"Eh, lass, get ye to da kitchen, quiet like, and stay there. I dunna want
ye hangin about with the likes of these," whispered Jaemath, motioning
Arialla to keep her head low behind the long bar that ran the length of one
common room wall. A phlegmatic man by nature, Jaemath wasn't often given
to flights of emotion--but a sinking feeling of fear had filled him the
moment the strangers had descended on his bustling tavern.
Fancy it be Foresight, he thought with a sense of wry humor. Hmph. Purty soon I'm goin ta start paradin round in front o'arrows like one o'em fool white coats. Even start bathin reg'lar like. Sherna's shoes, no wonder 'em lads die young, that much waterin can't be good fer no bit. Body just bain't built fer it. Funny...it always be da smallest bits o' fluff help ta keep a man thinkin.
As the group of thugs settled themselves at a table, Jaemath switched from simple rumminations to deep observation. His sharp eyes didn't miss a beat: from the darkly sinister sneer on the face of a brown mountain of a man to the dexterity of a fighter tossing about an eating knife.
Chatting with various customers before approaching the table of strangers gave Jaemath time to assess the strangers. Trained through years of hard battle, he felt confident that he could at least approximate the skill of most fighters. Six altogether, four looked fairly similar in their broad and burly builds. They were rather unremarkable: dark haired, sweaty, and scarred like every other merc he knew. In fact, they looked like they could have been any of the seasoned fighters Jaemath had served with during his last years with the 'Claws. Except that those mercs had been professionals, through and through. These lot had a wild look in their eyes that revealed a definite lack of discipline.
The fifth, a brown man, would stand out in any crowd for sheer size alone-- towering over his four companions, even when sitting. However, the stranger was also the single most mono-colored person Jaemath had ever seen. Everything about him, from his hair to his hands, was a single shade of deep brown. Only his eyes, a startling green, stood out in sharp contrast. The effect would have made the man a strikingly handsome specimen, had he not been wearing a sneer more appropriate on a four-year old.
Jaemath hadn't even noticed there was a sixth man at first glance. For the man, or more appropriately--the boy, couldn't have been more than twelve. Positively tiny compared to his compatriots, he had initially been hidden from Jaemath's veiw. With a liquid gold mop set atop a round face, with two huge Companion-blue eyes, the lad looked nothing short of a cherub come to life. Swathed in obviously expensive clothing, Jaemath had almost thought that the others had kidnapped the poor child. Almost. It was obvious to him that the others were paying the young boy a great deal of deference. Jaemath couldn't figure out why, until he took a closer look at the boy's eyes. The face might have been angelic, but a demon waited behind those so-innocent eyes. The cold malevolence in those depths shook Jaemath to the core like few things in his life ever had.
They're an odd bunch ta be together, definitely be up to no good. he concluded as he began to walk toward the group. Suddenly, the boy turned to fix Jaemath with those disquieting eyes. Jaemath felt as if they bored through him--searching his soul--and knew without a doubt that this child was one who enjoyed causing pain, and had the power to do do so.
"Eh. Evenin ta ye. Town rules be that no man kin carry more'n an eatin knife in any drinkin place, so I would be most appreciat'd if ye'd turn in yer weapons. I dun want no trouble, run a nice clean place here. Ye'll get 'em back whenever yer wanting ta leave." Jaemath almost winced in anticipation of the angry reactions, but the law was the law. If he was caught with armed people in his tavern, he could be permanently shut down. Besides, most of the villages in the area had similar regulations, so the demand couldn't have been new to the strangers.
"Don't worry so much old man. Me and the lads aren't after any sort of trouble." Drawled the Angel in a youthful but silky voice. He looked around at each of his fellows in a jaunty fashion, titling his chair back and thunking exquisitely crafted leather boots on the table. "We just want to have a little fun is all."
"An that be fine with me sirs. But the law says that ye need to give me yer weapons afore I can serve ye," replied Jaemath emphatically. By now, a couple of his custom had already started to trickle out, uncomfortable around the hardened newcomers. These hooligans were not good for business, but it would be courting trouble to try and kick them out.
"Alright, alright. Take our weapons then." Capitulated the Angel, tossing a long knife onto the floor near Jaemath's feet. All but the brown man followed suit. With an exaggerated sigh, the young boy began to speak slowly and loudly to the brown man. "Hosh, food. Give...pointy... sticks...to...man."
Hosh glared at the younger man, obviously annoyed. However, he threw down his weapons with a mummbled "m'lord."
So the lad's a m'lord, hmm. Explains a lot. Meyhaps this won't be too bad a situation then. Spoiled lil brat I kin handle, thought Jaemath as he bent down to collect the weapons. There were quite a few pieces, and no few of them were well used. He would definitely have to be wary of this group when they got deep into their cups.
"Since you have our weapons, bring us your finest foods. Ales for my lads and wine for me. GOOD wine."
