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[Fallon]

46th Winter 513 AV

It would be wrong to say that she had managed to acquire some form of reputation by now. If anything the girl was little more than a whisper on the wind in comparison to other such characters that were present. No, bigger names caused the town to burn with such fire and zeal whilst the own she had adopted had caused little to no affect. Hound, Myrian, Blood, Savages and monsters. That was the words upon the air, of tales and strings that did not add up or make sense. Though if it was mercenary work the people wanted she would be more than happy to lend her blade to the highest bidder.

And so, with her arms leaning on the bar Fallon - no, that was wrong - Bitzer stood, her gloved hand flicking to and fro before the bar tender as she spoke. Her tools were upon her, armour, blades and bows, with her companion at her heel. An attractor of attention, for even that kindling of the girl with the wolf was beginning to stir. Fingers scratched around the jaw of the wolf, her tips feeling beneath the fur at the muscles and what could have existed beneath. Both of them had to keep healthy no matter what - it was vital of them to do so to keep working. And he was her partner in this potentially messy business. Sunberthians would not appreciate a scribe after all, so she had to take her other skills into consideration. Clicking her neck she turned her eyes to the bartender as he spoke, "So, Bitzer right? You're a mercenary?"

She raised a brow, her eyes locking onto his, "Yeah, that's right. I have a sharp blade and a sharper tongue. Need to find work though to get coin to feed myself with. Worth a damned shot though." There was an incline of the head, followed by a shrug, "You know how it works around here. Someone asks, waves coin and someone takes and does. It's just listening and picking up the right leads." The bartender gave a snort, "If I didn't know better you sound more like a word hunter lass."
"Maybe. Not that good at it though. Besides, swinging blades is where it's at here. So in that case," she plucked a gold miza out and turned it in her fingers before the bartender. Her lip curled into a grin as she presented it to him, "So, what you think you can point me?"

[Fallon]

"Depends what you want pointed at lass," the bartender went to snatch at the Miza. Hand pulling away sharply she met his gaze and gave him a tut. Her finger waggled, a smirk forming before she spoke, "Rumours, what's the word on the street?"
"Honestly? All sorts. Mostly on this Hound fellow though. Tales grow taller and I can't tell between the truth and lies anymore," he chewed at his lip with annoyance, the gentle squeaking of the tankard as he cleaned it, "Man's apparently big as an ox and has the head of one to boot if you believe some. Others say he's some maddened mage with the thirst for children's blood."

Fallon broke out a laugh at that point, the image having formed in her imagination. Shaking her head she tossed at him finally, "Aye, I heard that he was a vengeful ghost seeking to get redemption on the Daggers. If you believe such tales."
"You know what the dead are like, funny bunch," she watched the bartender slip the coin into his pocket and away, "Wouldn't catch me talking with them. Strange eh?" He shook his head, and returned to his duties. Thoughts trickled through her head, mainly filtering out the information she did know against that of common rumour. Even she understood that it was for the best to remain as some mysterious secret group, existing in the shadows with no real definite truth to be known of. There was a long scratch of the chin, her eyes narrowing with careful thought.

She gave a tap of the surface then a gesture to the ale behind the counter. With the subtle hint, and a further coin was exchanged as influence to push him along, "There's one though, that sounds proper odd. Some say Hound doesn't work alone. Say there's more than one of 'em. That there's many faces and many eyes all doing the deeds in this... Dunno, guess you would call it a revolution of a sort. Forcing the change and breakin' the normality." Fallon simply nodded along to his words, the tip of the ale meeting her lips as she drank, "Either way, bet it's gonna be dead by the end of the season. This city has a great way of snuffing out stuff it doesn't want."

With that the mercenary simply gave a shrug, "Sounds like you're not a fan."
"I'm not. I got my own neck and work to worry about instead of chasing big words and tall plans."
"I get your point," she sighed, "Messy business the lot of it."

[Kerrigore]

Kerrigore had carefully made his way to the tavern. As usual he took great pains in not being followed or generally noticed by the public. Although he has no actual need to avoid the denizens of SunBerth, Kerrigore has always preferred to keeping his distance. He traveled quickly, his body stiff from over work.Stepping foot into the Pig's foot he flipped his hood down revealing his face. It was out of character for him to even go to a public gathering place, but seeing as he hasn't had much interaction with the outside world for several weeks, mostly consumed by his studies and patching holes in his roof. But it had been to long since he had a conversation with someone other than Vern, and now he's come to the lovely Pig's Foot to fill that want. A soft whisper spoke into his ear it made him wince. The voice instructed him to use his djed, to train his abilities . It was a struggle he constantly fought, a problem that he wore as a badge of honor. Sometimes the voice was his only company.

