Another Owlbear
tenebrae - Thursday, August 15, 2013, 5:13 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A06: Ox-Strength Tavern *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The Ox-Strength Ale Tavern is known for being one of the most dangerous dives in the city. Frequented by the worst sailors, mercenaries, thugs and looters, the place is hardly the prettiest nor the tidiest of taverns, though--of late, that has been changing. Locals claim the once foul-tasting food "No longer burns the stomach--as much, anyways." Plates show signs of repair instead of cracks, though the still infamous odor of old beer and stale sweat insists on hanging about the place, and the smell of brine is near-constant.
What used to be bricked-up windows have been somewhat opened. Heavy bars let in a reluctant breeze and prevent the clanging of heads against glass (which seems nearly afraid to exist). Bloodstains adorn both the nearby walls and the bricks themselves from thrown patrons and fists.
The lights are dim, a few oil lamps hung from hooks in the splintered ceiling beams. A smattering of tables, scratched and carved into by many a blade, dot the expanse of the floor. Most of the tables are arranged in a wide circle to give plenty of room in the center of the bar for hasty escapes or the routine bar-brawl or fight. A worn-out steam piped stove sometimes provides warmth to the tavern. Occasionally an aging dog of some mangy breed or another can be seen sleeping near the stove or by the bar itself. Overhead the fireplace is a tribute to Rada, the patron of fishermen and rivermen everywhere.
Its a slow day at the Ox-Strength Tavern. After a big fight in the dockside neighborhood last night which eventually spilled into the tavern itself for a quick break for more booze and chair-legs, most of the sailors and criminals and regular lowlife thugs that the place is known for are still too hungover to crawl out from whereever it was they finally passed out.
Myrana looks up out of the doorway of her horrible bar and sighs, drinking in the sunlight that filters down warmly through a break in the clouds of steam and smog that hang over the docks today, listening to the slap of water on hulls and the cry of gulls over the river. She likes mornings like this, when she can pretty safely clean up the bar without the botherment of the Oxleys intruding on her first thing in the day. Maybe she'll even cook something for her customers and not have to chase out the really truly unsafe Oxely cook who occasionally shows up with a burp to make some oversalted slop to help soak up nasty booze. Maybe today will be nice!
Smiling up at the gulls, she nods to herself, liking this idea. Then she pushes with her broom, and sends the last of the crashers tumbling insensate down the step that leads into the street, making sure not to roll him into any sharp objects or into the ways of carts. Sure, his snoring bulk is in the way of foot traffic, but Myra is pretty realistic about the likelihood that he'll remain there for long once the pickpockets come around.
So, with a thump, she wedges the front door open and then goes back inside to open up the shutters and get the Ox ready for business.
Ready for business? The Ox will never be ready for the kind of business that Hilal brings! He strides into the Ox, after stepping over an unconcious man, and stands in the doorway, allowing the light to flow triumphantly around his frame for a second. Then he makes his way inside and settles at the bar and says, "......"
Of course, Myrana doesn't have long before the bar is invaded with the first round of... lazy layabouts. AKA adventurers... AKA... Sakari. The perpetual Academy student WOULD show up for a drink early in the day like this... She sidles up onto a stool next to Hilal, greeting him with a friendly smile while she waits for Myrana to finish sweeping up.
...drag. Drag drag drag drag. Squelch. Thuk. ...many, many horrible sounds emanate from just outside the tavern.
"...but it is a thought," comes the subtle warble of Egalrin voice, teasing like a song. Yellow and pale grey and sharp red form the colors roaming patiently up the stairs from the street. Nasirri moves with careful patience to avoid the various drunkards and other insousants scattered about, hands folded about either wrist beneath her sleeves as she enters. "The legend itself seems quite certain, repeated in tales from Veyshan. A hidden valley cloaked with diamonds, like a suiter's vset feathered array." Moving quietly into the Tavern, she continues with her patient relation of the tale (not badgering, never badgering), eyes gleaming. "Surely it is worth considering, even after so long?"
"Good morning!" Myrana greets cheerfully, bustling by with a broom as the big Veyshanti takes a seat at her bar. "I'll be up there in just a bit--" She greets Sakari too, collecting refuse; bits of broken pottery, glass, torn cloth, splintered wood, food, and unmentionable substances with her broom and sweeping it all toward a corner where a dustpan can be seen. She smiles to Nasirri, braids swinging as she reaches down to get the pan. "Nasirri, were you dragging something?" She asks, having heard something before the Eglarin came in just a moment ago.
The door SLAMS open, its hinges creaking and its wood trembling with the force of the blow. And not a person comes in. Not a being, not even the rough, half-shaved face of the local thu--adventurers. Instead, a ghastly fur and feathered face fills the doorway, a face several feet high with great, round eyes glazed over in a horrible way, staring and coated a filmy gray color.
The owlbear--for that is what it is--STARES dead ahead towards the inhabitants of the Ox, its beak partway open in a silent death-yaaaaaaw as its oversized, ape-like arms drag horridly on the ground underneath it. And then...
...then...THOOM! as it lands, unceramoniously and with a flight of feathers and fur onto the fetid floor of the Ox. Just behind it...just behind it is a smaller figure in comparison, a dark-scaled sith with broad, heavy shoulders and ...who looks as surprised at the dead thing.
Then Svarshan looks across at Myrana, and smiles, "Got," the paladin says cheerfully. Then nods to Hilal, "Help?" The words come out warm and happy, as though he has just gifted Myrana with a set of delicate, flowery, rainbow-farting unicorns.
The owlbear, that twisted and odd creature of the forests, stares. Dead ahead. At Nasirri. Staaaarrreee.
Always one to be able to kill someone's enthusiasm, Hilal just turns his head to look at Nasirri and says, very bluntly. "I am a slave who murdered his master and his entire family and left their bodies for the vultures in the desert. I cannot return to Veyshan." Even the appearance of Svarshan and his 'gift' doesn't really dissuade him or faze him. Instead, he stands up and moves to help the paladin with dragging/lifting the thing wherever it needs to go.
