Pretties for a Pretty

[Belugnir]

17th of Winter, 517 AV, North Ravok Outpost:

''I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You're not paying me the rest of my fee?'', the violent displeasure in Einar's tone was as openly displayed as the cloudless morning sky overhead. He glared at the back of the petty merchant he spoke to, while the scrawny, bald old man kept fiddling with something in a crate from the shoddy shipment Ein had risked his hide for ten good days to protect.

''No, boy. You have quite good hearing. I've given your share to Timothy already, go and bother him about it.'', the merchant replied with a dismissive sigh. There was no fear of the crude lad's anger, rather the old man seemed to view said anger as petty inconvenience. Something that set Einar off all the more. He guessed at what was going on.

In a ferocious stride and a half, Einar had planted himself behind the old man, slipping a crude dagger that hung upon the waist of his armor.

''You're going to cough the money up this sodding instant.'', Ein sneered, already almost salivating in anger. He grabbed the old man by the back of his shirt's collar, but before he could stick the dagger under his throat or hiss another word, a fist came flying to the side of his face, forcing him to let go of the old man, and sending him off his feet and into a painful seat on the ground.

It took him a long moment to break out of the daze, and when he did, he got to look up at a muscly figure at least a head taller and two heads wider than himself. Then the sense of betrayal stung at his sore cheek far worse than the broad shouldered bastard's fist ever could.

''Timothy. You wouldn't happen to have my coin with you, would you? You flaccid prick.'', Ein was a fair deal smarter and able to put things together than most folk gave him credit for, and it was by far not the first time he was being cheated and outright bullied out of earned coin, but it was certainly the first time in a long while.

Timothy, another, albeit much older and better experienced mercenary employed by the shady merchant whom Ein escorted northward, simply cracked his knuckles and gave a shrug.

''Afraid the only coin I carry is mine, laddie.'', Timothy's reply carried an obvious taunt and a mocking wickedness.

''Of course.'', the lad sneered back. Einar was still clutching the dagger's handle, and was a breath away from springing up at the crooked bastards, when the old man spoke up.

''Just go, boy.'', with a glance at the merchant, Ein realized the old man was no longer looking at either of his two 'employees', but at the two guards who had been passing nearby and stopped to observe the commotion, ready to intervene.

Sticking the dagger back into his belt, Einar got up, spat a hearty one at the crooked bastards' feet, and stomped off, gritting his teeth to the point where they nearly began to crack. He was furious, ready to murder both of those cocksuckers, all four if need be, but he knew better. He wasn't dealing with rabid Noktals or crazed bloated boars like he did in Sahova. Having spent just over a season around those ebon-clad pricks, he knew that the only form of justice they cared to distribute to outsiders of their city was an unpleasant and unfair one on the best of days. And while he did entertain the thought of causing a scene for the sole consolation that he'd manage to get Timothy and the merchant into trouble as well, he decided he valued what well being he had more than spiting them.

So he simply sodded off before making a scene, his mouth bitter with swallowed pride.

[Belugnir]

The lad had made way to where his tent, horse and belongings were rooted, near the southern gate, practically against the outpost wall. There he double-checked to make sure all the extra coin he hauled was secure, hidden and distributed among the mess of his other gear and equipment. Then, taking one of the few relatively clean pieces of clothing that he happened to own, Einar began to walk over toward the opposite side of the palisade. He stopped to wash his face in the stone-framed stream that ran through the outpost, proceeded to soak the white cloth and press it against the swelling side of his face on his way over to that shoddy imagination of a tavern in the northwest corner of the outpost. On his way to a barely comfortable seat, the hot anger of being bullied out of earned coin began to fade, letting the consequence of Timothy's punch properly introduce themselves, giving him a dull headache and making him stumble several times under the weight of the banded mail that hung from his waist and shoulders.

''Wine.'', Einar demanded, pressing ten silvers upon the bar, along with an elbow to support the hand with which he held the wet pledget to his face. It was still fairly early in the morning, so his mannerisms only attracted the mocking gazes of a couple other slackers who were treating themselves to a drink at one of the tables nearby, and he hardly hid his displeasure with the fact in his own expression. The same went for the realization that the person placing two pints of wine before him had four, as opposed to two arms.

