[The Rearing Stallion, Open] Come, Drink, Be Hearty!

[Paltra Immuran]

510 AV, 80th Day, Summer--The Rearing Stallion


“Thank you very much, I’m fine for the time being. But, thank you for asking.” Paltra spoke to the waitress when she came over. She seemed unusually happy--and indeed looked far from homeless--both of which seemed to be the general condition of Syliras. Perhaps it wasn’t as it appeared, merely that Paltra was used to worse. But then, he didn’t mind this at all..

“Alright then, feel free to give me a shout if you need anything.”

“Again, thank you,” Paltra smiled, bowing his head slightly to her, looking to be quite well learned in at least mild etiquette. The brunette returned the smile, her eyes lingering for perhaps a moment longer than what was necessary before she returned to attending the number of customers in the pub. It struck him as odd before he realized that he probably didn’t look half-bad--at least, when he didn’t have a hood and sash drawn up to conceal his features, or a layer of soot/grime/mud to hamper such things. He chuckled slightly at the thought of admiring himself adoringly in a mirror, as high on himself as a King or a Prince. With a shake of his head, he discarded the thought, doubting he’d ever become that narcissistic even under the best possible circumstances.

And these were not even good circumstances…

His romp around the Bazaar the day before had left him smelling terrible, and short both a cloak-and-hood set that cost a total of eight Copper Miza and five Silver Miza. Plus, feeling absolutely terrible for undoubtedly getting a great deal of baking soda into a few Knights’ armor… he chuckled slightly at his own sarcasm before realizing he was bound to catch a few odd looks from the other patrons if he didn’t stop revisiting the past--especially the funnier segments of it--then he’d probably be leaving by a set of gruff hands through the nearest set of doors. He sighed, sitting back and looking around, having procured the seat next to the corner, just to the right of it and between both the front door and the back door. Old habits and tactics that kept him alive earlier in life never went away it seemed, though he figured it was for the best. After all, survival was the key factor in any endearing life-style.

This place was comfortable, as were the rooms that were near to it, which he fully intended upon buying into. He hadn’t done so the night before because he wanted to stay away from any and all merchants and people after his little venture in the Bazaar. Only this morning had he gotten himself cleaned up. The weapons he had--Dagger buried in it’s sheath, hidden by the Sash draped over his shoulders and then tied around his midsection, Scimitar in it’s own sheath at his right hip, and the un-strung bow upon his back with a set of twenty arrows to boot. His friendly appearance countered that though, making him look more like a Ranger than a Rogue…

Paltra rose his hand then, hailing the waitress as she came around once more.

“I think I’ll have a mug of…” he paused for a moment, considering what he was in the mood for. “Actually… do you have any fresh bread?”

“I believe so. Would you like to have some?” She smiled, her brown hair strangely accenting the warmth of the pub. In fact, he imagined she must have been flirted with around a thousand or so times throughout the day before he got there.

“Yes, a loaf actually if that is alright. And a mug of Ale if it’s not a bother.” Paltra smiled, pulling forth a few copper coins from his pouch. As she moved off, he leaned back once more, his eyes focused intently on a single part of the ceiling.

I think I found my new favorite hang-out… he smirked, listening to the soothing sound of the happy, flamboyant voices within the Rearing Stallion…

[Idric]

"No thank you. I'm waiting on an old friend," Marrick lied to the waitress. She stared at him oddly, taking in his leather armor and the longsword slung at his waist. Most dismissed him as a squire or bodyguard, which was there greatest mistake. He was far mor than that, not in reputation, but in ambition. Marrick was a mercenary, seeking fame, fortune, and anything else thrown his way.

He eyed the other denizens carefully like a wolf. Seeking out predator and prey. Mostly he saw predators, thieves and brawlers. Two types of people he had been well accustomed to in his rough child hood. For a moment he thought of spinning a tale or two, but he eventually decided against it. He wasn't here to tell tales or drink. He was here to find employment. Something that fit his skills as a mercenary and the fact that he didn't care to get his hands dirty.

With a smile he kicked back and made himself comfortable. The chances of running into fellow neer-do-wells or potential employers was slim in this part of town. But, he wanted to keep his face away from former associates. Associates who might get the wrong idea about him leaving.

But, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and took to relaxing once more, ignoring the odd looks several men shot him.

[Geras]

"The usual," Geras said to the waitress, handing her 2 silver mizas. He had recently been wondering what to spend the rest of his savings on before leaving the city, but he couldn't think of anything that he hadn't bought already. A bodyguard for the unforgiving wilderness? More armor? He pondered without success until his order came at last; his favorite daily gallon of ale. He poured it down his throat as he thought, what does an upcoming hero need? As he drank the last bit he had the perfect idea. What makes a warrior a hero? Obviously, a reputation! He declared," A round of ale for everyone, on me!".

[Paltra Immuran]

Paltra sat there a few moments longer, smiling as his drink and bread came forth. He smiled, nodding to the waitress graciously, and was about to thank the woman yet again when--quite suddenly--a very loud outburst wrought forth from another patron. At first, the bar seemed to hold in surprise, Paltra included. However, he knew that, in Sunberth, if you didn’t accept a drink of the round, you’d probably walk out a few teeth shy. So, it just so happened that he was the first one to speak up…

“You heard the man, didn’t you? Free round o’Ale for everybody!” Paltra smiled, holding up his drink as a makeshift cheers to the other patrons. Some of them joined in, obviously cheery and perhaps midly rosy-cheeked already, while others only issued amused looks and approval. It was strange to him, even the people here were more mild than a Sunberth gathering in the Pub. He snickered to himself, pointing first to the man who had vouched for an all-round drink, and then seeing that there was one other person that wasn’t doing anything.

Can’t have that, Paltra mentally chuckled, a streak of his inner rebellious nature showing through in streaks of red. One other thing from Sunberth, is that you didn’t drink alone, unless you wanted to give off the idea of being better than everyone else, or wallowing in self-pity or the ilk. Neither of which was a healthy thing to do in his home-town…

“Come on over here and drink, figure that’s better than drinking alone, yeah?” Paltra smiled confidently, and then pointed over to the other man, gesturing him over as well. His own outburst meant little now, as the twenty or so patrons of the Rearing Stallion were now stirred up a slight bit more. It was amazing how much one’s mood could be lightened by the knowledge of a free round of drinks…

[Geras]

"Nice to see someone else in high spirits 'round here," said Geras, approaching Paltra with a wide smile. "Without you, perhaps my call would have gone more or less unnoticed. Life in Syliras gets boring quickly, well in my standards at least. I guess it's because I've always preffered the thrill of battle." his gaze suddenly turned to the scimitar on Paltra's hip, and the bow on his back. "A weapon isn't often handled by your average civillian, Much less two. How 'bout a match?" Geras waited a moment until he said, "Just kidding! I don't go around challenging strangers to fights. So, where are you from? I haven't seen you around here before."