Suddenly and gently a soft sound arose from all around the tavern. Subtle and sweet it haunted its way through the building, resonating passionately as tensioned strings vibrateed in slow taunting melodies.
It was beautiful, like waves of the ocean the song rolled over itself as it came in and washed away, always pulling on the emotions like a moon on the tide.

Then, it abruptly stopped.
A fair skinned lady with dark hair and an elegant dark red dress steadily descended the staircase. One hand held an old violin wile the other hitched her long dress. Her heals clicked against the wooden surface of each stair as she took them gradually one by one.

”Servant.” She calls out aloud to no one in particular as she holds out her instrument expectingly.
Before Ahha can follow what is going on, Clay was at the woman’s side taking her burdensome equipment without hesitation or thought. His eyes even more empty and void of color than before.

The woman was of fair height and stature. She continued down the stairs at a leisure pace and eventually came to sit at the bar, close to Ahha. Very close. Her every movement seemed deliberate and calculated, seductive in nature. From the sway of her hips to the pausing before a sinister curl of her luscious red lips, even the mischievous and daring glint in her eyes seemed to be turned on at will. She was surely an intimidating and playful creature.

”The doors are locked and we are closed for business.” she says flatly, not yet looking at or acknowledging the girl she sat so close to. Then turning to face Ahha, her eyes rolled over her entire body as she stared intently in silence with an unnerving wide smile.

”So... how did you get in, more importantly. Why?”

@Song Book

”Us too.” she muses with a dismissive smile at the comment of just waking up here. She no longer presses the matter instead focusing on the girls furs. With a wave of her arm she signals Clayton who quickly pours Anya another drink.
With a new smirk the woman reaches to inspect the furs that she had been so greedily eyeing.
”Ooh I do love taming a wild growling beast.” her tongue sensually slides along her lips as her gaze twists to Clay and then back to Anya. Her voice slips into a husky whisper as she leans closer.
”Especially ones with such fine and rare fur.”

At Anya’s sudden reaction the woman tilted her head back slightly and let out a surprised startling laugh. Seemingly both delighted and amused by Anya’s reply she laughed longer and louder than was necessary or required.
Catching her breath and composure she slyly reply’s, malice filling her stone cold gaze.

”Oh poor mistaken dear, nothing here is yours.” A sudden ‘Snap’ rings out like the clicking of fingers although the woman hardly seemed to move. However, the sound had caused Clayton to move. He lunged feircly at Anya, grabbing at her wrist and or drink vial.

Clay who was surprisingly agile for his size still stood dumbfound and empty handed in Anya’s vacancy. He watched the vial fall and shatter to the floor, the smell bringing forth that glimmer once again to his eyes.
Another click echoed out and all life and emotion once again drained from Clays face and he began clumsily fumbling after Anya.
Her whimpers caused a clear hinderence to his movementss.

”ENOUGH!”The woman looked dissatisfied as she rolled her eyes and sighed.
”Ugh, little girl, come sit back down and have your drink.”
She gestures to the seat beside herself before reaching over the bar and taking the challis by the lip of its edge, her fingers delicately lift it by the rim and she holds it out above the seat.

”Come dear, tell me about your journies.”
Her voice now deciptfully kind, caring, welcoming and alluring.

A man enters the tavern, his name is Jonathan. Jonathan wore plate mail, and once upon a time the armour he wore could have been considered well made, or even beautiful. However, through a lack of maintenance, or recklessness the armour was full of dents, and scraps. He was even missing both gauntlets, and the pauldron which should have covered his right shoulder was nowhere to be seen.

Emblazoned on his Plackart, there was a stylised rose.

The playful friendly lie dropped from the woman’s face. In his current stay Clay might be clumsily and slow but she was not. A snarl took her face as she effortlessly crushed the fine goblet in her fingers, the liquid within splashing up into the air and raining down upon the bar.
In a blur the chair she was once sitting on crashed to the floor behind her and she re-appeared halfway across the room in blinding speed.

Seemingly only pausing her actions upon noticing the newcomer as he entered. Quickly switch on her pleasant endearing smile she turned towards the Travelled warrior and in her sweetest sultry soft whisper of a voice, she spoke to him. @Mogget
”Oh welcome, hope you had a blessed trip, thank the lord for your timely arrival. You see, we are having a problem with this wild thief.”

She points at the young lady in furs clambering around over furniture.@Song Book

”We need a strong good man to sort this. Think you can help?” Her eyes meet the newcomers as they dig into his soul searchingly. She wears the face of frailty and distress, too proper and feminine to handle such matters.

"Interesting." Jonathan said as he was greeted by the woman. Everything she said just seemed to make sense, he could see that drinks had been spilled, there was even a chair flipped and lying on the ground, like a fight had just broken out. And her expressions were genuine. "Yes, I do believe I can help with something like this, just in the nick of time, eh?"

.

The old tavern doors burst open with such force and urgency that the sturdy large hinges cried out loudly, groaning as they strained struggling to hold the doors to the walls.

