Open Bitter Arrivals

Bron and her Father arrive in Sunberth

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Bitter Arrivals

Postby Bronwen on February 13th, 2018, 6:11 pm

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Winter 10th
517


"I am not a child" Yelled Bron, ignoring the many sets of eyes now glaring at her over filthy rims of their ale mugs, "and I don't need a babysitter!"

Ser Matrim Druva glared at his defiant daughter a tick, before leaning in close to the table, catching Bronwen's grey-blue gaze, his voice dipping dangerously low. "I am your Father, Bronwen Druva, and as long as we are in -this- city you will obey me."

Matrim and Bronwen had been in the city for several bells, and Bron's detestable mood had not wavered in the least. Hunted down, then dragged from a city, and a quest, that she felt unjustly ignored by her father in the first place, Bron hated the man in that moment, but held the Sergeant Knight's gaze, nonetheless, which, even as his daughter, was not an easy thing to do, and many could not. Ser Mat was a hard, stringent, and relentless man when it come to things of this nature, and Bron knew he would not break or give in the least, but still, she challenged him.

I am an adult, Fath..."

"In this Godsforsaken shykehole that doesn't matter!" Matrim growled the interruption through gritted teeth, the muscles in his massive shoulders flexing as his hands rolled into fists. "This is not Syliras, Bron!"

"No Father" Bronwen slid back her chair, making a distinct, loud scrape across the wooden planks of The Pig's Foot Tavern "it is not" she added. Pulling her quarterstaff from beneath the table she rose, turned, and started toward the exit, narrowly avoiding a collision with a barmaid in her hasty withdrawal. As Bron twisted to avoid the barmaid, the end of her staff upended a mug on the neighboring table. Bron cast an impenitent glance over the accidental spill, and the seated occupants surrounding it, before continuing on, her long legs moving her swiftly through the tavern and out the door.

"Nothing at all like Syliras"

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Bitter Arrivals

Postby Erik Murphy on February 16th, 2018, 5:30 pm

Peace and quiet was rare commodity in Sunberth. And it was in short supply in the bustling tavern that acted as a gathering place for the locals at the end of their toilsome days. Still, amidst the bawdy musics and the rad-tag choir that filled the seats, amongst the nattering gossip and raucous laughter, between the chugging of tankard and tactical chunders that followed, there was a certain tranquillity to the Trotter as Erik affectionately knew the place.

And there he sat, leaning back on an uncomfortable wooden chair that had been worn smooth by every patron that had ever sat down it, fair smoother than any Sunberthian craftsman could’ve hoped to have achieved, with a tankard in hand and the tip of a pipe in his mouth. Mixing sour smoke and bitter ale to make a foul taste in his mouth which her had long since acquired and appreciated, he looked around his table, listening to the low-brow conversation of the old men that surrounded the old splintering thing, their musings sporadically interrupted by an outbreak of dirty laughter than only old men seemed to ever possess. Mercenaries, labourers, craftsmen, they were the men had made past fifty winters in Sunberth and regardless of politics or attitudes, Erik really had no choice but to be friends with the dwindling number of men that belonged to this group.

“Another round of ale love”
Erik ordered as he handed over his silver to the barmaid that wandered past with an empty tray.

A sudden abrupt announcement drew his gaze and the conversation at their table began to subside as they all turned around, like nosy old hags peering into her neighbour’s windows, to get a better look at the scene playing out in front of them.
"I am not a child and I don't need a babysitter!" The women yelled as Erik leant sideways to get a good look at the lass. She was weirdly tall, standing several inches above most of the men in the tavern including Erik, malnutrition had a strange way of stunting the growth of most Sunberthers. Her accent was one Erik couldn’t place but she certainly wasn’t from Sunberth, Erik barely knew much about the lands beyond his own city, basing most of preconception on stereotypes and the dregs of other cities than managed to wash up one this city’s shores. Everything was very much Sunberthian or other to Erik.

“Now there’s a lil’ brat who needs to grow up” One voice muttered on Erik’s table as he and the rest of the group murmured in agreement.
“Spare the back of ya ‘and, spoil ya child” Erik said sagely and again was greeted by a murmur of nodding approval.
Look at the size of ‘er ol’ man, he looks like he could wrestle a bull to the ground” Another noted and Erik peered at the man was currently muttering to the loud woman, quieter than Erik could pick up but he looked fairly stern about his words. Erik wasn’t sure if he was her father or her bodyguard but it did explain the size of his daughter. He was taller than her, easily standing above Erik and weighing as much as him and half again, he did look like some could’ve grabbed a bull by the horn and force it to each the dirt.

“’Ere ya drinks dears”
The barmaid declared, balancing the tankards brimming with a frothy head that was begging to spill over the rim that drew the attention of every man on the table. “You fellas enj-” Her words were interrupted by a sudden clatter as the tray was knocked clean out of her hand and the tankards smacked against the table, sending a spray of ale over the occupants who were left silent as the loud woman stormed out without even an apology, leaving them to listen to sound of their booze dripping of the table onto the floor.

Erik’s temper flared up. he pushed back off his chair, grabbing on of the empty tankards and resting his other hand on the hilt of the kopis that always hung at his waist and he began to storm out after her. “Oi!” He shouted loudly at her back as he exited the tavern, raising this empty tankard backwards before aiming at the back of her head and throwing it with as much force as he could muster before shouting at her “Those were our bloody drinks!”
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“And you have your part to play, Erik. You will be fooled, like most, but you will survive. You might even benefit it all. Hold history close to your chest, young man. That’s my advice.”
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