander took a brief walk around the outpost to get a solid grasp of their surroundings; something which he had found impossible to do the previous night through the dense rain. It was a small place for sure, but with almost accompanied the feelings of security and comfort in an otherwise hostile area.

It wasn't long however before Eomer returned to the Muddy Ghoul, waiting for the others as he sat outside cleaning the equipment he had neglected to do the previous night. He let out a rather unimpressed snort when it came to his knife, which had once again lost the majority of its sharpness along the bevel. It wasn't surprising considering the constant stress he put the blade through, most likely a result of using the blade in a very makeshift way to cut firewood, but even so frustrating nonetheless.

When the others eventually joined him, they took the short walk to the inn they were looking for. Taking the couple of steps up to the porch, Eomer gently unslung his weapon and rested it against the wall, straightening it hastily as it began to slowly slip to one side. After all, they were at someone else's place of meeting, it would be rude it enter brandishing weapons like they owned the place. It was admittedly a token gestue as, judging from the boards, those inside couldn't see it, but the feeling was there.

As gleeful as Eomer felt, even he could feel the cold tension that seemed to appear as the group entered the room. A cold shiver managed to make it's way down his spine before, to the very contrary of how Eomer felt this situation should be handled, Ezlan strode on in with as much confidence as you please, acting as light hearted as it seemed he always did. Knowing he could do nothing to actually stop Ezlan, Eomer just quietly pursed his lips, glancing at each of the grizzled adventurers in turn and just hoping that they found this situation as funny as Ezlan seemed to think it was.

---

The sight of the mutilated tiefling filled Nem with a dread and she sucked in a quiet gasp of air as she resisted the spark of electricity that coursed through her muscles. The decrepit building was not the place to lose her calm. She knew there were risks. She had known that there were risks since she'd been a small child. They had made sure of that. Not to adventuring, but merely to living. Drawing breath as a tiefling was a not always a certainty. Insults were to be expected and unprovoked violence was never far away. Humans were masters in the art of cruelty. She had seen that clearly.

But to lose your horns, to be crippled, to be butchered into a shadow of a human was too much. It hurt to see. Nem remembered. She remembered dark places long since banished to the corners of her mind.

Trapped by her thoughts, for a moment Nem even forgot that Ezlan was about to get them all killed. Nem didn't know what Dagston looked like, she knew him only by reputation and the words and rumors that had traveled to the Highland side of the Swamp Road. They were enough. What little Nem had heard about Dagston, suggested that he was not a man to be trifled with. It was too late to stop Ezlan though, so Nem took a discrete step to the side, trying to make it clear that the adventurer was not her responsibility. Keeping her hands visible and away from her weapons, Nem cast a quick glance towards Eomer certain that the adventurer shared her trepidations.

Inside the Tavern with No Name...

Those gathered already seemed stunned by Ezlan's dramatic entrance. By their expressions, this sort of thing just didn't happen. And as he walked around, after they were able to get a better look at him, the atmosphere of the room began to turn decidedly more hostile. When he stopped and asked who was in charge or who was serving, silence met him for a heartbeat.

"Who the fuck do you think you are," boomed the man sitting with the tiefling. Two people closer to the door got up and quietly left, one of them muttering, 'not dealing with this again'. The six others who remained, not counting the broken man and tiefling, looked ready to start throwing chairs.

While some of the patrons gathered began to get to their feet, the group would have time to see them more closely. Their equipment was worn but in good order. Their weapons were clean, although for now they were not in hand. Only one of them looked remotely green while two of them wore coins of bronze with a silver ring on the edge. They were from different guilds, of course, but the silver usually denoted an award or some level of excellence.

One figure stood out among the others. He wore comfortable looking cotton clothing (cotton being one of the more expensive materials to make clothing out of) and a light blue mantle cloak with a buckler and short sword strapped to his side. There was a much larger silver coin pinned to his shirt with a number of progressively smaller ones chained to it at the bottom. He wore a travel bag over his shoulder, looked to be in his late thirties, bald and sported a short but neatly trimmed and full beard which was stark white.

An uneasy air breezed through the room, tension building, stress and adrenaline coursing through their systems. As eager as he was to draw his hidden blade, Eomer hesitated, knowing that any sign of aggression would be playing into their hands and turn their party into the antagonisers. After all, who would the settlement guards trust more, local heroes protecting their home or some ragtag band of mercenary types?