The tender of this watering hole quirked an amused brow after sizing up Einar's almost childish frown for a moment.

''Why the sore face, my good man?'', the Eypharian asked playfully, to which Ein's teeth crunched dreadfully behind his cheeks, for he heard the low chuckle of one of the twats behind him. What annoyed him even further was the fact that the fellow who just poked fun at him also happened to have a well kept face at the sight of which most women would outright swoon.

''Clasp yer gob shut, pretty boy, before yours is thrice as gloomy.'', the young mercenary snorted back, snagging one of the glasses before him in a manner rather violent, spilled a good five sips across the wooden counter before he even leaned it to take a mouthful.

[Belugnir]

The Eypharian gave a dismissive half smile and a brief shake of his head, one arm moving up with a rag, soaking up most of the mess Einar had just made, and in such an uncaring manner too. The bartender did remain quiet for a brief minute, though it was not long before he spoke up again, and just as the two men at the table behind Einar took their leave.

''So did a fair maiden strike you in her anger?'', the four-armed humanoid couldn't help but tease, before adding: ''Or do you simply work as a mercenary like those fellows?''

Einar gave the cat-eyed bastard a deathly glare across the pint he held to his mouth for a moment, before settling down and sneering a reply.

''Nay, right now I'm merely working on drinking meself deaf so that I can stop hearing your womanly banter.'', he had already emptied his first glass and grabbed onto the next.

''Really now?'', the Eypharian went silent for a moment again, in ponder.''You know if you really want to drink yourself silly...'', he stuttered with an unimpressed smile when Einar glared at him again for continuing to babble on. ''...I could pay you back your silvers and pour you some beverages on the house, if you wouldn't mind doing an errand for me.''

For a moment Ein's innate annoyance gave way to interest, albeit still with a hostile mannerism, he did put his wet cloth and his glass down and leaned against the counter, lending four-arms a proper ear.

''An errand, huh? Does that include me breaking into the black 'uns barracks over there, stealing half their shyke, and helping you sell it off to the first good-for naught at a friendly discount?'', Ein's poor experience with one of his 'errands' from the previous season spoke in the man's stead, with a poisonous cynicism.

The bartender seemed taken back for a moment, before chuckling.

''No, goodness, no, why in the world would you think that, no, no, I need you to pick some flowers for me. North of th--'', he was interrupted, namely by Einar leaning backwards and cackling like a lunatic.

''Are you soddin' shitting me, mate?'', he spoke, holding a hand to his belly, hurting from laughter a long moment afterward, as the Eypharian looked at him with a perfectly straight face. ''Hooo... flowers?''

''Yes, flowers.''

[Belugnir]

Ein snorted in laughter again.

''Shite, man. Are you as painfully annoying to every pair of tits in this pigsty fortress as you are to me or what? I mean I'd hardly be surprised if there weren't men, let alone women at this outpost who have their privy bits salivate at the sight of a useless porcelain mask like yours... You swing the wrong way, AND need to hire a mercenary to give you some delusion of affection? You that desperate?''

The bartender rose a brow, barely following half of what Einar had just babbled out, uncertain if the man was already having his wits swooped from under him by the wine or if his mind was regularly this upside-down.

''Look, I want to get onto a lady's good side, alright? And I can't leave this place unattended. So I need someone to go out to the northern coast and gather some flowers for me...'', the Eypharian's tone finally gained a shade of anger, though it faded quickly enough, with a coy smirk spreading across his face. ''Besides. I don't think any self respecting merchant is going to hire some foul-mouth who looks as if he woke to a scolding backhand from his mother to look after their goods, let alone their safety.''

Einar was just about to snap, his hand went from his drink to the handle of the dagger in his belt. Yet he managed to restrain himself for a moment, and a moment's hesitation is all it takes for thoughtless anger to lose grip. And he had to admit... the bartender was not wrong. This could be his only chance at some 'paid' work in the next couple days. So with a long sigh, he calmed his temper and placed both his hands back on the counter.

