Aesthen-The Foamy Crown

For Aesthen, Draydon had that feeling of a new town even though he had been born here so long ago. Void of the childish bliss and youthful ignorances he once carried through these streets. He looked at this unfamiliar Ruby city through different eyes. Older eyes, wiser eyes, eyes that had seen hardships and understood the true way of things.
He cursed the naivety of his younger self, that child who always thought his father would return. The child who thought the world was just and fair. A child that had faith in the gods and wanted to be a great knight one day. So full of hopes and dreams. So foolish.

Melting in from the cold nights shadows that he wore with a comfortable embrace, Aesthen emerged into the warm light of the tavern via introduction of an old creaking door. His padded boots drawing him across the wooden deck floor as with a groan he removed his baggage and took a seat at the bar. The tired and weary traveler, fresh off the boat, legs still of the sea, let out an exasperated sigh. It had been a long trip to get back here. Back home to Draydon.

The foamy crown held a familiarity to Aesthen, not one of being here before but that that all scroungy common district taverns held. Never truly clean and in a constant state of repair. The ever present drowning sense of hopelessness and despair, clinging thick in the musky air, seeping from the patrons past and present like sweat on a humid day. The aroma of violence and testosterone stained deep into the wooden furnishings, carnal desire flickering around in the dim light and teasing from the deep dark shadows that had set up home in every nook and cranny. It held an aura of primality that was a reminder how man is only a few coherent thoughts away from being a beast.
Like most taverns the Crown was as if it was tucked away in its own little pocket dimension, far away from the real world yet still unable to escape all its troubles.
It was a perfect place for those of empty dreams and lost from hope to pass away the hours of their life behind a tankard of ale until their inevitable death.

While looking the part, Aesthen didn’t belong here. He was not a man without purpose or reason. He was full of aspiration and desire. But this was no longer his home and he had to start somewhere.
Sounding beyond the appearance of his age, without looking up from the counter in which he rest his arms, Aesthen called for “a tankard of you’re cheapest ale.” His voice soft yet dry, wrung with an air of confidence.

When the ale finally came, Aesthen makes a show of looking around. “I herd people have been dissapearin’, didn’t realise it was all of yer customers.” he taunted looking back to that who served him giving a well practiced smile that was both charming and teasing. “Should I be worried?” he asked with a soft self amused chuckle, digging for the rumours he had heard whispers of.

...

---

“Who let that into the city?”

“Perfect, now we have wild animals running loose.”

“May the Gods damn those evil, good-for-nothing giants. Faerun would be better without them...”

The whispers never ceased upon entering an unfamiliar town or province, but the outlandish claims, awkward stares, fruitless gossip, and disgusted expressions had become part of her life ever since traveling from the confines of The Ride, a place Vah’lux had called home since childhood. A place where her kind was accepted, and seen not as a monster, but as an honor-bound kinsman of the North. Hunters. Gatherers. Warriors. Spiritual Leaders. Just a few of the titles a member of the race of Goliath may have bestowed upon them. But in the great unknown lands of Faerun, prejudice and hate was all the more real.

Musing at the thought of easily crushing the countless Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, or other relatively smaller races brought a hint of satisfaction to the seven-foot-one, battle-hardened Gladiatrix, however, acting out against such ignorant speak would only strengthen their case of the “untamed barbarian animal”. Most had never seen a member of the pseudo-Giants known as the Goliath, especially up close, and their sheer size difference was off putting and threatening to most. But she pitied them more than she could ever despise them for their blindness, because it wasn’t worth the mental anguish to acknowledge such narrow mindedness.

Vah’lux stood at the mouth of the alleyway which lead toward the Foamy Crown tavern. Holding the long, heavy glaive vertically, with the tail end stuck into the mud and the top of the blade head stopping at about eye level, she surveyed the area as though she were a sentinel. Even with the fog rolling in, she could tell it wasn’t the best part of town, nor was it the worst, but she needed to rest from the week-long trek toward western Faerun, and finally to Draydon. There was very little downtime during the journey, as she had to make good time in order to register for the Gladiatorial challenge being held within the city, and with that out of the way, thankfully she had a few days to unwind and train beforehand. There was always a certain level of excitement that coursed through her blood at the thought of entering an arena, and Draydon had one of the better facilities along the West Coast.