Ah, fresh meat! Or at least it kinda looks like a newcomer has arrived. But like some of the others, Markus definitely gives off the general impression of the adventuresome sort, particularly given his attire. Of course, the actual reasons that brought him here are rather forgotten, as he steps over the slumbering lout and pokes his head in the door, eyes a bit wide with alarm.
"Is everything all right in here? I thought I saw..." He pauses, glancing at the Owlbear, "Nevermind, I -did- see it."
Mikilos has arrived.
When the door slams open Myrana gasps, turning 'round with a whirl of skirts and her broom clenched in both white-knuckled hands. "Watch it with my door you clumsy idi-KYAAH!!!" She crashes back into Nasirri with a startled scream as an /owlbear/ shoves its head in through the door, gore dripping from its hoary beak to splatter on her nice clean floor, oozing musk and death inward in a terrifying wave. Static bubbles up around the little barmaid like a terrified mana engine revving up by the startled jerk of a ripcord, snapping in her hair and dancing over the floor (and probably poor Nasirri)--
--Only to fizzle out with a series of pops! as the owlbear crashes forward, dead as a doornail.
Which may be an accurate description of Svarshan a few minutes from now, when Myrana gets over the shakes and her brain catches up to her eyeballs. "Sv-Sv--OWl! Owlb..." Its really dead. It is very very dead. But a sight like an owlbear coming thorugh your doorway unexpected is not the sort that one gets over right away, neccessarily.
Mikilos is, for his own part, used to a great many things. Svar with a dead owlbear hardly worth a first look, and certainly not a second, as the elf ducks thru the doorway, peering around a moment before smileing at those present. "Good day. Hello Myrana, how are you? ...what's wrong?" Dead owlbears don't even register on the list.
Raethon has arrived.
Svarshan nods companionably to the hefty Hilal and then crouches down to take one arm of the dead beast. It lets out a slow death-wheeze as it's lifted--the thing reaches near the rafters of the Ox, this type of species being large in size. This only brings the creepy-eyes up to a level where they're sure to notice that Myrana parted her hair slightly crookedly. If dead-thing-creepy-eyes could see. "Brought you owlbear," still cheerfully, still in the tone of I-totally-brought-you-rainbow-farting-unicorns. The sith shifts his burden to balance with Hilal's half of it. He smiles to Markus, but the one sentence seems to have worn him out for the evening. Talking. So difficult.
The owlbear shifts in their grip--the creature is heavy, and gruesome--its size and form suggests a gorilla, owl, and a grizzly headed down to the Felwood one night and partook in horrible, mad and drunken monkey-love (how else can one explain such things? ...or Sandy?). And that this was the result. Its tufted ears brush the ceiling, its arms like two tree-trunks with large claws.
And, "Myrana's Magical Stew," still warmly, including Markus in the phrase. Okay. So maybe three sentences today.
Nasirri blinks in surprise, tilting her head in curiosity. "I was not..." she begins, glancing back towards the door. Svarshan's entry solves the mystery in heartbeats; the gleaming Egalrin catches the startled propietress with a click of her beak. Electricity-- tiny jolts, with feathers arching up on end!
"Oh dear," she murmurs, wings quivering as she steps aside from the Makar paladin, absorbing the scene, exhaling with a soft whistle of breath across her nares. "Good morning, Silverscale," she greets Svarshan, feathery whole positively puffed out on end from Myrana. "The whole of the land cannot be turned against you for such an action," she says, moving out of the way of the carcass-hauling, careful to bring the barkeeper along with her. "And Veyshan is vast, Hilal. With the Phoenix' Blessing, it may be fortune that we need never go near the site of your release from captivity."
"I ah...well." Markus doesn't look particularly disgusted by the large corpse of a magical beastie being present, but he does look around a bit, "I've heard stories, but they don't -really- put that in the stew here, do they?" He pauses a moment, rubbing at the short beard that covers his chin, "Well then again, I guess I've never tried it...."
Hefty as Hilal is, Owlbears are large. "I think this may be the biggest Owlbear I have ever seen..." Hilal says, not mentioning that this may be the first Owlbear he has ever seen. "Yes, but I am not someone who is particularly blessed. Ever. By any of the Gods or mythical birds or whatever you pray to..." He's straining a bit dragging the thing, even with Svarshan's help. He stops for a second to catch his breath and looks at Markus. "Don't order the stew." He says sternly.
Mikilos pauses, taking a moment to figure some of the newer faces are too new to be used to this yet. "Owlbear is perfectly edible. Not one of my favored dish, but everyone has their own tastes. If you were to grind pork and chicken together, then cook it in bear grease, the result would be quite similar. And the stew tends to be quite good. Well, depending on the day and who makes it." He looks to Myrana again. "You're cooking, yes?" Asked in the same tone as 'Is it safe to come out yet?' or 'Is the angry dragon gone?' Which may say something about the alternitive cooks.
Taking his sweet time walking into the tavern, Raethon tapped his staff onto the ground as he walked in. However, he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the owlbear. He raised an eyebrow, then looked to Svarshan and snerks softly. "Only you, Brightscale." He says before walking his way towards the bar. "Tea please." He says to the barkeep as he leans his staff on his shoulder as he watches the others at the bar.
Myrana just sort of lets Nasirri herd her like a stunned sheep.
"My stew isn't magic," she warbles, vaguely distressed and siezing upon the much more maneageable upset of food. "Its got garlic. And basil. And sometimes owlbear. Oh dear."
Once she's back behind the bar-- her bar. Her nice solid owlbear-proof bar--, she calms down a little, getting over the nasty shock of thinking the thing was busting into her tavern to eat everyone in it. Taking a steadying breath, she brushes her bangs back from her face with a lingering snap of static, and then nods, unbristling a little as Svarshan and Hilal drag the thing. From a massive gleaming samovar that looks like its been banged back into shape many many times, she pours herself a steaming cup of spiced coffee. "I am-- I am cooking, yes. Yes. Sorry. Yes, Svarshan sometimes brings me things to put in the stew." She takes a sip, steeling her nerves. Coffee is magic. Coffee -helps-. "I am not made of chickens, you know."