''Fine. I'll go pluck some petchin' flowers for you.'', he succumbed, albeit rather certain the bugger was actually going to use whatever he wants Ein to bring him to make some mind-boogling beverage that the especially masochistic costumers liked to pay a pretty miza for.

''You will?'', the Eypharian asked, taken slightly by surprise at the brutish man's little change of heart.

''Aye, I will. If you indeed get me piss drunk and pop a couple silvers in my pocket for it... but mate, if you make attempt at playing me a fool like the last scrawny bugger, there'll be no amount of cheap shyke-breathing meat heads that'll save your hide.'', Ein's tone turned rather grim toward the end of what he had to say this time around. And honestly, if this lassy boy tried to play him for a fool like the old merchant did earlier, he'd toss all care for the local guards to the winds, be they tenfold as many as they were.

And thus, with a reassuring promise from the four-armed keeper of the local watering hole who still remained rather unimpressed by the lad's blunt threats, and some rather vague instructions on finding the proper flowers, Ein was soon on his way past the Sea Gate, looking for the delicate booty that he was to bring back, with the morning sun searing cold into his side, still hanging rather low upon the eastern horizon.

[Belugnir]

Before venturing beyond the outpost's walls, Ein had taken the time to slip into his full suit of gear, buckling on his gauntlets, strapping on his belt of throwing knives, and nabbing his poleaxe. On his journey to Ravok back at the end of Summer, he gained the impression that the further northward he traveled, the heavier a sense of danger hung in the atmosphere of the wildlands. Perhaps it was just him being paranoid, but the lad had an odd way of often trusting his gut more than his eyes. And it would take a special kind of thickheaded dimwit to venture into Mizahar's wilderness without means of defending one's self. No matter how close an outpost full of guards and militia happened to be.

Either way, trotting along toward the tip of the peninsula upon mostly rocky slopes, and in heavy armor, no less, soon proved to be a little ordeal in and of itself as he paced northward. Now it was hardly the one hit he soaked or the two pints of wine that he chugged down thoughtlessly that impaired his balance, frankly if he hadn't a decently strong stomach and a fairly thick skull, he'd likely not have gotten to live as long as he did.

The whole bell and a half walk proved to be some decent exercise at the very least. He began to feel the strain in his thighs and the back of his shoulders under the weight of chain mail and the vest of plates as the physical activity went on prolonged, showing the minor signs of sluggishness that naturally followed his nearly whole season of slacking off.

He also got to revise his footwork and balance a decent bit, having to clumsily rush and hop away whenever a large stone would give out under his foot and start off a minor landslide upon the light gradients. The traversal had him far from exhausted, but he did end up panting for breath more than once. And every single time that his footing went off for but a moment, his thoughts went to pondering on just how petched he'd be if something of the sort happened to him in the midst of an actual fight. Thankfully this place wasn't as thick with ungodly monstrosities as the plains of Sahova. Still, the little venture was more than ample reminder that he needed to keep his shape up and not stagnate like he did throughout most of the autumn.

Finally, albeit sparsely scattered, the grey expanses of weakling stony slopes before him began to yield sight of bright wildflower petals.

[Belugnir]

Having unbuckled one of his gauntlets off and attached it to his belt with a strap, Ein got around to plucking the flowers from their rocky beds. It might strike one as odd that he put actual effort into picking the ones he figured looked prettier and trying not to damage their stalks or petals too much as he worked on. Mind, Einar was the farthest thing from a lassy boy, and calling him anything of the sort would be a sure enough invitation into a brawl where the lad's main goal would be kneeing a bastard in their unmentionables. His care for what he was doing at the moment was a simple matter of him always making a point to do what his employers asked him to as best as he could. It was most certainly one of the half-reserved ideals his fathers installed into him, no matter how trivial the task or reward.

A bugger pays you to cave in another bugger's skull? - That is just what you do.

A sorcerer wants you to put one of his fugitive monsters down and sends their annoying apprentice along with you with orders to kill the nagging little twat as well and make it look like an accident? -You leave the monster and the apprentice to rot together in a dusty meadow.