Adjusting the fur-lined cloak draped over a broad shoulder, she headed toward the tavern, her thick leather boots crunching and squishing through the mud and pebbles along the path, leaving above average footprints. At the foot of the staircase leading up to the tavern entry, she momentarily arched an eyebrow and smirked, knowing that under her own two hundred and seventy-five pounds of bone and muscle, there was a risk those steps wouldn’t last long. But also wouldn’t be the first incident if it came to it. Either way, Vah’lux shrugged and took her first step, and the wood creaked as though it were in pain, but still held nevertheless. It was essentially the same all the way to the top, a few planks sounding as though they may have splintered under the pressure, but held in one piece.

The above average muscled human standing out front at the entrance with his arms crossed and chest puffed out, merely glared at Vah'lux and then the glaive she held. It took more than a few seconds for him to take in sheer size of Goliath -a race he was clearly not ready to behold- and the various pieces of leather and steel armor that adorned the barbarian added to the already enormous and looming tower before him. He looked up at her scarred face, and she in turn, looked down at him. "Evening." Her voice was fairly deep and husky for a female, but kind and non threatening.

"No trouble." He grunted, clearing his throat immediately after.

"None." She responded with a slight shake of her head.

The guard nodded, almost reluctantly, and looked away, clearing his throat for a second time as the significantly larger of the two walked by and through the tavern doors, ducking her head down about a foot to clear the standard-sized frame.

The interior was well lit, warm, and inviting, as far as taverns went, and especially for an evening that felt muggy and wet. Out of the few patrons seated in and around the dining area, only a couple of them actually looked up from their meal or drink to notice the Goliath. Perhaps it was for the better that the place was sparsely populated. Looking around for a moment, she thankfully noticed a much larger table along the wall near the bar, matched with thick wooden benches, which seemed like a perfect place to relax and shrug off the weariness of the day with an ale, and a stew. Vah’lux placed her large rucksack down near the foot of the table, and her glaive leaned against the wall about arms length from where she’d decided to sit. With a deep breath, and a few stretches and cracks from her lower back and neck, she removed the dark brown fur-lined cloak, neatly folded it, and placed it on the table. Following, she proceeded to loosen a few straps from her chest armor and remove the heavy chest piece -which appeared to protect the upper part of her chest- and place it next to her on the floor. Her torso was wrapped in a light tan cloth, which was a stark contrast against her naturally bluish-gray skin tone.

She closed her eyes for a moment, relaxing her mind, and refocusing her thoughts, and as she opened them, glanced at the young human sitting at the bar closest to her, and gave a friendly nod. One of the serving girls, a very small, petite half-elf, shyly apprached the table where the Goliath sat.

“W-Welcome.” She smiled, shifting uncomfortably. “Was there...anything I can get you t-tonight?”

Vah’lux gave a half-smile, because honestly, it was all she could muster after a long day. Her body was tired, even for one who’s athletic prowess is off the charts, and her mind, exhausted and in need of recharging.

“A pitcher of ale, and a large bowl of your house stew will be just fine.”

The elf nodded in response, and turned to head for the kitchen, fanning herself with her hand on the way.

This was going to be a very interesting evening.

---

"More wine, m'lord?"

Renault Beaumont lifted his head slowly. It was uncertain as to whether the man had been asleep, lost in deep thought, or perhaps even prayer. Sniffling once and clearing his throat, Renault turned his gaze towards the source of the voice: a pretty young thing, mousy-haired and work-worn, wearing a laced bodice clearly meant to arouse attention. He'd been a patron of the Foamy Crown long enough to recognize her face, and she, his. But names in an environment like this could be a gratuitous affair - he knew his purpose and she knew hers, that was what mattered.

Mustering a tight-lipped smile beneath the cover of his beard, Renault nodded with a hoarse "Thank you", gently pushing his tankard toward the edge of the table. Stooping over to pour from a bronze-cast pitcher, the maid filled his vessel near to the brim before moving on to attend to the other patrons. Though not a large establishment by any means, the Foamy Crown employed a small handful of wenches to run the dining area and clean the bedrooms. Work could be hard to come by or even dangerous in the Commons District, especially for a young woman. Tavern work was stable, relatively safe, and allowed one to retain at least some dignity. There were a few incidents here-and-there within the city, of course, mostly left to the guards to handle. But Barric ran a tight ship, ensuring no harm came to his workers or customers.