He moved towards the bar, taking up residence on a bar stool, lazily leaning on the counter-top. His finger began to draw lazy circles on the hard wood surface. As he waited for the bartender to finish up talking with the woman down the way. His mind began to wonder onto his research as he patiently waited. He heard talk of the Hound and other things that were happening around the town. He heard about the note tacked to the decapitated head the mage and everything Although he didn't have a real interest in the towns well being nor the people here but he found the drama that was unfolding some what interesting. He ate what ever food he could round up and he honed his mind and body. He lazily looked about the bar inspecting the establishment.

[Fallon]

Fallon did not even turn her head when the door of the tavern opened. Why would she need to? She was not expecting anyone to come waltzing in she knew. She took a slurp from the top, long and holding as the bartender for a moment drifted away to deal with other customers. In the meanwhile however, Fallon just continued her drinking. It was a good idea to grasp the thoughts of the local population - it would help work out the next best tactic. If the people outside of the gangs could be brought onto their side then it would certainly aid in overthrowing the Daggerhands - or at least in reducing and thinning down their numbers.

Her hand reached down and scratched at the ears of Orvin. For the moment he was behaving himself, though she was not sure how much longer that would last for. And in honesty she did not want to test the potential for him suddenly rocketing off for whatever reason. Her eyes looked down to the canine, a quick flicker of a curl to the creature, "Good boy... good."

Taking another long slurp, she let her eyes drift down to whoever the bartender was talking to - just another Sunberthian by the looks of things. It did not matter to her, least he did not matter unless he actually made conversation or came a bit too close for comfort. Brow knitting she stared into the rim of her tankard. She needed to think of a plan, solid and possible - if it was not, then what was the point in it all? Whilst one thought only of destruction, she needed to adopt a more constructive approach. That much was clear to her.

When the tender did finally make his return however she spoke up once more to him, "So, what else you got me?"
"By got you mean work?" the bartender scratched at his jaw for a moment, pondering slightly to her question. Or at least until she waved her hand at him, "Nah, in general. I like rumours, keeps the mind ticked and on the eye out for things."
"Well," he drummed his fingers on the surface, "Could look down at the docks, people always want a hired hand to keep 'em safe whilst going through the city. Though by your size I'd doubt they'd take you seriously. No offense but your tiny."
"All good things come in small packages," she retorted, "Like rings, diamonds, knives, poison..."

A snort sounded, the bartender simply shaking his head in amusement, "You know what I mean lass. They feel better when they have a big broad giant next to them. Regardless of skill. You might as well who-" Fallon shot him a glare, "Or not. Forget I said it. You could always join on the Hound rumour wagon though, they all like the knowledge and all want to know the truth. And someone is always going to pay well for hard, cold facts even to just get the chance to gut the petcher."

[Nadia Belanare]