Getting up onto a footstool, she steps up and pulls down some clean mugs and glasses. "What can I get started?" She asks of the various customers now here.
Magic. Farting. Unicorns. Svarshan pauses, then nods agreeably to Markus. He then turns as the others converse, and looks expectantly at Myrana. "It iss good," he says, the simple words standing in where a sildanyari would have used florid praise. "And sshe does not always poison it," happily. "Where should we put--" ...and then he nods to Hilal, and when the hefty khazadi is ready to go, he will begin moving his half of it and--well. Presumably Myrana will direct them once they get near the bar. The deadthing's arms will probably drag on the ground.
Littering the floor with fur and feathers.
Of COURSE it will.
Poor Myrana.
Nasirri nods gently, taking the brusque words in stride. "All coins have two sides," she returns, voice a warm chirr, leaving Myrana behind the safe bastion of her Fortress of Barkeeper's Might. "Perhaps we should speak of it another time," she profeers, observing as the two man-handle the beast to the side. "It is, perhaps, not the best of times."
"P...put it on the meathooks in the kitchen, please." Myrana says, looking at her floor. Which is covered with owlbear detritus. And she just swept.
"Well...I guess I know it'll be fresh at least." Markus notes, moving towards the bar and settling onto a stool. He was supposed to meet a prospective client here, but so far there's no sign of them. Possibly because they might have seen a freaking Owlbear being dragged inside. He sits so he can watch the entrance, glancing over his shoulder at Myrana, "Just a mug of ale for me, thanks."
"You are correct." Hilal says, grumbling and wishing he wasn't in his armor at the moment. "Not the best time." He starts to head towards the kitchen then, dragging his owlbear arm and what he can get of the owlbear, with him. "If there is stew on back there...There will be trouble. I just want you all to know that."
Mikilos shrugs lightly. "Shot of Gunpowder Whiskey for me, and a bowl of spice soup, if there is any. Extra chilis." The wizard takes a seat, glancing around a moment before spying the recently used broom. A word and a gesture, and the tool picks itself up and begins sweeping the worst of the owlbear feathers out the door. "...er, is there a rag and bucket around? Or a mop? I'll send them after the blood." Wizards. Go figure.
Svarshan makes a coughing noise as he hauls the beast along as well. There are clanging noises and squelching noises as the thing is placed on the hooks and readied for...Myrana's expert footstool usage... Though after a while, the deed is done. And indeed, there is a nice-sized tuft of...gristly fur not too far from Mikilos' no-doubt wizardly foot.
Raethon chuckles softly. "I walk into the strangest circumstances." He says before looking to Mikilos and raises his staff to him, then looking for his tea again.
Bursting from the kitchen now after the hubbub with the Owlbear, Hilal intones sternly, "I heard someone order soup. Who the hell ordered soup!?" He is one angry panda.
Mikilos raises a hand. "-Spice- soup."
Myrana draws a mug from one of the yellow-painted tabs behind the counter. The liquid that comes out is a bright amber colour, and froths actively as she slides the cup toward Markus. "Here you are--" she says, and then shakes her head at Mikilos. "Not this early I'm afraid, though I could make it later." She pauses and taps her lips with a finger, watching the broom dance. Wizards! "As long as the Oxleys don't drag themselves out of bed today. It is actually easier to run this place without them." A loud tearing squelch interrupts her from the kitchens, and she casts her gaze upwards, as if questioning the gods. "Most of the time."
Then she climbs back up, her head and shoulders dissapearing behind the cabinets that hang over the bar counter as she reaches up there. Furtive clinks sound, and then she climbs down with a dark glass bottle with a heavy stopper. The smell that comes out of it is acrid, almost spice-like, with a distinct metallic undertone. The whiskey itself is actually black in the small glass that she pours it into, with a film of blue atop that sparkles like metal shavings.
"Mister Hilal," she scowls toward the big Veyshanti man. "If I make soup, it will be good soup, and I will make it because there are people who want to eat it!" She scolds.
Spices and Myrana's cooking...which undoubtedly makes it Tasty. Soup. Svarshan comes lumbering in after Hilal, though lacking the hefty non-khazadi's energy. He instead looks like someone who'd just eaten tasty soup. And is now ready for a good, long dea--
--nap.
Myrana pauses.
Myrana looks over at Svarshan suspiciously.
"...Svarshan, did you happen to see the big pot of today's soup developing on the stove back there?" Myrana asks, suspiciously.
Markus accepts the mug of ale in silence, sipping from it thoughtfully and eyeballing the strangers about. He pauses a moment, then glances sharply towards Myrana, "Oxleys?" He frowns, then palms his face, "Ox-Strength Tavern. I should've remembered that little detail."
At first, he's surprised by being called "Mister" but then Hilal shrugs that off and raises his hands in defeat. "Fine! Soup! Soup for everyone! Full on rounds of soup for everyone in the Inn!" He says, exasperated. His normally pretty zen attitude has broken as he settles down back at his seat at the bar. "Just polished this armor, too...."
Mikilos nods in acceptance at the lack of spice, agreement in quality, and thanks for the whiskey. It's an all-purpose nod. Picking up the shot, the wizard smiles, and blows lightly across the surface. The brief flare of tiny flames is how you know it's the -good- stuff. A silent toast, a swift gulp, and a few moments fighting the gax reflex... "Mmmm, good. Thank you. Well, no soup, happen to just have some chilis?" The elf inquires, eyes watering just a little.
Svarshan looks over happily. I gave you farting, rainbow unicorns, that look says. Followed by: I am totally getting a lot of stew. And then Myrana gives him That Glare and he sort of stills as, despite being a paladin, there's some wisdom there...and looks over towards the rest of the crowd. And towards Hilal. And... "He ssaid it was haunted. I will be back this evening to perform an exorcissm." Very solemnly. Very, voice warm and...of course he will perform an exorcism on the soup. It is the Right Thing to Do.
