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Rona


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#1 Calum

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Posted 27 March 2007 - 01:54 AM

The young tavern woman deftly slid her way between the tables, a full tankard of ale in each hand. Business was good, and the gods had been kind. The merriment around her and the roaring fire with a gale outside added to the inn

#2 Calum

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Posted 31 March 2007 - 03:04 AM

Ignoring the gaze of those villagers foolish enough to stare, the traveller drank his ale. He had been tracking the pair for several weeks. In the last town he had been to, he had almost had them; the gear they left in their haste to depart and the back of the taller man disappearing out the window was as close as he had got. It had cost him gold enough so far to track the pair, and his patience ran low. The rude camps he had been forced to make in pursuit had frayed his temper, but he sensed his quarry was close. Soon, he would find them. Soon.

#3 Calum

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Posted 10 April 2007 - 05:55 PM

Rona watched the man brooding at the bar. The massive sword slung over his shoulder was cause for some concern. Whilst they had the odd drunken brawl in the tavern, bloody murder was not something they usually encouraged. Suddenly the man stiffened, and looked up. His piercing gaze swept the room, alighting on the two in the corner. The gaze must have registered on the larger of the two men somehow as he lifted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised, nostril flaring, before before leaning over to whisper something to his accomplice.

They left their drinks, shouldering their bags. Leaving a couple of coins on the scarred tabletop, the two casually made towards the door. But of course it was too late. The giant of a man at the bar levered himself off the stool. Not seeming to move at all, he was suddenly in the middle of the room, the giant sword in his hand. "Ronik!" he bellowed. "Your time has come. Prepare to meet thy doom." All heads in the bar had stopped. The bigger of the two leaned down to speak to his friend as the giant strode towards them; he was heard to mutter the time-honored phrase of thieves everywhere; 'through the window', before the giant was upon him. Upturned benches were flung out of the way. Angels of death gathered; the fluttering of wings could almost be heard as noone dared to move.

#4 Calum

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Posted 13 April 2007 - 07:07 PM

Quietly drinking was the way he would like to spend most of his evenings, the man thought as he stood at the bar. Still, a man must earn his keep, and do what he did best. The Baron was a vile man to work for, but you could probably do worse. And he paid his troops well, both in swords and coin. None lacked for the means of killing in the Baron's employ.

The two men at the corner table stood up. Something furtive about them caught his eye, and he glanced over. It was them. They had escaped his attention before, but now he had them. The bar was small, and there was only the one exit. Unlimbering his sword, he prepared for battle. The smaller of them made a hasty exit through the window, but one head would pay almost as well as two. Closing the gap between him and his foe, he noticed things about him; how he stood, which side he favoured, where his weapons might be located in the man's voluminous cloak. He stood there, unarmed, and seemed to be unafraid. Experiencing a moment of doubt, he closed in on his prey.

A sudden sharp pain in his leg made him glance down. Protruding from the back of his leg was what appeared to be .. a vegetable peeler. It was in fact being wielded by the woman from behind the bar. Gazing at her in amazement, he raised his sword. Another one who seemed to be unafraid, he thought. Where were they all coming from. Two in one night. Lowering his sword to guard again, he turned to face the man. But of course he had fled, taking advantage of the distraction to make good his escape. The man's fury began o build again. Another month of camping out and eating weeds, he thought. The Baron would not be pleased.

#5 Calum

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Posted 20 April 2007 - 06:50 AM

Storming out into the street, he gazed both ways, but the thieves had gone. There was no sign of them. He smelt the air, turning both ways, trying to establish a scent. Someone had passed this way not long before. They had something very valuable, which belonged to him, and he wanted it back. Scenting a trail left, he turned that way. He followed the street to the end before losing it in a confusion of scents and trails. Looking all ways, he was unable to determine which way they had gone. He had lost them.

Furious, he returned to the bar. Flinging the door open, he strode inside, letting it crash shut behind him. Patrons who had been righting the upended tables strewn about the room gazed at him warily before returning to their work. Normalcy was returning to the seedy little tavern. Taking a seat at the bar, he turned a stormy look on the barman, who returned it with a bored air. "Whiskey," he said.

The drink which arrived in front of him appeared to have been whiskey, once. Perhaps it had been used as a preserving alcohol since, however, for there were several unidentifiable floaties swirling their way around inside the glass. Knowing mages for what they were, he held the glass up to the light, inspecting it more closely. None of the denizens in the glass appeared to be alive, at least. It was likely no more than the usual detritus, found in the seedier bars. Gagging, he swallowed it, ordering another. There was a thunk as it was placed in front of him, and the barman moved off.

The giant warrior pondered his next move. The Baron had given him a month to track down the thieves, and return to the castle. The orcs had been more active than usual, and the Baron was suspicious. Perhaps it had something to do with the missing artefact. At any rate, he needed to finish this business quickly and return, or the Baron would be needing a new sergeant.

Grabbing the serving woman by the arm, he glared at her. His leg still throbbed, reminding him of her perfidy. He would look at it later. If the whiskey here were not so foul, he would use it to wash the wound. No matter, he thought, he had survived worse. He glared at her. if it had not been for her, the two would not have escaped. She had that to answer for, at least.

"The two men," he began. She regarded him stonily. "The men that were here earlier." He shook her, and she returned a look if anything more fierce than his own. Hmm, he thought. Perhaps he needed to work on his technique. Releasing her, she began to rub the arm, massaging it. A bruise was no doubt beginning to form. No matter, he thought. Questions must be answered. Perhaps some time in the castle dungeon would soften her up. But, then, perhaps not. She probably knew nothing, anyway. Still, it was a place to start. "Where were they from ?". She shrugged. Losing his patience a little, he raised his hand. She looked at it, looked at him. He lowered it again. "Were they saying around here ?" "No," she said. Ahh, he thought. Progress. She speaks.

"Is this the only inn around here ?" "Yep," she said. Turning to the bar, she deigned to mutter a short 'scuse me', before bumping him rudely on her way past once again into the room. Cursing her, he turned to address the rabble. "You men." His voice boomed out in the small room. "You men and .. ladies." He heard a couple of snickers. That was good, he needed them on his side. "The two that were here earlier. The Baron seeks these men. You are bound to help him." He paused, before adding the last. "Of course, you'll be rewarded." He saw the glint of avarice in several eyes. Good, he thought. He would find them yet. Looking about the inn, repressing a shudder. "I shall be here tonight. Information that is worth it shall be paid for in gold. That is all." The low murmur of conversation gradually returned to the room. Mentally blocking his nose, he downed his drink in a gulp. Placing some gold on the bar, he caught the eye of the surly bartender. "A room," he said. The bartender reached under the bar, and unceremoniously threw him a key. "Upstairs," he said. "Try not to slay the furniture."

Wonderful, he thought, collecting the key. Fleas. Stomping up the stairs, he felt several eyes on him, before his thoughts once again retreated. Rest, for now, at least. Hunting again in the morning. Mentally, he grimly wiped blood off his blade. Frustration welled up at the thieves' narrow escape. Cursing the tavern woman, he tried several doors, before finding one in which the key appeared to fit. Turning the key, it yielded. The door scraped open. Moonlight from the empty window frame yielded a wooden cot with a simple night table, a stub of candle attached. He would find them. Soon.

Unlimbering the giant sword, he placed it beside him on the cot. Raging, bitter, and angry, he slept. Curses, he thought.