Some cocksucker sends you off to gather flowers 'to impress a lady'? - You go out and bring back some cockin' pretty flowers.

If he did do the job he was given as best as he could, it would be only natural for him to expect the best possible compensation... and would be perfectly at peace with himself after breaking the knees of any petcher who happened to get smart and try cheating him out of what he earned.

Either way, it took the better part of half a bell, but Ein was soon clasping his poleaxe in his steel-cased left hand and a rather pretty, colorful chaos of leafed stalks and sharp petals in his right. Well over thirty flowers put together, varying shades of bright yellow, orange, red and pink, contrasted rather well by the dull green of their stalks. Finest he could have bothered to find. Rude bastard or not, he himself wouldn't have shied away from the idea of presenting this to some rich lass of elevated social status had that been its purpose.

[Belugnir]

It was a short while ahead of noon that Einar seated himself down at the Eypharian's beer cart and presented the man with his little bouquet. The walk back across the lightly treacherous rocky terrain had roughed the lot of the flowers up a slight bit, though they were still a rather pretty sight. Meanwhile Einar himself had a couple layers of dried sweat that had accumulated under his clothing and armor, and though he wasn't quite exhausted from the three and some bells long trekking in full gear, he could feel a sore tensing in his muscles when he took his seat. Ought to start getting back into shape. Though now the only thing his mood demanded was some fine reckless drinking.

''Well, pretty boy, will those do it for your lady?'', cynicism was ever present in his tone.

The four armed bartender gave him a long look, before inspecting the batch of flowers he brought, his expression lit up a fair bit, although he swiftly adjusted it to one of vague criticism.

''They'll do, I suppose. You could have handled those a bit more gently, you know.'', the bartender gestured towards a couple of wrinkly petals with a slight frown, though his tone was lightly playful and cheery, in truth rather content with what he was presented with.

''Well I could have also spent the morning sitting on my arse and cleaning my boots of all the shyke the black ones' horses leave in their wake. I nearly broke an ankle getting you those bloody things, y'know.'', the exercise had cured a great deal of Einar's grumpiness, and he was rather well receiving of the Eypharian's desire for small talk.

''Well it's not my fault that you're a clumsy brute.''

''Just as it ain't my fault that you're some pansy fella who's bad enough at handling his women that he needs other petchers gathering flowers in his stead.'', Einar sneered with a slight grin. ''Now. I expect to get well and truly hammered... Else I'll be hammering someone's sodding stall into the ground, guards be damned.''

The Eypharian gave a quiet laugh and a shake of his head.

''Fair enough...''

And with that, Einar would proceed to receive his due reward, namely, a couple pints, deciding to mix some bitter ale with his wines to get him out of his own mind that much quicker... an errand that would definitely not be as costly on the bartender's store as one might have expected, for Ein had succumbed to the alcohol halfway through his fourth glass. Afterward would ensue several bells of drunken stupor spent talking of nonsensical shyke and engaging in some verbal dueling with the Eypharian, during which the two would also go through the courtesy of sharing their names and the proper natures of their professions, thus Ein would get to learn that Krahk was one rather fortunate slave, rather than merely a self-employed bartender, though that'd be the only notable detail he'd remember... along with collecting whatever more reward in shape of coin or drinks the Eypharian would have been considerate enough to bestow upon him.

[Rook]

Your grades are here!

Belugnir

Skills

*+4 Intimidation
*+4 Socialization
*+2 Endurance
*+1 Acrobatics
*+1 Botany

Lores

*Intimidation: Persuasion Through Threats of Violence
*Intimidation: Glaring
*Krahk: A Quick-Witted Slave Bartender

Rewards & Penalties

*A Night of Free Drunken Stupor
*-10 Silver for Wine

Fun thread to read. As always, I love Bel's dialogue. Don't forget to edit/delete your grading request in the queue, and PM me if you have any questions or concerns!

[Prophet]

Einar receives a 20% discount on all drinks from Krahk's Beer Cart.
He also has to roll a 10% chance of being drugged and robbed for each purchase.