It had been a long night. A long, and slightly disappointing night if Nadia were to be honest with herself. The customers were big and ugly, but small where it counted. They were cheap, and dirty, and Nadia was sure one of them had not bathed for weeks. At least she hoped he had bathed some weeks before rather than never at all. It was because of all these things that Nadia now found herself here, passing through the entrance of the Pig's foot Tavern. A cold drink to forget the worries, pleasant conversation to ease the mind, and hopefully a new client to help line the pockets. She was not dressed as one might expect someone of her profession to dress. Then again it had been a long night, and Nadia had not taken the opportunity to return home to bathe and change. She was sure she must stink of man, especially that one revolting fellow. Her clothes were simple, slightly dirty and tattered. Some stains that were dirt, other stains that might have been blood, and other stains that could have been anything else, some form of bodily excrement surely. Her customers did not come to her looking for a date with a beautiful woman. They just wanted a row or two, a quick blow by blow. Done and over in a matter of chimes, which was how Nadia preferred it. They payed the same no matter what. Still it was never quite enough. Her hair was loose and fell around her shoulders, which she shook out of habit, tossing the locks over her shoulder as she offered a small smile and a wink to one man who looked her way, much to the disdain of the whore with him. It always amused Nadia to note how men could always tell what she was. Perhaps they were just more honest than women, but she could see it in their eyes exactly what they thought of her. They did not hide their desires and wants, and took what they wished, unlike women who played this silly game of pretense. So much importance came to their looks and their attitude, how they carried themselves. You could tell a lot about a man by his gender, but it was not quite so easy with women. Nadia's eyes fell on another woman at the bar, dressed as if for battle, a warrior maybe? No... No that wouldn't be right. You could never trust how a woman first appeared. Women wore their clothing like armor, to hide who and what they really work. Packed on the make up and charm to keep hidden something deeper, darker... Men were so much simpler. They looked at women and wanted only one thing, which Nadia would always give. They would pay for it, take out their lusts, and then leave saying to themselves that they would never do it again. But of course Nadia would see them again not long after. Women though... You could never really tell. They often lied so well that they fooled themselves. Was this woman lying to someone? To herself? Nadia doubted she could be what she appeared. That just wasn't the role women played, as far as she had experienced it. Sliding up onto a bar stool just a few down from Fallon, Nadia did not bother to hide her gaze which swept up and down the supposed warrior girl. She caught her eyes on on the curve of her neck, the familiarity she used when touching her weapons, and finally on the canine companion with her. Nadia smiled slowly, eyes flicking up to Fallon's as she raised an eyebrow, not quite judgement but something akin to 'who are you trying to fool?' The whore was used to being looked down upon for what she was, but at least she did not try to hide it so openly. A woman was a woman, and a woman could never really be anything but a whore. Either one who provides pleasures, or one that whores herself out in blood. Then her attention fell on the bartender, and Nadia smiled broadly, "Hello Merv, how is the business today?" The bartender, Merv, let his eyes linger on Fallon for just a moment longer before smiling and nodding at the girl, "Same as always girl, same as always. I would ask after your own, but I don't want to know." He chuckled and turned, filling a mug with liquid relief. Nadia laughed, folding her arms on the bar and resting her chin on them, "Don't pretend you aren't curious. I can see it in your eyes you old leecher." Merv grunted and set the flask in front of Nadia, pressing his hands on the bar and leaning closer, "Same as always I see. Where's your brother? He usually picks ya up before coming here, keeps you outa trouble." Taking the flask in both hands Nadia took a hearty swig, setting it down with a sigh and licking the foam from her lips, "Not today he's got a job, and I am looking for more work myself. Know anyone who would be interested?" The bartender waved at a man as he stood to leave, and taking the empty mug in his hand and a rag in the other Merv cast a look Nadia before beginning to clean, "You know the rules, no picking up clients in my Tavern. Not after the last brawl you started. Besides what happened to all your recent clients? Last I heard you were doing good at Brega's." Swirling the liquid in her mug Nadia frowned, "Yeah, well I lost two this week. Regulars, and good tippers. I miss the Miza's, but not the dull conversations during. Something about how they will petch up the Hound or whatever the shyke. All I hear now from my clients is the Hound this, the Hound that. Dumb asses should stick to what they do best, drinking and petching. Bet all that talk is what got them killed." Merv cast a look at Fallon before looking back down at the mug he was cleaning, "Rumors of the Hound and his gang are goin round everywhere. Even the whore houses hear about him." Nadia snorted into her drink, taking another gulp before setting down the mug, "Don't be an idiot Merv, you know as well as I do that the whores hear everything. Everyone talks when they are getting straddled, or when they are romping around behind. Can't keep their mouth shut most of the time. I know more than I want to know. They pay me to petch, not listen to rumors and braggards." She hid her face in her drink once more before setting it down, watching the ripples in the surface a moment, "Maybe the Hound will be my new client. Probably make more MIza's off him in a night than I would the whole of the Daggerhand in a season."