Poor Myrana.
He looks to Markus then, and, "Welcome to the Ox," solemnly.
Myrana just puts her face in her hands and her elbows on the bar with a quiet -thump-.
Markus glances to Myrana, brow raised, "I'm suddenly getting the impression this isn't exactly an unusual day for you."
Raethon raises his staff to Markus in greeting as his tea is placed next to him. 'Well, if you want food...." He says somewhat bluntly just before he sips his tea. He then chuckles to Markus. "Believe me, some of the adventures are pretty crazy as well. If you're in the adventurers guild that is."
Hilal grumbles about adventures for a second. "I got flushed down the sewer once and then nearly killed by undead that were being stitched back together by moss as we cut them. In the sewers!" He sighs and shakes his head.
Mikilos shrugs mildly to Hilal. "You'd expect them at street level instead?"
"They tend to sstay below the earth," Svarshan supplies helpfully. He smiles warmly at Myrana before heading slowly towards one of the tables, and then pulling out a chair for himself. It scrapes the floor, then groans as he sits in it.
He does not add, 'And in soup.' Because. Despite being a paladin, there is some intelligence there.
Myrana gives a sound that's somewhere between an exasperated laugh and a sob. "At least the Oxleys aren't here yet," she says into her hands. Then, sucking in courage and air, she straightens up, her braids bristling with determination. "I need to skin and pluck that owlbear so that there is something to eat since-- since the soup has been-- since Svarshan brought me that owlbear." It sounds like she's trying to motivate herself, and she's rolling up her sleeves past her elbows as she does so. Balling her hands up into fists, she purses her lips and nods to no-one in particular before pausing, seeming to catch up to something a little late. "You know the Oxleys?" She asks Markus, sympathetically.
Mikilos hrmms. "If you'd like a hand, just ask." She is the One Who Brings Booze. Helping is the least he can do. But honestly, the best help he might do is to stay out of the way.
"It is my great personal misfortune to have to say "yes" to that question." Markus replies to Myrana, "Thankfully not very well, but I've run across a few of them in the course of my work." He sips from his ale again, "Nothing deadly serious...just a tendency to end up being a well-timed inconvenience to deal with."
Svarshan leans against the chair--he'd sat on it backwards, needing room for a tail--and looks content. And supplies, "Ssa. She has chased them out with broomsticks." Pause. "Alsso lit them on fire. Wizard, one might sspeak with you of fire-proofing the place. Jusst in case." He gives Mikilos a quiet, solemn look that perhaps contains mutual understanding: we must protect the booze.
"I have lit their clothes on fire," says Myrana, her decency offended.
Svarshan taps his claws on the back of the chair, not commenting.
"Help would be appreciated," says Myrana. "After its had time to, erm. Drain."
Myrana sips her coffee. And then fills a wooden tankard with stout and steps out from behind the bar to bring it to Svarshan, apron strings waving with her skirts. "If we dry half of it we can put it up. I'll make sausages and cut steaks and use most of it for stew." She offers the mug to Svarshan, giving him a mild, but slightly sheepish stinkeye. "Thank you for the owlbear, Svarshan."
Myrana says, "Even /though/"
Myrana says, "I nearly died of fright."
Hilal has disconnected.
Myrana says, "And you got... stuff. All over my tavern."
Markus looks thoroughly amused, glancing between Svarshan and Myrana, "You lit their clothes on fire? I like you better already." He takes another swallow of ale and regards Svarshan intently for a moment, "So...what exactly possessed you to rush out and slay an owlbear to drag back here?"
Mikilos nods to Myrana, setteling down to wait. He nods in agreement to Svarshan, but makes a vauge wave gesture. Sure, it's a nice idea, but no one could actaully make this place fire proof. ...could they?
Could they?
The wizard frowns thoughtfully, and stands, peering at the rafters and support beams with new intrest. He has A Project To Work On.
...you might want to stand back.
Svarshan lifts the tankard in a salute to Markus, and points silently to Myrana, who had just mentioned sentences with 'sausage' and 'steak.' As if to punctuate it, he yawns hugely and licks his maw before lifting the drink and taking a whiff of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he eyes the wizard who... who...
Uh. Oh.
Raethon purposefully moves his way next to Markus and, with a tap of his staff, immediately erects a minor barrier around the both of them. "Pardon me." he says to Markus.....
Myrana blinks, sensing a prickle go up her back. And looks over at Mikilos suspiciously as he's looking up into the rafters.
Myrana says, "What are you doing?"
Up in the naked rafters, each of them pitted and scorched and stained from fires and tobacco smoke, it is very dark. No light has pierced the beams in some time. Yet, as Mikilos looks... something... /stirs/.
Markus glances to Raethon and tilts his head curiously, "What are-...oh." Markus frowns as he eyes Mikilos looking far too intent on something indeterminate for anyone's good. "This whole chain of events isn't going to get any more sedate any time soon, is it?"
Mikilos hrrms absently, reaching awkwardly over his shoulder to fish some parchment out of his pack. "Oh, just pondering a- *murmur* *murmur* raw stone supports *something unintelligible* dragon scales *mutter*." Gestureing, the parchement hangs in the air by the elf, while he scrawls some notes across the surface. "Say, Myrana, if you were to rebuild this place from scratch... what would you change?" Sure, it technically belongs to the Oxleys, and is their call... but honestly, who cares about them?
Svarshan taps his fingers along the top of his chair and then gets up in a similar way. Only he bends down and sort of...
Well. Myrana is not exactly a sack of potatoes. For one, she KICKS a lot more.
Viciously.
So, while gaining little indents in his stomach, he hauls them back over behind the bar while Mikilos is...saying horrible. Terrifying. Things.
"Oh, I suppose I would make my apartment upstairs much bigger. And I'd block up all the gutters in the kitchen so rats can't get in so easy, and-- Yah!" Myrana yelps, swearing at Svarshan in a horrified sort of way that has more to do with offended sensibilities than actual terror-- if he really was going to eat her, she would have been lizard-stew long ago-- but she still kicks him several times, demanding to be put down. "I will make the sausages later you big dummy!" She's saying, missing the actual danger, which is of course the way a wizard is looking at her cieling.
