Flashback [Rearing Stallion] Trade a(r)ranger {Riken}

[Ronan Dugal]

Spring, 10th, Year 510 It had been a good day for Ronan. A lot of customers, some personal requests which they hoped Ronan could solve. And which he could solve. Business had been good today. The clinking sound of Mizas hitting each other coming from his purse set him at ease. With a smile on his face, Ronan walked along the many shops and stalls on one of the larger roads of Syliras. Although it was already getting later in the day, people were still busy trying to sell their goods to people passing by. More often than not, people yelled at Ronan in an attempt to have him buy goods from them. He ignored most of them. Once or twice he had a look at what was being offered and only once did he open his purse to buy a slightly sweeter piece of pie for himself, which he happily ate on his way further up. The creaking of the door drowned in the sound of the patrons of the tavern. People were loud and boisterous, drinking and laughing with their friends. Some people were alone and just stared at their beverages. The Rearing Stallion was always a good place to find loudness and drunkenness. Usually the one resulted in the other. Barely any attention was paid to Ronan as he walked in and closed the door behind him. He took of the brown cloak and kept it over his arm as he looked around for a table for himself. He only saw tables with people occupying them. Some were in groups others alone. Ronan didn't feel like mingling with a group and just wanted to enjoy a little time on his own so he gave a short look to each of the single occupied tables. Drunk guy sleeping, shady character sipping beer or a lone youngster holding a pipe, fiddling with the thing as if he was nervous. The three empty mugs told Ronan that the young man, who seemed only slightly younger than Ronan, had had already his fair share of beer. The young trader made his way through the tables and towards the the young man sitting alone. "Would you mind if I joined your table? I'm afraid there's no empty one left." Ronan motioned towards the chair. Without expecting or caring for the answer, he sat himself down at the table and waved to the serving girl. As he got comfortable in his chair he put the bulging purse on the table right in front of him."One cold beer, please." He slipped her the required sum from his pocket. Dressed in his usual bordeaux-red and white outfit, Ronan stood out from the other patrons of the Stallion, although without contrasting them. His long black hair was well cared for and fell over his shoulders as he sat down. The cloak was hung over one of the empty chairs. "I'm Ronan. And you are?" Ronan held out his hand over the table, waiting for the young man to grasp it. Possibly a reflex, potentially some trader instinct, Ronan didn't like silence when he was drinking. Drinking was to be done with a lot of noise or with a good conversation.

[Roald Diamae]

Riken Diamae Another damned day in this damned city. Riken still could not understand the appeal of living in this cold stone citadel, the stench and oppression bearing down on him with every step. There was one place that always managed to calmed his mind however, and with the errands of the day already taken care of, it was indeed time for a drink. Riken made his way through the crowded corridors, taking reprieve in the more open avenues between the districts as he continued on towards the Stallion. By the time he arrived the tavern was quite packed, and Riken quickly took the first seat he could find, and ordered a trio of mugs as soon as he caught the waitresses eye. Which wasn't terribly hard, given his appearance. Taking off his sturdy leather cloak and cloth face wrap, Riken let out a sigh of small relief as he ordered his drinks. He laid his cherished pipe on the wooden table before him as he pulled a few coins from his pocket, flashing a polite smile to the barmaid as she walked off to turn silver into ale. The sight of the mugs clattering on a tray moments later was the most welcome thing Riken had seen all day, and he would waste no time in their use. He drank in silence, his eyes never leaving the carved pipe in front of him as time simply passed. This was his normal routine; his ritual memorial. It was also a promise, to one day finish what was started all those years ago, and to make them pay. One drink for each of them, in memory and in place of, as their tears and screams echoed in each drop of alcohol. Before he knew it, the three tankards were empty, and the buzzing warmth in his head replaced the somber solitude he had grown accustomed too. He twirled the pipe in his hands for a few moments, once more enjoying the craftsmanship of his late father. Riken was just about to head off for a smoke, when a stranger decided to sit down opposite him, and the young ranger thought it a good opportunity to make a new connection, if not a friend. The man was quite striking, in terms of palette. His clothes denoted some sort of status, although Riken was not sure exactly what. It hadn't been more than a few weeks since arriving in the Bronze Wood outside Syrilas, and he still hadn't learned too much about the city's politics and business. Riken had a feeling this merchant did not have that problem, and so the inebriated ranger was quite pleased to make his acquaintance. He reached over with his free hand, pipe still spinning between fingers, and shook the extended greeting. There was something to be said about a direct man, and Riken did his best to seem congenial, pushing the earlier morose thoughts out of focus. "Riken. Pleasure to meet you. You're not the usual drunkard I assume, with attire like that." The ranger made no mention of the man's full coin-purse, as people usually weren't too keen on a man from the woods beyond the wall eyeing their money. Regardless, this man seemed resourceful, and if nothing else, was an interesting change of pace. And Riken quite enjoyed revelry with the interesting.

[Ronan Dugal]

As Ronan shook Riken's hand he couldn't help but chuckle at the man's comment. As he released the man's hand the chuckle turned into a hearty laugh which lasted for a few moments before Ronan finally managed to get it under control. He lifted his beer up and took a single sip from his mug. "I apologize for the outburst. May I assume that you're not from Syliras?" Ronan had a genuinely amused smile on his face as he spoke. "I am indeed not the usual drunkard but it has nothing to do with my attire. Half of the drunkards here wear similarly valued attires. So it has nothing to do with my choice of outfit. An amusing thought however." Ronan brushed a strand of hair out of his face and took another sip from his drink. As he put his own drink back on the table he noticed the man's lack of a mug with beer in it. "Riken, may I offer you another drink." He waved at the serving girl who was talking to two other patrons at a different table. As he waited for the woman to come over, Ronan struck up a conversation with the young man in front of him. "So? What brings you to the Stallion, Riken? Besides, of course, the exquisite taste of the beer and the exquisite beauty of the serving girls." It was obvious from the amused tone of his voice that Ronan didn't agree with either statement. He kept his smile as he spoke to the man in front of him. Another sip from his beer and he put the mug down on the table. "Anything else to drink, friend Riken?" He waved towards his table companion as the serving girl stopped at their table to take up their order. Throughout the conversation, Ronan kept looking at the man in front of him, observing him to try and place him. From what he could tell, the man was not a city person. His outfit was that of an outside person, a traveler or a hunter, perhaps a bounty hunter or a mercenary. Possibly a caravan guard, but Ronan doubted that since he had no insignias on him that could identify him as part of one of the groups. As he watched, he listened to the man speak, trying to combine what he saw to what he heard to form a full image of the man.