[Fallon]

Taking up the tankard once more she paused, her eyes staring deeply into the honey coloured reflection. The low hum of the tavern continued around her. The rattle of chairs, the clink of metal as men made cheers and merry making. Tall tales, laughter as wood groaned and rocked. The scents and sounds of Sunberth were coming alive, the rattle of the door as it once more opened and the winter air whipped in. Orvin gave a press, a whine for attention from his thinking master. She was almost waiting for him to react, anticipating for him to suddenly forgo his docile state. Fingers scratched around his ears again, but her gaze did not lift from her deep thinking stare. Of course, the world continued on around her, but slowly and gradually it was tuned out. Muted with steady prickling of hairs, she stared a steady blink at the glowing candles that rippled in its surface, the passing of a shadow behind her dragging her attention up.

It was that sensation of being watched, that clawing nag that eyes were upon her - undressing, searching, analysing. Almost likening it to her own hunting gaze as she passed on through the bodies and the people. Head turning she focused her drew her sight round, a flicker here and there as the harlot drew herself up at the bar. It was those eyes, those orbs of brown that she first met. Holding it, a neutral canvas in comparison to the woman's own expression, the mercenary simply regarded her. Lips did not move, and it was only after a slow blink that she turned back to her drink. Thoughts trickled through, a finger lazily drawing a ring on the bar surface. Round and round, her eyes almost wincing as she focused on it. Rough clothes, a messy and unkempt - then again who did look clean in Sunberth? Very few. She would have compared her to another harlot, his clean against her filth. She did not dwell too long on the thought however.

Neck clicking, the mercenary turned her attention up to the barkeep - So Merv was his name? - as he spoke to this harlot. So she was an actual whore, then again was that much of a surprise? It did seem to be a rather common profession of most women here - who here would believe that females were able to even swing a sword? It would be a surprise to anyone who got on the pointy end of her blade. That pleasant element of surprise. Business continued, experiences shared as the woman dipped into her drink without a second thought. It loosened of lips, serving as a vice to that of the listeners and holders of knowledge. Still, her thoughts were refreshing on the subject of the Hound. She only cocked an eyebrow up at Merv at his comments of rumours and then inclined her head to the woman, "Never of guessed that. My ears must be full of wool."

Fallon spat her drink. A spray of drink before a loud, hysterical laugh breaking out. This woman? Riding Hound, her flesh and blood? It was amusing to say the least - if not because of her thoughts on his exact persuasion then on the idea that he would lower himself to that level of desperation. Her cackling continued, her imagination caught up in the notion and only gently slowing with deep breaths. Lips made a line, a curl as she took a large glug of the liquid, "Well, when he is your client make sure to keep an eye out for the ox head. The horns are sharp." Shaking her head the mercenary chuckled, "Of course, that's if the petcher even has balls to begin with."

With the ale raised she gave a gesture to the woman, a firm grin upon her face, "Here's to you screwing the bugger silly." She drained the rest of it after that, the steady gulps as the liquid ran down her throat. A gasp escaped, the tankard being placed down firmly with a definite nod to the man, "Another will you?" Then, without a moment of pause she turned her attention back, "So, whores hear everything? How much of hearing though is truth though?"

[Nadia Belanare]

The sound of laughter brought Nadia's eyes around, lifting an eyebrow in surprise and inquisition. Was it laughter at the thought of a dog petching a girl, or was it laughter at her expense? Far too often the whore was looked down upon, seen as little more than a cunt with no thought or opinion left within her husk of a body. In truth Nadia was not sure if she should feel offended or not anymore. She had been broken down, beaten and used in so many ways that the thought of dignity was a distant thing for her. So she simply rested her head on one hand, quietly waiting for the laughter to pause.

Nadia smiled and laughed softly despite herself, shaking her head and wrapping both hands around her mug once more, "I can promise you I have seen far worse in bed. Men who could not be distinguished from animals in appearance and smell. Some oddly shaped, others that preferred... objects over the use of their minimal equipment. Personally I hope he does have horns. At least on this one I will have something substantial to hold onto." She winked at Fallon and took a large draft from her mug, pushing toward Merv to be refilled as well.

Turning on the stool Nadia carefully crossed her legs, leaning on the bar and wresting one hand on her knee. Her eyes searched up and down Fallon, a renewed interest in her as she said, "The first rule of Whoring is a simple one. It doesn't matter what the truth is. It matter's what a person believes." She nodded to Merv as her mug was refilled, taking it in her hand and raising it to Fallon before drinking deep. Licking her lips she continued, setting the mug down to give the armored woman her full attention, "A man wants to feel that he is powerful, that he is good and in control. Does it matter that the truth is he is a piss for Petcher, smaller than infant downstairs, and terrible smelling? Not at all. He pays to be told a lie and to be made to believe that he is a stallion among mules. Men will kill over rumors just as often as they will over truth. So it doesn't matter what is true, just what they want to believe."