"This is why you don't make good as the person to lead in situations like this" Eomer said calmly, slowly walking towards Ezlan. "You need to read the room more before you react" he finished. Any other time Eomer would have relished the opportunity to show up Ezlan doing something stupid, but being in a room of armed men does kind of make you put aside petty rivalry. Turning quick on his heel he turned to face the man who he assumed had spoken, the wealthy looking man in blue. It made sense, in his mind at least, that the one in charge would be the wealthiest.

"For who we are it shouldn't matter as we are here out of courtesy and politeness, however due to the fact it appears we may have wandered into what is a guild outpost, along with the fact that you're all holding some rather dangerous weapons" he added a gentle smile, a poor attempt to try to break down some of the tension, but an attempt nonetheless. "I guess it is only right for us to oblige. The six of us," he paused momentarily to glance at his comrades, and lifted an arm in their direction to further illustrate his point, "well, 5 and a half at least, were sent by our guild master in Gallant to seek Dagston, and to ask his permission to work a job inside his territory". Eomer took another few paces, this time closer to the man in blue. "We are not here to fight, do you not think if we were I would have left my weapon on your doorstep as an act of peace? The only thing I carry on my person currently is a dull utility dagger, barely useful for cutting meat, let alone a person".

His heart continued to flutter wildly in his chest, he met the gaze of each of the six men in turn, hoping to at least something he had said appealed to their humanity. If not... well, Eomer would have to very quickly come to terms with the fact one of the other guild's members was planning to turn him into a Badlander kebab, or was considering tenderising him for further meal prep later.

“Johnny fucking silver tongue” Ezlan says musingly, referencing a popular tavern tale as Eomer, quite skilfully, tried to diffuse the situation. The almost sad desperation of his attempt stripped away any admiration his comrades skillfully placed words might have earned from the Caerbean.

It was going quite well Ezlan thought to himself, not feeling any need to justify himself to Eomer. The room had revealed itself and those of non-importance had left.

While the tension in the air might have been as thick as mud, Ezlan sifted through it with the oblivious ease of a mud demon stalking in its own habitat. While seemingly unaware and unhindered by the way it gripped the room and the breath and hearts of the patrons within, this could not be further from the truth.

Ezlan could feel and almost taste it. He relished in it drawing youth and vitality. It was as electricity to his skin and an insatiable thirst on his tongue. There were micro dilations in his pupils and a slight unnoticeable flare to his nostrils as his body began drawing in extra oxygen to supply his raising heart beat. The sweet nectar of adrenaline now coursing through his veins, like an addict, despite common sense, Ezlan couldn’t help himself. Limits would be pushed and boundaries tested. While he held no hostility, it was fair to say not all shared his demeanour.

All this excitement brought a mighty thirst to his lips, and the good thing about everyone standing with hands at the ready, was now their hands were empty. A situation Ezlan would take full advantage of.

Ezlan’s deduction differed from Eomer, and he truly hoped he was right so he could slap the smug righteousness off his comrades face. He instead took the crippled man beside the Tiefling as Dagston. Not all those of position flaunted their wealth so openly, and most cripples wouldn’t speak up and invite trouble so confidently unless the loyalty and respect of the men around him had long since blunted the burden of fear.

Still he kept the fancy clothed man in the corner of his eye, this man bothered him, swathed in unpredictablity he might act on his own accord. But it was one of the heavily armed and armoured men that Ezlan approached. Not only was the weapon heavy and slow but it was overkill for a bar room fight. Hopefully this meant he would not use it. Still, weapon in hand or not Ezlan liked his opponents to use the heavy swinging style that often accompanied such items. Secondly a man in plate armour would fall to the floor easier and find it more difficult to rise.

Ezlan locked the mans gaze intently, not to intimidate but to study. He wanted to see who he sought confirmation from, who it was he looked up to. The smirk long glued on Ezlan’s lips vanished behind a sudden mug of ale. Swiped from the mans very table right before him, Ezlan turned to side profile to steadily drink deeply while still keeping a ready taunting eye on the beverages rightful owner.

..........

Always the showman Ezlan had picked his opponent carefully. While appearing foolishly unready he was actually quite prepared. His loose pants hiding the tense muscles balancing his unorthodox stance. His torso like a wound spring ready to snap and follow his opponents momentum. While he had the muscles and size to upright oppose most others strength, Ezlan often preferred to not be so predictable.