Indeed, Renault felt he owed the Dwarf a substantial debt. Coarse and stubborn as he was, Barric had shown him kindness and a certain pity: granting him food and a place to stay in exchange for chopping firewood and doing minor repairs as needed. As long as Renault earned his keep, Barric considered that payment enough for a bed and a bowl of stew.

Oh, but there was jeering from the Dwarf at first, who was thoroughly amused at the "high and mighty" Paladin who wouldn't be caught dead in a tavern now spending his days living in one. Worse still were the guffaws and insults Renault endured when he struggled to fix a stool leg or replace a door hinge. He could cite back Faerûn's history several decades from memory and swing a sword with the best of them when he was a younger man. But a life of nobility and knighthood made one ill-suited for everyday tasks. Renault knew labor, certainly: his earliest years were spent under authoritarian taskmasters and overbearing knights. But now, though a man grown, he felt like a fresh-faced squire once again.

The sound of the front opening dragged Renault out of his own head like the ringing from the cloister bell tower. Stepping past the threshold was a slender-faced man with snow-white hair, shorter than he was and bearing all the swaggering confidence of an aspiring pirate-lord. Keeping eyes centered on the newcomer, Renault drew the freshly-filled tankard to his lips and drank considerably, his face twisting into a grimace as the wine's sour edge hit his tongue. If he were tired before, he was certainly awake now.

The newcomer began to speak, loudly enough to be heard by anyone even halfway listening. Disappearances...Renault had heard a word or two about missing people from hushed conversations and gossipers, but nothing too substantial, at least past what he was willing to investigate. He quirked a brow at the newcomer's jape but otherwise paid little attention. But in that moment, the crest worn around his neck seemed to grow heavier, with Renault becoming more conscious of its weight. He bit his lip, trying to ignore it, but couldn't shake it from his mind. Was this guilt? A call to action? No, those days were long past, and Renault felt guilt enough.

The front door opened a second time, and Renault felt a small chuckle building at the back of his throat at the surge of unexpected business. Oh and this was unexpected: a towering woman, toned and well-built with a bluish-gray pallor. Renault had heard tales of the roaming Goliath tribes outside the cities, but he'd never laid eyes on one before. To say the tales did them justice would be something of an understatement. This one was shorter than he figured Goliaths would be, though that was certainly nothing against her stature, which dwarfed him by nearly a foot.

As the woman sat and began removing her armor, Renault averted his eyes for courtesy's sake, bringing a callused hand to his chest where the amulet pressed against his skin. He felt it, that queer feeling in his stomach: this night, above all others, had the makings of something new, something distinctly eventful.

Taiborn’s joints ached as he made his way into the city, the sound of metal striking the cobblestones as he used his staff to walk. Confused looks by people he passed by as they heard the sound but not the sight of metal always gave him a chuckle. He had been on the road far too long this time, and he definitely wasn’t getting any younger.

“Excuse me, where might I find the Academy?” Taiborn asked a dwarf as he loaded a cart with various wares.

The dwarf was silent, only pointing his way toward the center of the city, to which Taiborn nodded, thanked the dwarf and headed off. During the travels he made sure to keep an eye out for buildings that may catch his fancy later once he attempted to gain entry to the academy. Busy streets always were a staple for the big cities and Taiborn was never a fan, busy streets meant pickpockets, pickpockets meant annoyance. His lips parted as he made his way towards the Academy, “Envilio.” The wonderful dark blue robes changed into shoddy, dirty, and torn rags. The perfect disguise to keep ones gold to themselves from the lower side of civilization.

The distractions of this city were abundant, Waterdeep would have had a run for its money here. Shops abound, with every trinket one could imagine. Blacksmiths, bookkeepers, magical merchants, arcane components, everything one could wish for was found within this city. He made note of each of them, as his slow footfalls landed him towards the building that looked like the stories he had heard of the Academy of Magii. This was step one into the journey of more knowledge, he told himself even if it wasn’t going to be easy.

The door opened as soon as he stepped in front of it, the brightness of everburning candles and torches illuminating the hall. As he entered, there was a voice that called out.

“Oy! Old man! No coin to be found here for beggars, get out! Learn ya place!”

“Envilio.” Taiborn spoke the word, glamour returning to his robes. “Beggar? I know not which you speak guardsman, but I appreciate you trying to keep me safe from the riffraff, I am just an old codger.” He winked at the slightly stunned male human as he continued walking forward.