Rotating in her chair once more, she took up the mug and sipped, looking sideways at Fallon, "Men are all the same. They don't care about the truth, they just want to be told how good they are. They only think with one head, and all a woman has to do is offer a bit of an act and he will pay out the nose for a lie. I'm sure you know this as well as I do." She winked at Fallon and looked forward, sipping the drink still, "You talk like a lover of this Hound's. Or sibling maybe. For one whose ears are full of wool you seem to have quite the opinion of this man, if the Hound is a Man." Nadia didn't look at Fallon now, and Merv was already at the other end of the bar, tending another customer, "Personally, I don't think the Hound is a man. No man could be so much trouble. Too busy twiddling sticks and thinking of the next piece of arse they want to do anything really productive. Either that, or there is a woman in charge behind him. Holding his horns to keep him on task."

[Fallon]

"So that is that then. A lie," she gave a smirk, "Just a tall tale to quell the insecure base of it all."

Eyes turned away as the harlot continued, spouting and talking of her clients. So much revealed, her base, her personality, the rather prejudice trail of thought that all men were - alas - the same. Disappointing really that one was so quick to become narrow minded instead of simply thinking more. The new tankard was slid towards her, and Merv escaped to do whatever his other duties were - tending to other patrons no doubt.

"You mistake me. I am a lover of rumours, tales and knowledge. It just so happens that this Hound is little more than a rather romantic story to delve into. Treachery, blood, violence, of conquest of this wild city," she gave an exaggerated sigh, the back of her hand pressing to her forehead in a mocking dramatic fashion, "Opinion? Isn't it just as you said though, that one hears only what they wish to hear? Or sees what they wish to see? It is why I still prefer cold, hard facts. Much more satisfying." Her hands came clapping together at that point followed only by an open gesture, "Of course, we can apply some basics I suppose. You are female as am I. You are a lady of pleasure, whilst I am a lady of blades. Other than that though, well the rest is your own mind to judge."

Grasping the handle of the tankard once more she took a glug, and exhaled roughly. It was still a cheap drink, but she could not exactly complain - the affects were still there if not dreadful tasting. Blinking she let her hand scratch once more upon the head of Orvin, his nose inquisitively poking over the top of the bar. Large eyes stared up at her, a soppy gaze meeting hers for a long tick. Grimacing she gave him a gentle push away, her finger pointing firmly to the floor, "Down."

Her attention did not stray long however, her brow only briefly lifting with thought. Her chin rested in her palm, a deep set contemplation upon her face. Or at least until she gave a quizzical look, "So, if the Hound is a woman. Well, would you still pleasure her?" The expression was set with the fact she was obviously trying to solve how exactly that would exactly work. Even her entire brow had knit into a line, full of focus and rather unembarrassed of her own ignorance. Fingers drummed in a steady fashion, the cogs slowly turning round in her mind before at last the copper dropped. With the features lifting, a form of self enlightenment revealing itself the mercenary gave only a mutter, "So that's how it works. Right..."

"So, simply, men can't think and women are all the brains?" Fallon took another swig of her drink, and then paused, "Can't say I agree with that for all men. Some are clever some are not, just like the other half of the species. But, that is just opinion - so what could I possibly know? You of course are much more versed in the way of men and women, so I must bow down to your expertise knowledge." In reality however, Fallon had no inclination to do that - if anything she would do the opposite and for the meanwhile would simply play along. As soon as she became too pushy and demanding however, Fallon would simply deal with her, "Come, enlighten me."

[Nadia Belanare]

Nadia looked down at the dog that looked so eager to climb up on the bar after some treat or another. It made her smile, the innocent desires of animals always brought a small feeling of warmth in her heart, and it brought a question to her lips as she looked at Fallon, "He's a cute dog. What's his name?"

Nursing her drink once more Nadia shrugged, "Man, woman, or something else it really doesn't matter to me. If they have the coin I will let them take me to bed." It was a very intentional choice of words. Those who shared her bed were those that Nadia chose for herself. No one took it from her, it was freely given as a service, or not at all, "But I do find the company of women is much more relaxing, though it does require a bit more flexibility and dexterity." She wiggled her fingers and laughed, drinking once more and setting down the empty mug.