Play the fool. Misdirect. Redirect. Strike fast and overwhelm.

Should everything go to plan, any attempt to touch or attack Ezlan would be quickly met with equal force and dictate the degree to how hard he put his opponent to the floor. It is then that he would introduce himself.
”Ezlan” he would announce loudly in reply to the cripple while kindly aiding his foe back to his feet. “Son of whore and a fisherman with too much coin.” He would joke at his own expense. Truths hidden and weaveing through his humour as was the case with all great stories.
”as my nervous companion said while placing his lips on your asses.” the next joke hopefully these rough men would appreciate was at Eomers expense. ”we are here to do some guild work in this territory, and as I’m sure you are all aware, preparing for work gives a man a fair thirst. Just as doing, completing or even thinking about it.” he finished his last statement, one that hopefully found mutual agreement, with a self amused chuckle. He would then thank the man who’s drink he stole and offer to buy him the next.

If... IF everything went to plan.

Inside the Tavern with No Name...

Nobody in the tavern had reached for a weapon yet. All of them had weapons on or near their persons just in case, though. All eyes watched Ezlan as he strutted up to one of the tables and continued addressing them. When he lifted the veteran's drink and began to throw it back right in front of him is when the fight started.

The double-hander didn't flinch despite Ezlan's impressive build. Indeed, the Caerbean was the strongest person in there hands-down. But the veteran didn't look to anybody else to see what he should do. He saw a man insulting him to his face. So he made ready to punch him out for it.

Ezlan was quicker on the draw, having readied himself. As the man realed back to punch, the Caerbean slugged him squarely with enough force to send him tumbling over the tablle - but not quite enough force to knock him out cold.

As he turned to announce himself, Ezlan would be able to get out only part of his introduction. "Ezlan," he yelled. "Son of a whore and a fisherman with too much coi-"

The adventurer wearing chain mail had jumped to his feet and charged Ezlan after seeing his fellow knocked down. Whether he spoke up until he was hit or stopped early would be up to Ezlan since the man wasn't stealthy in his approach. While he failed to knock Ezlan down, he did manage to grapple him. As this went on, the man who had been knocked down in the first place climbed unsteadily to his feet and began pulling himself around the table to join the fight.

On the other side of the room, the Ranger stood to his feet and casually picked up his bow. He made no attempt to grab for an arrow but he did tap one end of his bow on the floor loud enough to alert the others of his intention. His eyes were on Nemeia and Eomer. The fellow wearing the light blue cloak stood with a curious look on his face, trying to get a better view of the fight. Meanwhile, the two elite adventurers began moving toward the action. One of them, the shieldbearer, peeled off and began to put himself between Ezlan and his fellows. The other one seemed interested in hitting Ezlan a few times.

That was life, not everything went to plan, especially when they were the plans of Ezlan, but that was ok. He aimed high and enjoyed the journey along they way, not just the destination.

Caught in the grapple a wide excited smile took his face as he continued his introductory spiel. Loud and deep, the occasional word hindered by a labour of breath but otherwise he carried on. This was not only a small trick to pacify some of the malice and pure aggression of his opponents mid battle, but also his own. It helped him hold off that rage deep within. It was a trick beyond the conscious that trifled with the brain, splitting attention. You were not fighting for your life with everything you have because you were also in a casual conversation, processing and considering words. The friendly smile only made it worse.
Experienced in this, Ezlan took advantage of every slight opportunity it might give. Always one to use anything that might slide the scales of victory further in his favour.

Yes grappling was a skill, but it also come down largely to strength. Both qualities Ezlan was not lacking of. Whilst these men may be veterans of the field, Ezlan doubt that even combined their total tallies of bar room brawls wouldn’t equal up to nearly as many as his.

With a small shift in his weight Ezlan pivoted around his grappled foe, keeping the man between himself and any other on comers. (The elite great-swordsman) He leveraged his opponents half plate against him. The heavy protection limiting flexibility and offering Ezlan extra mechanical control and places to lever and grip. Facing his back to the wall he stacked himself beside a table, limiting the spaces and directions from which others could get involved. Then seizing an opportunity he would drive a fist, elbow or forehead at his opponents nose, and in that distraction quickly lash out with a leg at the table his first opponent was using to regain balance. Still, all’s whilst this was going on, that smug smile held true through the struggle and his words kept flowing merrily (as possible).