Little bugger's too young for ANY wine, if you asks me. To bad I dun know Papa M'lord. Would suggest a good strip to hide, mused Jaemath--outwardly he nodded and walked back toward the bar with the weapons. But who was he, a humble tavern owner, to say no to a lordling? 'Sides, if I give 'em what they be wantin, mebe they'll get their dammed ugly tales out of my tavern.
Fancy it be Foresight, he thought with a sense of wry humor. Hmph. Purty soon I'm goin ta start paradin round in front o'arrows like one o'em fool white coats. Even start bathin reg'lar like. Sherna's shoes, no wonder 'em lads die young, that much waterin can't be good fer no bit. Body just bain't built fer it. Funny...it always be da smallest bits o' fluff help ta keep a man thinkin.
As the group of thugs settled themselves at a table, Jaemath switched from simple rumminations to deep observation. His sharp eyes didn't miss a beat: from the darkly sinister sneer on the face of a brown mountain of a man to the dexterity of a fighter tossing about an eating knife.
Chatting with various customers before approaching the table of strangers gave Jaemath time to assess the strangers. Trained through years of hard battle, he felt confident that he could at least approximate the skill of most fighters. Six altogether, four looked fairly similar in their broad and burly builds. They were rather unremarkable: dark haired, sweaty, and scarred like every other merc he knew. In fact, they looked like they could have been any of the seasoned fighters Jaemath had served with during his last years with the 'Claws. Except that those mercs had been professionals, through and through. These lot had a wild look in their eyes that revealed a definite lack of discipline.
The fifth, a brown man, would stand out in any crowd for sheer size alone-- towering over his four companions, even when sitting. However, the stranger was also the single most mono-colored person Jaemath had ever seen. Everything about him, from his hair to his hands, was a single shade of deep brown. Only his eyes, a startling green, stood out in sharp contrast. The effect would have made the man a strikingly handsome specimen, had he not been wearing a sneer more appropriate on a four-year old.
Jaemath hadn't even noticed there was a sixth man at first glance. For the man, or more appropriately--the boy, couldn't have been more than twelve. Positively tiny compared to his compatriots, he had initially been hidden from Jaemath's veiw. With a liquid gold mop set atop a round face, with two huge Companion-blue eyes, the lad looked nothing short of a cherub come to life. Swathed in obviously expensive clothing, Jaemath had almost thought that the others had kidnapped the poor child. Almost. It was obvious to him that the others were paying the young boy a great deal of deference. Jaemath couldn't figure out why, until he took a closer look at the boy's eyes. The face might have been angelic, but a demon waited behind those so-innocent eyes. The cold malevolence in those depths shook Jaemath to the core like few things in his life ever had.
They're an odd bunch ta be together, definitely be up to no good. he concluded as he began to walk toward the group. Suddenly, the boy turned to fix Jaemath with those disquieting eyes. Jaemath felt as if they bored through him--searching his soul--and knew without a doubt that this child was one who enjoyed causing pain, and had the power to do do so.
"Eh. Evenin ta ye. Town rules be that no man kin carry more'n an eatin knife in any drinkin place, so I would be most appreciat'd if ye'd turn in yer weapons. I dun want no trouble, run a nice clean place here. Ye'll get 'em back whenever yer wanting ta leave." Jaemath almost winced in anticipation of the angry reactions, but the law was the law. If he was caught with armed people in his tavern, he could be permanently shut down. Besides, most of the villages in the area had similar regulations, so the demand couldn't have been new to the strangers.
"Don't worry so much old man. Me and the lads aren't after any sort of trouble." Drawled the Angel in a youthful but silky voice. He looked around at each of his fellows in a jaunty fashion, titling his chair back and thunking exquisitely crafted leather boots on the table. "We just want to have a little fun is all."
"An that be fine with me sirs. But the law says that ye need to give me yer weapons afore I can serve ye," replied Jaemath emphatically. By now, a couple of his custom had already started to trickle out, uncomfortable around the hardened newcomers. These hooligans were not good for business, but it would be courting trouble to try and kick them out.
"Alright, alright. Take our weapons then." Capitulated the Angel, tossing a long knife onto the floor near Jaemath's feet. All but the brown man followed suit. With an exaggerated sigh, the young boy began to speak slowly and loudly to the brown man. "Hosh, food. Give...pointy... sticks...to...man."
Hosh glared at the younger man, obviously annoyed. However, he threw down his weapons with a mummbled "m'lord."
So the lad's a m'lord, hmm. Explains a lot. Meyhaps this won't be too bad a situation then. Spoiled lil brat I kin handle, thought Jaemath as he bent down to collect the weapons. There were quite a few pieces, and no few of them were well used. He would definitely have to be wary of this group when they got deep into their cups.
"Since you have our weapons, bring us your finest foods. Ales for my lads and wine for me. GOOD wine."
Little bugger's too young for ANY wine, if you asks me. To bad I dun know Papa M'lord. Would suggest a good strip to hide, mused Jaemath--outwardly he nodded and walked back toward the bar with the weapons. But who was he, a humble tavern owner, to say no to a lordling? 'Sides, if I give 'em what they be wantin, mebe they'll get their dammed ugly tales out of my tavern.