Mikilos blinks absently as Myrana yelps, peering about the reactions of various peoples... "...oh. No no, I'm not going to do anything -now-. I don't have enough supplies to do anything -intresting-."
Svarshan puts her down behind the counter and then quietly points to Mikilos. Except Myrana seems to have missed this entirely. And then Mikilos says more terrifying things. He blinks and sort of... "We sshould enjoy the...drinks," he says solemnly. And then warmly, "I am ssure you will come up with something later." He glances over at the others, and back again. Unspoken is, he intends to drink the sildanyari under the the table. Hopefully. He'll forget about it...and not come up with something, you know. Interesting.
Svarshan has left.
Raethon looks up to Markus and smiles. "I wouldn't bet on it." he then holds out his free hand. "I am Raethon. Abjurer."
Markus smiles, offering his hand to Raethon and shaking it firmly, "Markus Cassomir, Investigator. A pleasure, Master Raethon." He does glance back up towards the rafters, squinting a bit as though he too made out that hint of movement in the shadows above.
Mikilos resumes his seat, nodding to the remaining pair. "Mikilos Mithralla, Builder Arcane." Follwoing the others gaze to the rafter shadows, he shrugs. "Probably Rum, the cat. Or maybe the spiders. Posibally a feral halfling. But certainly nothing to be worried about."
Raethon says, "I'd put money on the cat though." He then smiles to Mikilos and waves again, before sipping his tea. But then looks to Markus again. "Investiagor? What in particular, do you investigate?""
"Whatever people need or pay me for, roughly in that order." Markus replies, sipping from his ale and smiling, "The Watch-Constables can't be everywhere, and there are certain places and people that they have a tendency to..." He hesitates a moment, "not assign significant resources to. That's where I come in."
Mikilos nods. "More than a few Guild jobs that fall into that line. I don't really specialize, myself. Professionally, I mean. In my free hours, prefer to work on modes of creation, hence my chosen title."
"What exactly do you tend to create, then?" Markus asks, tilting his head curiously in-between sips of ale. "I've circled the idea of seeking membership in the Guild a few times. Haven't quite followed through on it."
Raethon says, "it's a good place to start. if anything." He then downs the rest of his tea and starts to walk on out. "See you guys later...""
Mikilos waves fare well to Raethon, before turning his focus to Markus. "Magical arms and armor, mostly. A few items of wonderous enchantments, but mostly weapons. I do mundane crafts as well, but they don't tend to pay as well. As for the Guild, I highly recomend it. Quite profitable, a wide range of intresting tasks, good networking of skilled peoples, and if there's anything to which you specifically object, you're perfectly free to opt out. Of course, it is dangerous, but if being safe were your thing, likely wouldn't be considering it in the first place."
"No, I'm not adverse to a little danger. Often seems to come with the territory." Markus replies, nodding to Mikilos as he describes his art, adding with a smile, "And Fireproof taverns?"
Mikilos grins, and takes a swift look around. "Well, not yet, but I have a few ideas. Mostly just repalcing the existing structure with stone. Hard bit will be doing so inexpensively, swift enough to not disrupt busniess. Wasn't too long back the place underwent major renovations already."
Raethon has left.
Myrana continues to pour drinks for the two, as well as the handful of patrons who come in in the meanwhile. Mostly though, because she is the only person here (thank goodness, considering who her 'staff' is), she's working away at a pile of vegetables. Cutting onions and carrots and potatoes and turnips with a big damask knife. They go into a gargantuan copper stockpot in waves.
"Mister Mikilos made the freezing stones for my icechest," says Myrana, mincing garlic.
Mikilos nods absently. "They seem to work much better than the heatstones I tried for the winter shelters. Those have a bad habit of cracking after a few days, still not sure why." He ponders a few moments, absently doodeling on his parchment of notes. "How bad do the rats tend to get, anyway? I know a few always show up, but I've never really noticed an excess here." Which might have something to do with the skilled, but bored, dart players.
Myrana looks up from the garlic, sticking a slightly haunted look at Mikilos through her bangs. "I can hear them from my apartment." The rats come in through the downstairs kitchen grate. Myrana lives above the Ox in a second storey apartment. They are big.
Mikilos nods, pondering. "Well, the trash and muck needs to go somewhere, much as might like to eliminate the grate altogether. A few wards wouldn't hurt, though they tend to just go around. I'm guessing Rum isn't the greatest of mousers." Mikilos frowns thoughtfully a few moments. "Roughly how much food does the Ox go thru in a day?"
Markus seems to have fallen silent, but clearly seems to be paying attention to the conversation. He finishes off his first mug of ale, and starts on a second when Myrana refills it.
"Oh, I don't know..." Myrana dumps the garlic into the pot, along with some bundled herbs plucked from the wreathes on the cieling before being tied up. "During the winter a lot more. But in the summer? I'd say... Seven pounds of meat, Twenty of dried beans and lentils..." She does math in her head, taking a seat on the 'tender's stool behind hte bar, hitching one knee over the other with a rustle of petticoats. "About a bushel of potatoes and onions and... " she pauses. "A lot."
Myrana says, "A lot of people come through after dark."
Azog has arrived.
Myrana says, "I don't know what the Oxleys go through, if anything. I try to cook as much as I can when they're not here so that nobody gets food poisoning."
Mikilos nods in complete understanding. "I think they go thru less food, but also throw less away. Things that really -should- be thrown away." He ponders a few moments more. "How do you feel about otyugh? Better than rats?"
Azog heads into this ocean of gloom and takes a look around. He looks a step above most of the lowlifes, if only because he wears expensive armor and carries a tower shield, with a sable cloth draped over it. He understands this is local slang for knights incognito, but mainly it keeps the mithril from being obvious. He makes his way towards the bar.
Myrana stares at Mikilos.