In the tavern with no name...

Ezlan's attempt to take control of the grapple wasn't quite successful. Although he was, by far, the stronger man, the other guy was quick enough to maneuver out of his hold and maintain his control. He was not, however, nearly sturdy enough to resist the big man's punch. In the end, Ezlan got his meat shield.

"What in the dying light is wrong with you," the broken man yelled from his seat. He turned stiffly and gestured toward the fellow in the light blue cloak. "Put an end to this, already!"

The man in the cloak lifted his brow at the tone used toward him but gave an elaborate shrug. "Just when it was getting fun," he mumbled. He stood to his feet and took in a quick breath. Then he began an elaborate motion with both of his hands and seemed to be concentrating on Ezlan. Without any farther warning, Ezlan, the barely conscious man he was using as a defensive body pillow and the Elite Greatswordsman wavered and then slumped unceremoniously to the floor. The first attacker, who had just recovered from getting smacked by a table, backed away when he saw this and held his hands up in a "Chill bro" motion.

"Get him out of here! Don't come back! Tell Alyssa she can kiss my ass if she thinks I'm going to put up with this shit! You no-good, disrespectful, blight-taken-"

The man continued to yell insults and slurs at them as Ezlan was carried outside and the others were ushered away. The man in light blue was last seen laughing while one of the adventurers poured beer on his two sleeping companions to try and wake them.

Ezlan would fully recover from the spell in a couple of hours. Aside from whatever he might have hit on the way out, he was unharmed.

The Muddy Ghoul Inn...

Later on that same day, assuming everybody found a reason to be at the tavern at the same time, a young adult woman with short cut, black hair made her way to them. She was pretty in an unremarkable way, fit enough to proudly wear the mark of the Shield Brethren and her left arm was splinted up and resting in a sling.

"Hey," she said, obviously nervous for... some reason. "So... I heard you're looking for Maddox. Right?"

As annoyed as the Badlander was at Ezlan, he couldn't half help the smirk that crept across his face as the Caerbean got his ass handed to him. It had been long since Eomer had watched a bar fight like this, longer still since he found one he had enjoyed this much. Moving sideways a little he went and leant casually against the bar, guiltlessly rooting for the opposing guild's members as they went at him. To Ezlan's credit however, he did far outlast what Eomer would've expected given the circumstances. Two days and Ezlan had done very little to merit respect in the Badlander's books, but this was one of them.

With a slightly guarded gait, Eomer approached the unconscious body of the Caerbean, initially apprehensive of some sort of retribution being inflicted upon him on his comrades behalf; even if, arguably, the guildsman in blue had done far more damage to his own men than Ezlan had. Quite to the contrary however, as one of them assisted Eomer in recovering the stunned seaman, so much so as to help him in getting the body into a reasonably comfortable position on Eomer's back for the walk back to the inn. It was difficult with Eomer standing a little shorter, but manageable with just Ezlan's ankles trailing along the floor behind Eomer as he walked. The thoughts plaguing the Badlander's mind presently lingered in the guildhall they had left.

---

Back at the Muddy Ghoul, Eomer could be found alone at one of the tables farthest from the group. Alcohol in hand, and a couple empty containers lay before him. A few of his shoulder muscles ached from carrying the sailor. Alcohol dulled the pain a bit, but it wasn't enough to quell his nerves about what was to happen next. What were they to do now, given they hadn't recieved the blessing of Dagston? Were they to carry on anyway, and sully the Guild's names even more than that display just had? Lacking in the usual coordination and fluidity of his movements, Eomer managed to slam the tankard hard into the table, surprising even himself with the noise it created. Glancing up to see if he had managed to draw attention to himself, he noted the rather battered girl with raven hair. From his position he couldn't see the badge proudly pinned upon her chest, however the Badlander managed to just about make out the word "Maddox" as she spoke. For some reason that word, or was it a name, Eomer wasn't sure, stood out. For now though, he returned to his booze. If he could remember what the word was, and if it were important, he would deal with her.

Ezlan once again had found himself in a foul mood. His forced rest had left him more than restless. The only smile to touch his face was forced, deliberate and short lived. He was normally more lively after a brawl but this one felt unfinished, anticlimactic and had left him on edge.
He disliked being so easily controlled and hated his utter weakness and helplessness in the face of such powers.
His fingers fidgeted, thrumming along the tankard of ale that had since started bypassing his mug. His leg bounced on the ball of his foot as he kept looking around the room, hoping for some sort of excitement or retribution.