"Maybe some men are not so thick, I will give you that. The good one's though are few and far between, especially in this town. And I never said women were any better. Women can be a lot worse, because they are much better liars and actresses." Standing Nadia smiled down at the dog, offering her hand to sniff and speaking without looking at Fallon, "I am a whore, but I am not an idiot. I would have died a long time ago if I were. The only enlightenment I could ever offer you is to never trust a man to protect what is precious to you, and to never believe what a woman says. They are the biggest liars of all, because they lie to themselves." Straightening she brushed her hands on her dirty clothes, plucking the money from a coin purse hidden in her cleavage, paying for the both of them before turning with a wave, "All men are pigs, and all women are whores. Some whore their bodies, other's whore their other services. That's the enlightenment I give you."

With that the girl made for the exit, fully intending to find her way home for a good bathing and deserved rest from a long day of courting.

[Razkar]

He was not, by nature, impatient... or he wouldn't have been, if he was back in the jungle. A male who dared to chafe or grouse waiting for a female's attention was likely to get a swift beating, but he wasn't home. He was in the barbarian lands, had spread money around, not to mention his name, and still this... "Hound", had not contacted him.

But what else is there to keep trying? You were hired to do a job. You met The Hound's proxy (proxies, actually) and now you have to wait for them to get in touch.

Perhaps he wouldn't like you asking about him. Checking up on him.

But...

"But I can't bloody wait forever."

"What was that, savage?"

Myrian and human locked eyes without flinching for a few ticks, Merv cleaning his glass and actually managing to make the act threatening. The old man was far from a Child of Myri, but Razkar knew a man who could handle himself when he saw it. The fact he despised anyone who wasn't a) human and b) a native Sunberthian, well... you didn't need any special experience to figure that one out.

"Bloody cold out there," Razkar said instead, making an act of stamping his feet, myriad of sharpened steel strapped to him body clanking as he did, "When does it end?"

"When it stops falling."

Ah, a wit, too.

"Hear anything about what I asked?"

Merv turned his nose up a little, beady eyes flickering around the chaotic bar. Not that there was anyone near Razkar, of course: even in Sunberth there was always a space around him, ringed by scornful or challenging or fearful eyes... but never any bodies or questing hands to try their luck. He preferred it that way.

The bartender gestured to the end of the bar, and Razkar followed him to a gloomy corner.

"You mean that... cobblers?"

"Yes."

"Haven't heard anything solid," Merv muttered, willing to put aside his prejudice for a few chimes, considering how much Razkar had paid him to keep his ears open, "Just more bloody rumors and tall tales. A hundred faces, a thousand eyes-"

"-and friends with demons that take men's bodies," Rakar rolled his eyes, "Yes, I hear the same now and then. But nothing... real?"

"Not as yet. Regretting your investment?"

Razkar caught the edge of challenge in his tone like a brandished blade... and gave him a lopsided smile, showing off half a row of sharpened teeth. "Should I be?"

Merv shrugged. He'd seen and done and survived too much to be chilled by some fancy gnashers. "He's bein' careful, boy. Sticking in the background. Working through... wadayacall'em... pixies?"

"Proxies?"

"Pretty sure it was pixies."

"As you wish..."

Silence. Just long enough for Merv to shuffle around uncomfortably, eyes flickering away-

-and Razkar saw it, following that flashing gaze to the figure at the end of the bar. A rough mop of blonde hair hid a face... a female face, if Razkar knew lips, though hardly one the great artists would sculpt or sketch. Then again, she was outfitted much like him: for war. A sleeker, perfumed partner sat by her and a hefty mutt that looked more wild than homely squatted next to her stool, balefully regarding everyone who approached.

Razkar looked back to Merv, who'd been watching him.

"... her?"

"She's looking for him, too." Merv said, picking up a fresh dirty glass and fruitlessly wiping off his dirty rag. "Might want to, I dunno... compare notes."

"She might be a pixie."

"Could be."

Razkar decided he'd not walked all the way through the snow for sod-all, and gave a short nod of agreement.

"Send me down a mug of ale when you're ready, human."

"As y'say, savage..."

And with that, the Myrian made his approach.