Myrana looks up past the elf and waves with a smile to Azog, who is one of her favourite customers, mostly because he rarely starts fights and people are wary of hitting him with chairs, and so she suffers less replacement fees when he's around. "What can I get you?" She looks back at Mikilos and gives the wizard a mild stinkeye. "Oytughs have no place anywhere near a kitchen, mister Wizard."
"Actually I think I've heard of establishments using them for disposal." Markus notes towards Myrana. "Not -in- the kitchen, obviously. But if you happen to have one living in the sewers nearby...they're usually not too much of a threat if they're kept well-fed."
Mikilos blinks mildly. "We can put in a basement. With a small grate. Too small for an otyugh to get thru, but all the trash can go down. And no rats. If it's a no go, that's fine, I'm just brainstorming here."
Azog is surprised to be a valued customer, but there is, perhaps, honor in that. "Ale and stew," he says, being a simple eater. From a culture that doesn't use refrigeration or freshness, he's more than used to eating things a few days past their freshness dates, and he's got the right bugs in his stomach to deal with the extra yuck, no problem. It doesn't even occur to him that there might be people who, used to eating only fresh food and clean vegetables, would wind up with the trots from a meal here. He frowns at Markus and Mikilos, and says, "Please, even I know not to put a midden in the kitchen."
"They just... have a way of getting -up-," says Myrana, slightly green at the thought of using an Otyugh. Like many adventurers, she's spent way too much time in sewer systems. "And into things." She gets down a clean tankard of thick glass and fills it up with ale for Azog: "I'm actually still making the stew," she says apologetically. "I'm afraid Svarshan came and ate all of what I had left over."
Myrana gestures to the stockpot, which she is filling with vegetables and garlic and so on.
Mikilos nods, and ponders. "I- ...no... that would be a bad idea. Was thinking if Rum isn't a mouser, perhaps if he were given an enchanted collar. But I honestly can't see that ending well."
It is at precisely that moment that Rum drops out of the rafters with a PLAT!! onto the counter, like a fat spider.
Boshter has arrived.
Markus turns and glances at Rum as he lands, frowning a bit over the rim of his mug, "Is that a...Cat?"
Mikilos nods. "More or less."
Azog takes the ale, and shrugs off the wait. "If he was hungry, I'm glad he ate. He doesn't take care of himself more often than not. I will wait." He hrms at Mikilos and looks at the thing that just came out of the rafters. He draws his sword calmly. Well, it's a monster, yes?
Rain has arrived.
Myrana jumps a little when this happens, but Rum does this fairly often. Usually because he falls asleep in a perch somewhere high above and then ends up rolling over and falling onto the floor or tables. Putting a hand over her heart, she heaves a sigh of relief, swearing a little under her breath. Meanwhile Rum uncurls from his stunned spider impression, blinks owlish orange eyes, and then rolls onto hinder and proceeds to clean himself innapropriately. Yes. That was on purpose, of course.
"It's just my famil-- No! Nono its nothing, er--!!" She flaps her hands worriedly at Azog. "It's a cat! Rum!"
Rum shakes himself, emitting a small cloud of spores, and then hops down with a loud thump to the floor.
"He's just very ugly. I try to get the moss and mushrooms out, but they always grow back."
Mikilos tsks mildly, wiggeling his fingers at the little green thing. He touches reagents all the time, so getting Rum spores on his hands is nothing. He likes cats. He likes rum. So the elf is fairly fond on the little green mutant. "He's harmless. Well, unless you have a sensitive nose. Or allergies."
"Well. That's unusual." Markus comments quite neutrally, glancing towards Azog and raising his mug of ale, "I suppose you won't be needing that." He cocks his head, indicating the fellow's now-bared blade. Fortunately allergies don' seem to be a serious problem for him. Or at least not towards those particular spores.
Azog blinks at ... Rum? He'll sheath his sword with a shrug to Markus, but he says, "I thought it was a sort of mutant rat." He winces at the spores, and suggests, "That can't be healthy. For us for for him."
Myrana waves them away from her face. "I found him like this. As far as I know, he's healthy." She doesn't address the potential health hazards to the people -around- the horrible creature, who rubs against Mikilos' leg, leaving a powdery green smear before ambling off through the tables.
"Oh!" suddenly, Myrana seems to remember something. "I have some salametti, mister Azog, if you're very hungry. Its just hanging back here." Saying this, she steps up onto the hidden footstool and takes down a string of dry salamis the size of pickling cucumbers. "And there's pickles. Here," she sets one down, cutting it from the string and producing a slender knife from her apron. Slicing it open, the hard, dry meat is pocketed with fat cells and full of pepper and garlic. She cuts very thin slices, almost transparant, and peels off the protective rind before setting them on the cutting board where they can be picked up. "I forgot I had this. Actually, Svarshan brought me a owlbear earlier, so there'll be a lot extra." She turns a little red. "He's always bringing me things. I hardly know what to do with it all, so I started making salami and other dried sausages. Not like last summer, when I just tried salting it all. What a nightmare."
Myrana says, "So you're an investigator, mister Markus?"
Myrana says, "Are you here checking up on the Oxleys?"
Myrana says, "Because I don't think any of them are awake yet after the brawls last night. I caught Finneous trying to sell beer on the outsides of the fights."
Mikilos eyes the sliced meats with no small intrest, ready to sample a piece as soon as it seems prudent. Myrana has a knife, after all. "I suppose better than inside the fights. Though not by much."
"No, actually I was supposed to meet someone here, but they've yet to arrive. I suspect they may have seen your friend dragging the Owlbear in here and decided it wasn't worth the potential trouble." Markus replies, watching Rum pad around a bit curiously and shrugging. "Not the first time. So far the Oxleys haven't managed to actually be suspected of any of the incidents I've looked into. They've just hovered at he outskirts and occasionally made things inconvenient."
Azog isn't famished, but he won't say no to owlbear salami, either. "Thank you. Much honor to Svarshan for supplying meat here in hard times. The people of this city to not eat enough meat." This being an oruch view. He hrms about Oxleys and fights and investigations. "What's that all about?" he wonders.