“I would like to join into the service of the Magii, there are many things to be learned, and I want to learn them all.”

“Well as wonderful as that may be sir, right now I would need you to follow some steps to get things moving.” He sighed looking down at the rules and stipulations of paperwork. There was more bureaucracy in this than he wished to deal with.

“May I return with this? I just made my way into the city and I need to read over everything before I sign my life away.” He said, with every intent to do just that. The female elf nodded, smiling warmly before allowing him to leave with a copy of everything he would need to understand what being in the service to the Academy would mean. He stowed everything in his bag leaving in no hurry.

He would need to have time to check over every detail, but that could only be done while not having to worry about being watched by every humanoid that existed. A spark of an idea caught fire, he had seen an inn on his way inside of the city, the common district area that didn’t look to be so terrible. This would do for his reading. He made his way back slowly towards the Foamy Crown. As he approached he smiled at the doorman, and entered inside. While not busy, it wasn’t exactly empty. His eyes checked upon everything that was within the establishment as he made his way to the bar man. The thunk of metal against the floor as he stopped.

“I would like to buy a stay, unknown for how long it will be, but here, this should be a fair down payment?” His fingers hooked into a bright purple bag, and withdrew 10 gold coins, before placing them on the counter. His eyes adjusting to the lighting, finally caught wind of something... odd. Without hearing the response for his room, he immediately walked towards a large woman her skin... a hue of blue gray he had not seen in a while. He approached the woman, smiling as warmly and friendly as an old man could. “You... you are one of the giant-kin, a Goliath are you not? My word I feel like I have not seen one of your kind in an age.” He inspected her from the other side of the table, not sitting but still close enough to truly see her. “Yes you must be, and every time I see your kind it is impressive as always.”

@Hellion

Aesthen - Foamy crown

Aesthen had just received his cheap ale and was engaging one of the young tavern serving girls. A petite half-elf. With his devilish smile and a few well placed words he had won her over. He really needn’t say that much but show her the polite consideration and etiquette that most drunks failed to do. A few little clever compliments here and there of things other than her cleavage line and her cheeks were blushing bright red. Although, once she smiled the words came easily. Aesthen found her very forward for a betrothed woman.

Meanwhile he had done the maths, and despite the many variables left unanswered his ever suspicious gut told him this tavern was a front. Someone or some faction was backing it. Unaware of who it might be affiliated with he decided to be careful how he presented himself. So subtly and very slowly he drew information from this young lass.

Aesthen’s search for answers was interrupted as the tedious motion of the tavern door echoed its tired tune once again, even still at this late hour it couldn’t find rest. A giant of a woman entered. She was not only big in height but muscle too. Her intimidating stature towering above all others. Her tinted skin, heavy armour and large glaive telling a story. A Goliath warrior. Instantly this was someone Aesthen wanted on his side. He studied her for a moment having never met a Goliath before. He appreciated all rare things. She caught his stare and he froze for a moment, but she simply gave him a friendly nod. He smiled back returning the nod, feeling a little foolish. He decided he would talk to her once she was settled. There was no rush, the night was still young.

Now that there was a new patron his serving girl left his side, breaking their conversation to return to the work she was supposed to be doing. This left Aesthen alone with his thoughts as he nursed his ale while newcomers continued to roll in.
Another fierce looking woman found a table to share while an old man made himself a person of interest by flaunting his wealth before approaching the Goliath. While this man was an obvious target, years of instinct told Aesthen so, he instead saw him as a different opportunity. He subtly looked around the tavern, looking for anyone else that might have seen his obvious display of coin but was actively remaining unaware or avoiding directly looking at the old man.

Trying to notice those who wished to be unnoticed. Aesthen, afterall, was here to find a man that didn’t want to be too easily found. With no details of face or features he had less than a name to go off. All that Aesthen really knew was that he was looking for a thief, perhaps his only connection to the thieves guild. It had cost him some good coin for the little information he did have. He just had to hope his message found its way to the right people.

He hated having to trust in thieves.

---

It was good to have finally had the chance to rest at the tavern, stretch her muscles, and allow the atmosphere within the establishment to wash away the arduous trek that was made to the city of Draydon. The meal and drink ordered previously came within a few short minutes, and the elven server barely made eye contact with the Goliath as both the large bowl of stew and the pitcher of ale were set down onto the table. This wasn’t anything new to Vah’lux, as for most her life, those of different races and cultures tended to see the pseudo-giants as nothing more than an abomination, and the glances were either out of sheer shock, or perhaps not at all. Some even felt as though staring for too long at a Goliath would cause a curse upon them. Tales such as those were both laughable and sad.

