Epsir

When the Flames Die

Trinan's eyes narrowed as she watched the robed man. He hadn't answered her question, everything about him was a certain kind of shifty. The silence that fell between them dragged on and on, and she found herself growing more and more nervous as it continued past even her threshold of withholding speech. It gave her time to wonder about just who exactly she was talking to. Had he simply guessed that things weren't going pleasantly from her appearance? Anyone would make that observation but his wording continued to bother her for reasons that were unknowable to her. That was intuition speaking, and time told her that it was usually right. Finally, he spoke. It seemed to her that he was offering help, but as impolite as it would be to decline him she was still too bitter to think nothing of a stranger offering aid in the middle of the night. "So do I..." she said, glancing around for someone accompanying the robed man. It took her a moment to think his offer offer, all the while she interrogated him with her eyes, searching for some sign of a weapon or something that put context to the situation. Her night until then had been an unending cavalcade of gang violence and knight shenanigans and at this point the scout's had no idea who to expect. "Except alcohol. Got any?"

When the Flames Die

The investigator stopped in her tracks, and turned sharply to face the man. The number of explanations for someone approaching her in the night were few and none of them remotely pleasant for someone trying to lay low. She put a hand over her injured forearm as the man addressed it, the attention he gave it made her uncomfortable. His very voice made her uncomfortable, and under most circumstances she would have already left, as her instincts screamed to do. It also raised the unfortunate fact that she had thrown away her only disinfectant for a fire that had obviously gone out, because she wasn't watching it from a rooftop right now. Having some time to walk had put her back towards ease, but she could already feel the tension growing in her limbs the longer the two of them stood out in the street. Whether he was a threat or not, a picket for the gang she'd recently found herself at odds with or a random stranger, his presence was slowing her return to the Crossroads and safety. "It's been bad. What do you want?" She asked, hasty to get their little meeting over with.

When the Flames Die

A man appeared from the rear of the tavern, bearing a small wooden plate in one hand. It took a quick question at the bar to determine who exactly the plate was going to, but in short order he found himself approaching the table occupied by the trio of new guests. The black haired young man quietly set the plate down at their table, showing the ordinary looking key on its surface. The iron key was engraved with a simple '2 0 1' on its side, and he was quick to explain its significance in a delicate voice. "Your room is the first on the left of the second floor. It's been made ready for your stay and it's yours until tomorrow evening. Please sleep well," he suggested, unawares of what exactly the party had been through, before he made his exit back to the rear of the tavern. Apparently, not one of the barkeeps. The Crossroads had finally begun to slow down for the night, or rather the morning, and slowly, a pod of one or two here and there, people were filtering away. They did not close in night, miming their restless traveler clientele, but the people of Mullen and what few regulars they had did eventually get tired.

When the Flames Die

Alastair returned from the back halls of the Crossroads to join the other bartenders, still smiling, "Oi, your room is just about ready, the double needs to be cleaned out before the bed comes in! Thank you for your patience," she called out to the recently arrived trio, unsure of whether or not they heard her. They stuck out like a sore thumb, but that wasn't necessarily an oddity here, they gathered vagrants and wayfarers by the dozen and that was part of what had brought the obsessive story collector Menhem to the job. The fact that a relative owned the place had simply made it easier for her to find a way in. There were a couple of interesting customers in the bar that night, between the blind black-clad and the two confrontational ones she'd watched during the fight. That woman had left her cloak here and the other had yet to return. There was a lot of eavesdropping to do if she couldn't work up the will to actually go and talk to them as she sometimes did. That was if the night didn't ramp up yet again. The procedure following a bar fight was quite alien to Alastair, but she assumed the guard would be down at some point if their concern hadn't ended with the bodies being hauled away.