Light suddenly flooded into the otherwise dimly lit establishment bringing with it a sudden and sharp silence.
In the doorway stood two silhouetted figures. Men, one just below Average build and stature, the other larger. For and endless moment they just appeared to stand still and take in the sights. A fresh breeze billowing around them bringing new life into the old place.

It was done, they were finally home.

After the super dramatic entrance of the two men, a nervous satyr's head popped up behind them, right under the battered doorway. Feeling really stupid and lame for not thinking of doing a dramatic entrance himself, the young satyr looked around for a place to sit. Epic, ominous music seemed to be playing around the two men, so he hurried to an empty table in a corner, tripping on the way there.

Feeling red-faced and humiliated, Penrod glanced around. His stomach growled. Can he get some food in this place? How does one hail a server? I have no idea what i'm doing, I shouldn't have come here. Thought the satyr. Maybe he has to knock. Tentatively, he quietly knocked on the table. A women sitting at the next table over glanced at him, looking annoyed. Penrod sank into his chair, wishing he was anywhere but here. He looked around to see who else saw his foolishness, but the majority of the establishment still seemed to be looking at the men.

While people may be watching them, the two newcomers left at the door just watched the satyr with a raised eyebrow. Their heads following his path through the tavern, faces expressionless and impossible to read. It was only once he had sheepishly settled that they finally continued with their own entrance.
Skin smooth and pale, eyes deep and intense, Dorian, the shorter of the two, garbed in an immaculate fine suit strode quickly towards the wide staircase with steady strides, only giving the faintest smile of acknowledgement to those he passed.
Clayton, the larger of the pair, was a lot more aloof and casual in his entry. The floorboards groaned under his heavy steps as he strolled slowly to the bar. His eyes flittered around the room, falling more often than not onto the female occupants. Unlike his brother, Clay’s clothes were tattered and simple. Tattoo’s and scars littered his sun kissed skin and a fair beard hung from his chin. Some might say he held a rugged charm.
As Dorian ascended the stairs and disappeared, Clay found an empty jug and filled it from an unmarked barrel. The liquid was a dark golden colour and had little froth or bubbles. Seeing it fill its container the large mans eyes grew wide with excitement. Unable to resist any longer he took a large long drink from the jug before filling it back up and replacing what he had drank.
A sated smile took his face as he gasp for a breath.
Collecting two mugs in one hand he made his way to the Satyr where he sat and poured the drinks. Saying nothing as he stared at the creature, pushing a mug of ale towards him.

@reverentsatyr

Penrod suspiciously took the mug with a slightly shaking hand, nodding thanks to the strange man. He's never tried human-made liquor before. He took a sip, and immediately spit it back out on the table, gagging. It tasted disgusting! Penrod reached under his traveling cloak and produced a small flak full of gold-colored liquid and poured a little in the mug. He took another sip, and this time he felt comfortable heat spread through his body, tasting way better than the first sip. He noticed the man was curiously looking at the satyr the whole time. "Y-You from around here?" Asked Penrod as he offered his flask to the man to try.

“No one is from around here.” Clayton chuckled in reply, his voice deep and rough. Amused equally by this creatures words and his taste. Reaching over the table he happily took back the mug of ale and dropped his gaze to the satyr’s drink.

“You need a room and a meal.” He spoke after a gulp of his own ale, his words somewhere between a question and statement.

@reverentsatyr

Penrod grunted in reply, and felt less nervous as his liquid was taking more affect. As much as he wanted to rest, this place seemed very odd. There were some very strangely dressed people here, that carry weird contraptions where a person's weapon should be. But as he glanced once more at the man, he realized that the man wouldn't exactly take no as an answer.
Oh well. It would be nice for him to sleep on a soft bed for a change. He unsheathed one of his twin daggers. They needed to be sharpened and cleaned of dry blood again. Penrod made up his mind to stay, but just overnight. Then he would be on the move again.

An old haunt of the tavern wisped through the air like dark ribbons in the wind, circling upon the property with a somber demeanor. Knutik has continued to remain in this general location, mostly hidden out of sight for so long, just watching the many visitors of the old tavern come in and out with stories on their shoulders. The weight of many worlds in one seemed to never bother the aged building and there was magic to be seen within every crack and chip of it's wood; he was drawn to it.

With how quiet these walls have been for so long, newfound active life seemed to call him out from hiding, if only to peer through the glass of the windows from outside to observe the going-ons within, his green eyes of burning emeralds glowed with interest as he gripped the hems of the window's frame with shadowed claws.

“Good” Clay replied without an answer. He leant forward resting an elbow on the table, the smile taking his lips disappearing behind his mug. After another heavy gulp the empty mug came down with a ‘clang’ on the table and Clay sighed. “I’m exhausted, tired, and there is much to do. The room and food is yours in exchange for the odd job here and there.”
Clay slouched a bit further, toying with the second mug.
“You can start by seeing who or what is creeping outside by that window.”
Clay motioned, without looking, towards the glowing green orbs floating in the nearby window. With that settled he went back to his drink.