“Thank you.” Vah’lux nodded toward the other, lifting the ladle and consuming several mouthfuls of the warm food, occasionally wiping thin lines of broth that ran down the sides of her chin. She may have been raised in the wilds, but it didn’t mean she had to forego etiquette, even amongst beings who sorely lacked it at times.

As moments passed -and as if by some unknown entity- the sensation of what could only be described as a light finger running up the Goliath’s spine was felt, causing her to flinch ever so slightly. And what followed was an elderly human, dressed in finely tailored garments, making his way through the front door, and into the main hall of the tavern. His words seemed boisterous, yet confident, as he spoke to the proprietor at the bar, and pulling gold from his purse as though he had plenty to spare. Vah’lux looked up between bites of food, arching an eyebrow at the flash and theatrical attire the old man chose to wear, and managed to grunt a single word under her breath.

”Mages…”

Magic, much like the air one would breathe, resonated in just about everything to some degree, divine, arcane, or otherwise. The Goliath was no stranger to it, as many Shaman in her tribe were healers, spiritual guides, and a number of other useful disciplines, which called about many schools. However, as with many of her kind, magic itself was looked upon with much suspicion, as it was truly hard to tell what motives kept a spellcaster going throughout their life. Was it greed? Thirst for knowledge? Did the trail of magic end in darkness? There were too many variables to even conceive, and Vah’lux wanted nothing to do with it.

Damn.

As though the mage could read the disgust in the Goliath’s mind -which was an unsettling thought all it’s own- the elderly human headed over toward the table where Vah’lux was about half-way through her meal, and proceeded with a barrage of words that seemed to be more out of adoration and awe for her kind and presence. It was a most unusual and awkward moment for the Goliath, as she swallowed whatever was left in her mouth, glancing around the room for a moment wondering why this man was speaking directly to her in the first place. Interestingly, in her short years as Gladiator, she has had several admirers from various ports and cities throughout Faerun, and while much of her social interactions with “fans” were, at times, a self-coerced act, she still managed to keep very much to herself. However, every so often, she does manage to attract the random tavern patron, who -no doubt- sees her as something of a novelty above anything.

“I am glad I didn’t disappoint then.” She said in a husky voice, wiping a bit of food from the corner of her mouth, and managing to crack a half-smile. “And that is a...fine set of clothing you’re wearing.” The end of that statement sounded almost unsure, as she honestly didn’t know how else to respond at such an impromptu time.

---

"May I join you?"

The third time the tavern door had opened, Renault had spared little more than a quick glance over his shoulder. At the rate people were coming in, he'd wake up tomorrow with a crick in his neck if he kept affixing his gaze the way he had been. Another grim reminder that the glory days were far behind him. Here he was: a man in his forties with nothing but his sword and the name "Oathbreaker".

Drawing his hand from his chest as the voice addressed him, Renault turned to properly face the newest stranger: An Elven woman dressed in fine plate, bearing shield and short-sword. A soldier, perhaps? Or maybe a mercenary. Few sellswords could afford armor of this quality, though it was certainly not unheard of. Renault tried his hand at mercenary work after his exile, but found it rather distasteful. Petty thieves and bandits, escaped convicts, maybe a highwayman or two, it was unpleasant business, one Renault didn't have the heart for.

Though at first intending to decline the stranger's offer, Renault found the words unable to leave his lips. The weight of his crest returned, once more prompting his hand to his chest. Or was it his heart; beating in his chest like a legionnaire's war drum? Paying no heed to sudden nervousness, Renault cleared his throat again.

"Yes, of course. Please have a seat." He said, motioning to the chair opposite him. His voice, refreshed with drink, was eloquent and courteous, with a noble bearing that belied his rugged countenance. Barric's spiteful words immediately came to mind: "Once a highborn, always a highborn."

For the next few moments, Renault found himself unsure of what to say. Over the last seven years, he had let the passage of time erase his name, fading into the background until the grave took him. It was rare for people to seek him out, and rarer still for them to initiate conversation.

"I've not seen your face before," he began, the uncertain awkwardness of first meetings plain in his tone. He outstretched a hand, "Renault," he introduced himself, choosing to omit his family name for the time being.