Myrana says, "They're never up to any good."
Mikilos ponders a few moments. "No no Myrana, that isn't true. The Oxley occasionally bring about good to the city. Strictly by accident, of course, but it still happens."
"They're simply among the most disagreeable people alive, from what I've seen." Markus notes to Azog before another drink of ale. At Mikilos' comment he barks a short laugh, but doesn't offer any additonal comment.
Azog offers a shrug about these Oxleys, and suggests, "If they are evil, turn them into the city authorities? I know you do not slay evil people out of hand here. This confuses me, but I think I understand the process."
Mikilos shakes his head, looking to Markus and Azog. "No, the Oxley are the most disagreeable people who very quite do anything wrong enough to justify their imprisionment (for more than a night), or execution. They aren't evil, (so far as anyone has been able to prove), just very very annoying and disagreeable."
"I'd just like it if they'd stop going thorugh my...things," Myrana mutters as she slices the salametti. Soon the whole salametti is sliced into whisper-thin slices, both spicy and fatty and nicely dried, and then wipes the little knife and rolls it safely into her apron. "I'll be back momentarily!" She says, picking up the HuGE stockpot full of stew fixings with a grunt.
Rain comes in almost as if drawn. Crowds attract crowds, after all. Since this is her first time here, perhaps she's seeing what a wretched hive of scum and villany it is. Why, it's exploding in spores and fungus at the very least.
Azog peers at Mikilos, and says, "See, I do not see why that is tolerated. In my tribe if you are not evil enough to slay, but disagreeable and do not carry your share of the work, we leave you behind when we move on, and you can see how you like fending for yourself." He gazes with anticipation at the food, nodding to Myrana as she departs, though he wonders, "If they go through your things, is that not a crime, even to the law officers of this city?" He is sitting at the bar, sipping ale.
Mikilos raps upon the unmoving bartop. "Harder to leave folks behind when the place doesn't move. Though heavens know it's been tried."
Myrana pauses at the swing-bar doors that lead into the kitchen, arms shaking a little with the weight of the stockpot full of vegetables. "Oh-- oh it is but-- it is a little law, the police do not care very much." She espies Rain and smiles, unable to wave. "Welcome! Go have some salametti! I'll be right back." And she pushes through to the kitchen an ddissapears.
"Yes, but there are only so many Constables, and because of that their attention tends to be turned towards more serious crimes." Markus grimaces, "Or to more prestigious environs." Markus notes, "Though I suppose I can't complain too much. I wouldn't likely find much work, otherwise."
The door to the Ox-Strength Tavern bursts open and Boshter appears! The Arvek Nar begins to make his way /right/ towards Myrana, cheerfully. Just like that. Whatever else she's up to is about to be interrupted.
Azog grimaces. And when a seven-foot oruch grimaces, things get ugly. "So, people are allowed to commit crimes and the watch are too busy to act? Then what is the point of having laws? This seems foolish?" He does admit, "Yes, I agree you cannot move away, but can you not drive off the worthless people?" He looks over at the onslaught of Boshter. "Hello."
Rain asks, "Salametti?" but it appears to be too late. Still, she can figure out that it's the meat, and that's always a bonus. It will start her meal right, and no doubt with a beverage to go with it. Something ale-like no doubt.
Mikilos helps out as best he can. Which is to put himself between boshter and Myrana. It may not stop the huggoblin, but it might slow him down. "Hello Boshter! Can you help explain to Azog here why the Oxley are still around, please?"
Myrana takes one look at Boshter over her shoulder and -really- vanishes into the kitchen. In fact there is a bang inside as she probably puts the pot down to speed her temporary escape.
"Crime is a certainty in any society with a modicum of freedom. It's not something that can be abolished, only managed." Markus inclines his head towards Azog, "Some clearly manage to do so better than others, but you've seen the City." He gestures, indicating, well, the city. "I would imagine the larger your tribes become, the more crimes tend to be committed, no? No different from here. And those are only the crimes that are discovered and reported."
Azog looks between Boshter, Mikilos, and the door Myrana just left through. "Is something the matter?" he wonders. He's only a little less confused about Rain, having seen the salami-thing. To Markus, he says, "Oh, crimes can be committed all the time. The problem is, you do not deal with them when they are discovered, and the people who are on the spot do not deal with crime in an expedient manner. This lets people think they can get away with things. If people dealt with crime when it happened, and dealt with it more effectively, then there would be less crime." Certainly less once Azog was done dealing with people effectively.
There can be no escape from the Wendi-Boshter! He makes his way into the kithchen, then, calling out, "No! Nothing to matter! Myrana just prefers to be hugged in the kitchen, it would appear!" And with that, he's going into the kitchen, dissapearing after her.
Rain must comment quietly, "If you're training a puppy, you can only punish him when you catch him in the act. Do it afterwards, and he has no way to link the punishment with the act."
"Oh hi Boshter!" Comes Myrana's voice from the kitchen. "Haha fancy seeing you here as you can see I have my hands full of Owlbear and so you shouldn't hug me because AUGHHHKK!!"
Mikilos shrugs. "Puppies are dumb. Then again, so are most criminals."
"Ah, but dealing with crime swiftly and harshly only insures that the smart and effective criminals remain in the long run. Which isn't necessarily an improvement." Markus notes, sipping from his ale, "Either way, all the barroom discussion in the world isn't likely to change the laws of the City or the operations of the Watch-Constables anytime soon."
Azog nods at what Rain says, disagreeing with Mikilos. "People are much like puppies. Though generally /not/ as smart. People reason better than puppies, but a puppy will bite your hand if you take its food. People will just sulk and complain and wait for someone to come and give them more. Or steal from someone else, which causes more grief rather than helping anything." Because it takes a very brave thief to try and steal from Azog. Not that he's hugely observant, though he's been trying harder lately. He shrugs to Markus. "Perhaps we will come to a solution that can be brought to people's attention?" he says optimistically.
"But you love hugs!" Boshter can be heard calling out from the kitchen. A little while later, he emerges looking pleased. "I give good hugs," he proclaims.