---

Her head was spinning, that moment of clarity cost her more than she could appreciate. The investigator had not expected the cloaks to fire upon someone she supposed was their leader. Perhaps he wasn't, either way, she'd had to disappear in a hail of bolts rather than exiting quietly in the wake of their surprise. As used to sprinting through pain as she was, the scout ran as far as she could, before she'd cleared enough to know she needed to duck into an alley for just a moment. Maria collapsed into a heap against the side of some house, trembling in the slow recession of her adrenaline. Nausea welled within her, her organs felt as though they were caught and grinding. Shaking and chattering her teeth, she quickly did away with the remaining bindings around her left wrist. It was then she noticed the trail of red seeping down amongst the wine already on her shirt. Her hand crept up her arm, feeling. A barb of pain turned in her left arm, and all at once the veil of her rush lifted and a fire burned beneath her skin. A long, shallow line had been cut down her forearm, she'd been grazed at some point. Kicking her legs out wildly and forcing herself up the wall, the girl began giggling to herself at the sight of blood staining her sleeve. She... needed her cloak back, more than anything at that point, and set out down the alleyway to find another street and start making her way back to the Crossroads. In intervals she had to stop and fight the urge to heave. With any luck, Lily was still there waiting for her. Her giggling continued. Luck, me, tonight?

Uldor, Land of Glory. (High Fantasy)

Well it'd be a shame to only use a port city that's gotten so much design for party gathering. We're in the little brother of the requisite fantasy inn, the fantasy restaurant, so I suppose us players are going to have to start hunting down the prospects of (mis)adventure soon. That, at least, gives the ball a little direction to roll with... I think.

Uldor, Land of Glory. (High Fantasy)

It was true, the owed the lady a certain debt considering her benevolence towards the group. Perhaps they had only been spared a few coin, he'd already forgotten how much of the money Louis had taken from her to pay for the meal. A lapse in attention that could prove fatal in the future, he stopped his train of thought to lament that before continuing. Either way, it would have been smart to use only her money but also incredibly rude. "While the good captain is indeed magnanimous, the limits of what we can do to repay you will certainly equal what we've been given," He said, feeling the need to indicate that limits of 'we don't know how we could ever repay you.' Just in case. Whatever it was she wanted from them, it probably wasn't within their means. If it was cheap passage aboard their vessel, the joke was on her because agree all they must if she wanted to survive it she'd be chipping in somewhere: They were flat broke now, probably, hopefully not, and the ocean was a big place that you needed a lot of provisions to cross. One way or another, everyone on the vessel ended up carrying their weight, or nobody made it.

When the Flames Die

her other hand went to the pouch in the small of her back. Medical. Gauze, scissors, the bottle. Just as soon as she'd thrown herself against the man, she threw the glass bottle of antiseptic ethanol over his shoulder into one of the nearby torches. The glass hip flask shattered, and the flammable fluid within combusted, spraying flaming droplets around the room and over the walls.

It's not as if the entire warehouse is on fire but the flare and dispersal of burning alcohol has started a pretty severe fire.

When the Flames Die

Yeah pretty much.

When the Flames Die

Alastair went into motion immediately, selecting a mid-range bottle from below the bar top to hold out towards the party. "Twenty for the room, and I'll have the third bed brought in, if a cot is okay. Otherwise it'll be thirty mint for a double and single. Oh, seven for the wine," She said, smiling brightly at the trio. The look of the girl indicated some kind of social standing, and she could only then assume her compatriots were some sort of retainer. The woman did not seem to be part of any protective detail, dressed like a courtier, Rough as they were, the guy seemed young for the post which made him... something else. Drawing conclusions was impolite, and she frankly enjoyed hearing the story far more than guessing it for herself. Whatever interest these three held, they didn't look like they were answering questions and nobody liked a nosy bartender... until they were sufficiently drunk. Absentmindedly the girl sent a flagon of ale down the bar top to some other buyer, a sailor she vaguely recognized. "Is there anything else I can do for you all?"

When the Flames Die

More like the letdown at the lodge.