|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Sept 28, 2010 10:25:17 GMT -5
A man walks into the bar. He quickly walks to a dark corner and leans on the wall. He pays close attention to every person within the room.
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Sept 29, 2010 18:45:01 GMT -5
Ryse Autumnsky observed the tall, lean, and relatively young man who had just entered the local tavern, the White Stallion. He had brown hair cut short, hooded grey eyes, and a thin, white scar along his jaw. A tough guy.
Perhaps, Ryse thought. Perhaps I could recruit this man for my journey. I'll have to see what he does first.
His back to the wall, facing the door, the man had chosen a dark corner where he could see all that happened in the large, spacious tavern. Ryse was situated in a similar fashion, bow by her side, quiver on her back, ready for anything. _________________________________________________________________
Ryse's meal had just arrived when her attention was drawn to a brawl by the far wall. Voices were raised, glass in one of the windows broke, and the smell of sweat and ale that had made the tavern warm and cozy now seemed stifling. Ryse watched the proceedings with interest, dividing her attention between the fight, the man at the table, and the blond-haired young man who was discreetly making his way to the first. He carried a long sword at his side.
This could get interesting, Ryse thought, not for the first time, preparing for a quick escape if one was neccessary.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Sept 29, 2010 22:55:49 GMT -5
Aramil watches the proceeding within the room with a blank look, then directs a hard stare to the well-armed woman. The only times he stops staring is when he must blink to keep his eyes from drying.
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Sept 30, 2010 19:34:12 GMT -5
A well-aimed punch had landed on one of the fighters, a thin man with a long neck, and had with a sharp crack broken his nose. Blood spurted on the others involved in the fight. Time seemed to slow, and Ryse took the time to sneak a glance at the strange man. He was still where he had been before. The man with the now-permanently crooked nose cursed furiously.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Sept 30, 2010 19:39:25 GMT -5
Aramil cautiously skirts around the brawlers and walks over to the strange woman. Hey asks her somewhat quietly, "What business does an armed woman have here?"
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Sept 30, 2010 19:49:46 GMT -5
Ryse whipped around, dagger at the ready, as a quiet voice echoes in her ear. The scarred man! How did he sneak up on me like that? Ryse wondered.
"What business does an armed woman have here?"
Ryse smirked. "What better reason than that fight over there? A woman can't go unarmed in the city, much less a tavern like this one."
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Oct 1, 2010 0:02:01 GMT -5
Aramil grins slightly in amusement. "Ah, but if someone truly wanted to hurt you, they would proably attack with a group...And what good would a-" Aramil glances at the dagger, "butterknife be then?"
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Oct 1, 2010 17:24:41 GMT -5
Ryse scowled, trying not to laugh. Her dagger was indeed small, but only to make it easier for throwing. The man had no right to call it a "butterknife". What she had thought at first was a dangerous, suspicious man, one of the scum always hanging around the taverns for illegal motives, had morphed into a still-dangerous man with a horribly annoying sense of humor.
"Please, sit down." She invited, never letting her glacier-blue, cold eyes stray from the stranger. Very, very annoyingly, the man was right. Not only would her "butterknife" do little damage to a group of furious men armed with swords, or even pitchforks, but her bow, with which she prided herself her major weapon, would be close to useless in close quarters.
"Now, you don't carry a pitchfork, do you?" Ryse continued. "I have a certain aversion to pitchforks, after a mad farmer chased me with one after I stole his chicken. They're a horrible choice in weaponry." She prided herself on her sarcasm and dry humor. Those qualities had gotten her out of many sorts of trouble.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Oct 1, 2010 19:12:52 GMT -5
Aramil held up his hands, "I have only these, also if I had a pitchfork-" Aramil lowers his hands, "you would see it..." Aramil takes the invitation to sit. "So," he says, "a chicken was worth being chased with a pitchfork? I would personally have stolen something worth the run, maybe a larger animal."
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Oct 3, 2010 21:00:17 GMT -5
Ryse laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, yes, the chicken was most certainly worth getting chased by a pitchfork. Or, rather, a man with a pitchfork. You see, the chicken had three legs and two beaks. A strange birth defect that many called 'magic'. I figured, well, the chicken could eat the bugs of my uncle's farm twice as fast. Unfortunately, he could also run twice as fast." She finished her explanation with gusto, twirling her hands and laughing.
It was that trait that was her most annoying feature- the "hand-twirl thing" and the "Laugh", as her brother had called it.
"My name is Ryse. And yours is..." She trailed off, studying the brawl. The man with the broken nose stood up, cursed loudly, and proceeded to knock another man into the bar and then, with renewed vigor, hit him over the head with a huge tankard of ale. The man collapsed unconscious, and the man who had the tankard of ale before it was stolen cursed the man who had stolen it (the one with the broken nose) and leaped in to the brawl also.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Oct 5, 2010 11:25:47 GMT -5
Aramil smiles and extends his hand, "I am Aramil."
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Oct 13, 2010 17:35:33 GMT -5
The brawl abruptly broke apart as an elderly man nearly flew into the tavern. "They're coming! Hurry; you must get away. They're coming!"
Ryse exchanged a bewildered glance with Aramil. The old man had stumbled to a stop in front of the bar, breathing heavily, eyes wide and unseeing. The bartender rushed to him and set the stolen huge tankard of ale before the man. "Drink, man! Then tell us about this commotion!"
The elder lifted a frail, trembling hand to the mug, but his eyes rolled back in his head suddenly and he passed out. "Aarrgh!" The bartender roared with frustration. "Fetch cold water!"
Ryse looked at Aramil again. She gripped her bow tighter and watched the efforts to revive the man with interest.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Oct 13, 2010 21:05:07 GMT -5
Aramil glances at the unconscious man then turns to Ryse, "Do you have an extra weapon? I believe we are about to see some action."
|
|
ayrisa
New Member
Watch your back when I'm around.
Posts: 27
|
Post by ayrisa on Oct 18, 2010 19:18:53 GMT -5
Ryse looked intently at Aramil. Seeing no malice there, she reached into her cloak and drew out a gleaming dirk and a throwing knife. Ryse handed them quietly to Aramil, then directed her calculating eyes to the old man.
A couple quiet minutes passed. Ryse sat, tense and poised, as was Aramil. The elderly man's labored breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the muggy, still air. Then, gradually, a pounding rumbled closer. The pounding of many horses' hooves. Ryse could tell that these were no light traveling horses, or farmers' sluggish plow horses. These were warhorses.
Whoops echoed through the tavern. The old man had revived and was staring around frightfully. Ryse pressed her back against the wall and nocked an arrow. Another knife rested in it's sheath on her arm, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
|
|
|
Post by Aramil Draksson on Oct 18, 2010 21:56:07 GMT -5
Aramil stares at the two knives thoughtfully, then flips them in his hand to hold them blade-down. He glances at Ryse as if to say, "Yell if you need me." He then stalks over to the corner that will be blocked from view of anyone entering when the door opens.
|
|