Interrupted once more by the front door opening, Renault turned head to look, seeing an old man dressed in all the finery of a master wizard: long white beard, glasses, a wide-brimmed hat, the man appeared as though he had stepped right out of a fairy tale.

Magic was a strange beast in the eyes of the Merciful Sword: a potent tool to be used with caution and great care. Heavily regulated, magic within the order seemed restricted to the priests and clerics, who taught their arts to the paladins as needed. Anything outside that was seen as dangerous at best - and heretical at worst.

After acquiring a room from the front counter, the...wizard (if indeed he was a wizard) immediately moved toward the Goliath woman, inspecting her the way a researcher would ogle a specimen. Renault's expression shifted to one of slight disgust at the perhaps-unwitting display of offense by the old man. His muscles tensed ever so slightly, as if in preparation to stand and defuse the situation. He would have done such a thing while an active member of the Order, certainly, but those days were long past, as a few healing cuts and bruises on his face would remind him.

Resigning himself, his posture relaxed, and he turned his attention again to the Elven woman across from him. "Apologies, my lady." He bid with soft smile.

@La Fleur

Talion gazed upon the man he saw from within the shadows of his cowl and those of the dark corner around him. Talion had been here since sunset, here being in the tavern and snugged away in the far corner, beyond the fireplace and the bar, out of sight of anyone who would not be looking for him at least. And it seemed that the snowy haired rogue he now looked upon was indeed looking about for someone. Very likely Talion himself. Was this the man? Was this “Aesthen”? The man who had paid good coin into inquiring about the thieves guild, Talion’s employer.

This man certainly looked the type. Shifty eyed yet not conspicuous, lethal yet not threatening, and built rather athletically. Yes, he certainly looked the shadowy rogue Talion expected. It had to be him. Time to talk a little business. Talion sat forward in his out-of-the-way chair. He was adorned in solid black leather armor, complete with bracers, shin guards, and a flexible leather breast plate. A bandolier stretched across his torso, lined with razor sharp throwing knives, which glinted in the lantern light from his private table. Confident that there was no further reason for extreme caution, Talion reached up with a single hand and peeled back the hood which hung over his face shadowing it.

He was a man of his law twenties. A bold, straight nose say between two brilliant brown eyes. His wife set mouth was rather thin lipped and etched with dimples when he smirked, and thick, wavy auburn hair adorned his crown. His pale skin almost flowed in the weak golden light of the candle within the lantern. Finally making perfect eye contact with the white haired man at the bar, Talion raised one hand slightly and beckoned over the man with four fingers.

@Dark Light

Aesthen’s eyes connected with the deep brown eyes of the auburn haired stranger basking in the corner shadows, beckoning him over with one hand.
Without missing a beat Aesthen acknowledged him like he was the familiar friend that he had been looking for. Raising his mug as he gave a nod and smile before casually crossing the room with his belongings.
Nothing in his greeting or approach told of the true clandestine intentions of their meeting.

While confident and wanting for this to be the man he was to meet, Aesthen still reserved his words with a small amount of caution.
“Evening good sir. T’is a nice night, is it not?” He asks casually in friendly musing. ”How does this fortunate night find you?”
His pearly white teeth peering through a well trained smile while his intent eyes speak a different truer conversation.

@Scrivener

"So, this is Draydon," Killin said to himself, looking at the approaching gate. It was nearing sundown and he wanted to find a good inn for a cheaper price. "This is good," he said to the farmer he had been catching a ride with. "You said ten silver, right?" He handed the man the bag of coins before leaping off the cart and spreading his wings, beginning the short flight to the gate.

Upon landing outside the gate, he held up the symbol for his guild, hoping he'd get in. The guards didn't try to stop him as he passed, which was a good sign to him. He hoped no trouble got started in this city.

It took hours of wandering the city to find an inn that would let him stay for a lower price. "The Foamy Crown," he read aloud. With a shrug, he strolled in to see a few people already inside. He saw a barmaid walking away from a woman and decided to intercept her. "Sorry to bother you but how much is it for a night?" he asked, pulling out his coin purse. With payment to the woman and reception of the key, he began looking around for a spot to sit. It didn't take him long to notice there was at least one person at each table.

With no better options, he turned to the nearest seat, where a human man and an elven woman were talking. He shrugged before mumbling to himself in Draconic, "Here goes nothing."