Eyeing Eomer, Ezlan refused to show guilt or remorse for his actions, denying any fault or blame that he should be bearing. With a wink and a nod he raised the tankard and took a heavy gulp.

Face buried behind his drink Ezlan failed to notice the “pretty enough” woman until she spoke. Taken by surprise, sputtering some ale from his mouth Ezlan slammed down his tankard. It took him a delayed moment to find himself but as soon as he did he offered the woman a seat as he dried his mouth with a loose sleeve.

“Please sit, join us.” He says politely before loudling calling for more ale.
“We might be.” He finally replies while also finding his smile.
He continued to speak as he went back to filling his mug. “Everyone is always looking for something, what are you looking for?”

---

Unwilling to let the walking disaster that was Ezlan cause another incident with the locals, Nem moved with the speed of a predatory cat as she shifted from her spot at the end of the bar to a seat next to Ezlan and the new arrival.

In passing she'd managed to tap Eomer's shoulder, before nodding in the direction of the Caerbean. She knew Eomer had been drinking, more than she had, but she hoped he was sober enough to understand her gestures. They couldn't leave the poor wretch alone with the sailor.

"What my friend meant to say was, where's Maddox?" Nem interjected, rolling her tongue with great difficulty over the word friend.

A gentle tap to the shoulder roused Eomer from his torpor back into reality, his eyes darting quickly who had touched him. Nemeia. Following her gaze his attention was drawn once again to the battered girl, this time talking directly to Ezlan. Judging from the swiftness of the Tiefling's reaction the Badlander's initial gut feelings towards the girl's words were indeed correct, even if he couldn't recall their importance through the fog that had settled itself rather comfortably over his mind; that, or Nemeia just wished to save the maiden from the I'll fate destiny has doled to the girl in the form of Ezlan. The latter scenario Eomer was more than happy to stand behind in his bitter state.

Either way it was enough to draw Eomer away from his wallow of pity, and more importantly the alcohol he was choosing to drown himself with. Using his arms way more than should be required to balance, hands grasping desperately on to the edges of tables, with a slight sway in his step he followed Nem's path through the room. Eomer placed himself beside Nemeia, ensuring she was between himself and the Caerbean. At this moment he did not trust himself this close to the sailor, especially with the booze flooding his system currently, and believes that the Tiefling would step in if he or Ezlan managed to overstep a boundary. The Badlander relegated himself to the sidelines on this one, not that he'd be much good in a calm conversation presently anyway. Instead, he leaned backwards against the table to his rear, palms resting on the flat surface. He was listening to the girl speak, but his cold eyes were trained solely on Ezlan.

The Muddy Ghoul Inn...

The young woman seemed happy for Ezlan's quick invitation to sit with them. She smiled and awkwardly pulled at one of the big chairs with her good hand.

"I guess I'm not looking for anything, really," she began. When Nemeia interjected, the woman gave pause and looked at her, then to Eomer as he walked after her on unsteady feet. After a moment she seated herself, although her eyes held some uncertainty.

A round of drinks arrived swiftly and the woman's eyes lit up when she saw an extra mug, presumably for her.

"Well, I saw what happened with Dagston." She lowered her voice and glanced around nervously. "He and Maddox didn't get along... but he's not usually so disagreeable." She perked up and laughed, saying, "The first time I came through here, a couple years back, the team leader seemed to get along smilingly with him!"

A 'couple years ago' and the woman seemed like she would have been too young to begin adventuring. She bit her lip then spoke up again.

"You probably don't care about all that... Well, uh, Maddox is North of here a couple days. I was left behind because of... well," she gestured to her arm. "They've been chasing a group of bandits dangerously close to the swamps. I think they tried hiding in the scrubs."

The 'scrubs' werent a secret. Most people saw it as part of the swamp. In fact, it was a swath of land just before the swamp proper that became overgrown with tall weeds and carnivorous flora. Trap roots and strangle thorn were well known hazards along with bite bugs and disease carrying ticks. It was also a favored home to the ever aggressive giant dire pigs which cause so much trouble to small trade caravans; the ten-to-twelve foot tall hogs were only too happy to drag a horse or a man into the thickets for a meal.