Mikilos nods in idle agreement. "Good hugs, poor timeing. What do you think of petty crime?"
Myrana emerges a little while later, having feathers in her hair from cleaning the owlbear and preparing at least some of it for cooking-- the actual task of plucking and skinning the beast will be one for multiple people and a few hours. Good smells are starting to come from the kitchen-- a phenomenon which only occurs when Myrana is working and the Oxleys are blessedly otherwise occupied.
On the bar is a cuttingboard with tasty salametti sliced very very thin. Myrana brings with her a loaf of bread and a wheel of hard white cheese which she serves to go with the dried sausage, since the stew isn't ready. To go with it she pours tart cider that tastes very strongly of cinnamon and is a strong red colour, with a distressingly pink foam head.
Myrana has been out of town for months and months on a business trip, only recently returned, so she listens to the gossip avidly while she works to keep everyone fed and in their cups, cleaning and keeping her hands busy the whole time.
"I think the City is largely set in its' ways, my friend." Markus comments to Azog. "So it falls to people like you and I and I presume the others gathered here to help those that may not find the justice they seek from the officials of law."
Rain mmms, cheese. There's nothing to go better with a fine (well, it's fine for what theyserve here) ale.
Azog peers suspiciously at Boshter. But he says, "Well done." He looks over to see Boshter's reaction to Mikilos's question. He allows a slow nod to Markus, replying, "This is not how it should be, but it is how it is. So we must make do. I feel a guilt when I take action for another's benefit. I have stolen honor that was justly theirs, had they reached out to take it. But they do not." He shrugs, whick with his heavy armor draws a scraping sound from his pauldrons. He, also, will partake of the hors d'oevres.
Azog yawns heavily, and leaves a few coins on the bar before heading off.
Azog has disconnected.
Mikilos mmmms absently. "Of course, what is law, what if just, and what is right, are not always the same thing. Usually, but not always."
Markus watches Azog wander off, then moves over to swipe some of the salametti, tasting it experimentally before shrugging, "If that's Owlbear, it's not bad at all." He then goes to try for the bread/cheese/salami pileup. And even tries a bit of the pink-frothed cider. As Mikilos makes his comment, Markus expression seems to dim -just- a bit and he murmurs, "All too true."
Rain says, "Good eating on a bear. On an owl, not so much. All feathers, really."
"I think criminals should be punched very hard! In Blar, they would be punched /even harder/," says Boshter, firmly, watching Azog depart. "He is a very strange Oruch," he adds, in a stage-whisper. A sif he's anyone to talk, being likely what most would consider a strange Hobgoblin.
Myrana just gives Boshter a glower.
Myrana says, "Well, not a lot of constables come in here."
Mikilos says, "Fewer come out again."
"I can imagine. Most of them drink at my family's place, anyhow." Markus notes, looking towards Boshter and chuckling a bit but not commenting, before glancing over to Rain, "A lady of the wilds, then?"
Myrana has the decency to look embarrassed at Mikilos' observation.
Rain smiles a bit bashfully. "A small-town girl, at least. I doubt I qualify as a lady of the wilds compared to everyone here with their animal friends."
Mikilos grins, and shrugs. "Of the many over the years, one less counts as fewer."
"I think the only animal friend we have present at the moment is the very green cat that was wandering about earlier, and no disrespect to the barmaid, but I don't quite suspect that she's the woodswoman sort unless pressed." Markus notes with a chuckle towards Rain. "Either way, I'd wager you're far more so than myself. I've spent most of my life here in the City."
Myrana smiles sheepishly. "No, I'm pretty awful in the wilds."
Myrana says, "During the war when we'd be sent out to scout, I was always tripping over everything."
Rain smiles. "I do admit that I'm pretty good at hide-and-go-seek in the woods."
Mikilos shrugs. "I cheat. Invisibility helps."
"I'd imagine so." Markus says with no small degree of sardonic tone towards Mikilos, though there's no -actual- venom in it. He looks back to Rain, tliting his head curiously as he sips from the cider, "So what brings you to the city? Seeking your fortune?"
Rain smiles brightly. Maybe she's blushing but you'd never see it on her dark skin. "Exactly my phrasing to my mother! So yes. She did the same when she was about my age - well, a little older, as she wouldn't let me forget. In any case, I train as a warrior of the Butterfly school and one gets to that point where the teachers kick you out and say, "Go get in some real fights!"
Myrana takes a swallow of her coffee, glad that her bar isn't full when Rain says that. Her usual clientele are terrible, brawly people.
Myrana has disconnected.
Mikilos ponders. "I don't think I've even been instructed to get into more fights. Or less. Learned quite early to avoid them. Too many girls quite able and willing to kick my ass."
"Well, there's something to be said for the value of practical experience." Markus sighs, "Well, as pleasant as the food and as interesting as the conversation has been, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take my leave. It appears my prospective client isn't going to show." He shrugs a bit, then smiles towards those assembled, "It's been a pleasure." He notes, "And incidentally if any of you find yourselves in need of my particular variety of services, messages can be sent to the Stone's Throw Inn near the Markets."
Rain says, "Do have a fine night... I'm Rain by the way."
Markus inclines his head towards Rain, "Markus Cassomir, Freelance Investigator." And after a bright smile, he turns and heads towards the door.
"It was very nice meeting you!" Boshter says that to Markus in a booming, entirely too loud voice. Loud like his orange skin. He makes his way towards Rain and then says, "Hello again! I hope you have been training well! Have you been punching things very hard?"
Rain smiles. "Reasonably hard! Mostly I have been dodging successfully!"
Mikilos winces slightly, and nods firmly. "Dodging is a very important part of the process. Failure to do so has a bad habit of ending the process."
Markus has left.
Rain says, "And I did a bit of good wrestling, holding one fellow down so he could be shot and another so he could be stabbed in the back."
Mikilos yawns, and sets a few coin on the bartop. "I'd best be off. Fare well."
- TinyMUX Disconnected ***