"Mind if I join you?" the Dragonborn pre-teen asked, hand on the stool beside her. He smiled friendly and a bit shyly, being way out of his element.

@La Fleur@Ghost Shadow

“Well, my friend,” Talions’ voice was a low, soft tenner with a soothing edge to it ,”my superior has heard your request and approves. He would like to meet you tonight in fact. Assuming you are indeed ‘Aesthen’. After all, the given description matches perfectly.”

Fallon had finished his sentence in a lower tone. He cursed himself seconds later. Assumptions had gotten many a thief killed. And while he was sure this man was authentic and not some city guard plant, he still cursed his recklessly chose words. Bad first impression... he thought grimly.

Not intending to divulge any further, he sat back comfortably in his seat. His empty smile stilling lined beneath his nose. He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the chair back, his head laying against the grimy wall.

@Dark Light

While the man appeared confident by all means, Aesthen detected the faint hint of doubt or concern in his eyes, it was a feeling Aesthen reflected in his gut and this shared feeling put him slightly more at ease.
Deciding it was all or nothing Aesthen placed his hand out on the table, his signet ring the most prominent. It was not because he had sealed a letter with it but because it’s alternate function.
With a quick tap of his thumb the tiny lid popped open revealing the powdered poison inside. Just as quickly he shut it again before anyone else could be any wiser.

“I am indeed, tonight is fine. I’m keen to begin work as soon as possible.” he said with a relaxed smile. ”lead the way.”

---

Waterdeep...the name sat on Renault's mind like a stone pressing down, threatening to cave his skull in. Drawing his hand away as the woman chose to cross hers rather than shake his, Renault ignored the small offense; the battle-adept had little need to stand on ceremony. But Waterdeep still weighed in his thoughts, and with it, memories of gold-strung hair and amber eyes.

Baldur's Gate set his thoughts West. Was this woman once part of the Watch? Or maybe one of the Flaming Fists, seeking fortune and glory where it could be found? Wherever she came from, her title 'The Wounded' had a story behind it. Some knights wore their monikers as a badge of honor, be they venerable or mocking. But others, himself included, maintained simple titles. For years he was Ser Renault of House Beaumont; after joining the Merciful Sword he became Ser Renault de Sanlow; now he was simply Renault, Oathbreaker.

When Alenia asked of his story, he found himself at a loss for words. For so long he had run from his past, longing to be forgotten but having nowhere to hide where the memories would not follow him. Even now, he found himself unable to fully let go. Oh, how he had wanted to tear the crest from his neck and hurtle it into the river. Or sell it and have enough coin for a decent breastplate. But his past was a part of him, and all the anger and vengeance in the world could not remove that.

Cupping his chin for a moment to stroke at his beard, Renault rolled his tongue around inside his mouth, pondering the question a few seconds longer. "I wasn't born here," he began, almost cautiously, "but I've lived here almost four decennium." He paused again, deciding how much he wanted to reveal and how much he would keep close to the chest.

"I hail from Sanlow, a town a few hundred miles from here. My father--" Renault stopped. He hadn't spoken to his father in nearly twenty years. The Lord Beaumont was not pleased to hear that his only son had joined an order of chaste knights. Had his oaths not required him to relinquish all wealth and titles, there was no doubt in Renault's mind that his father would have disowned him on the spot. 'Here ends the line.'

Renault smiled sadly, head slightly downcast. "Apologies. My father was the lord over there, presided over the town and a few villages on the outskirts. I chose a...different path."

Before he continue his story, a third voice chimed up beside them. Turning to look, Renault's expression immediately shifted to one of complete flabbergast. A Dragonborn. A night for strange occurrences indeed.

Recovering his composure, Renault mumbled for a few moments, once more finding his voice. "Uh, y-yes, of course. Assuming my company has no issue." He answered, motioning to Alenia for emphasis. In truth, though taken aback by the newcomer's presence, a part of him was thankful for the distraction. He had made it a point to speak little of his shame since his exile, even to Barric's prying. How could one simply say it? It would be like confessing all over again, waiting for the expectant gasps and murmurs of a judgmental crowd.

It stung, still: the feeling of his cape being torn from his shoulders, the plate pried off his body, sword tossed upon the cold marble floors of the temple. He was shamed then, naked in his sin. Would he be shamed again, with only a splintered shield to protect him?

@La Fleur @Rockin Strings