Lady_Gamer
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Posts
- 338
The Sellsword Tavern (Closed)
The sign above the main entrance was wordless, displaying an emblazoned image of an over-flowing coin satchel crossed over by an ornate longsword. It was not difficult to derive the name of the establishment: The Sellsword Tavern. Inside, any manner of mercenary could be found. Those equipped with blades, of course, and much, much more. Thieves, rangers, mages, whores…even the occasional outcasted priest or cleric.
The owner of the tavern had not intended for his establishment to become the chaotic gathering of unassociated, self-loyal patrons that it was – he merely thought the name was catchy. But he could hardly complain; he was making an insane profit off of their drinking habits, and the prostitutes paid him well for permanent rooms. Often he’d hear too much from those sitting at the bar about some such job or other…and he’d find golden coins tossed in his direction rather than suffer threats. He’d never betrayed anyone’s trust – and had no intention to. It would be suicide.
The man’s gaze raised as the heavy door at the front swung outwards. “Keena!” he bellowed across the crowded floor.
The half elf woman immediately gained a small smile, raising a hand in a waving gesture. She didn’t verbally respond until her casual pace carried her within a normal speaking distance. “Paul!” she returned with mock enthusiasm. “…What do you want?”
“What? I can’t greet an old friend?”
“Indeed, you may do as you please. But – well. I’ve noticed you’re only happy to see me when you desire my services.”
The man tried to look like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Keena, you wound me! I would never…” He cracked a faint smile, followed by a chuckle. “Okay, fine. You’ve got me.” He raised his hands before him. “I’ll just come right out with it.”
The woman’s emerald eyes settled on the human male, who appeared to be twice her age but was actually slightly younger than herself. She placed crossed arms on the bar as she leaned forward to listen. The barkeep also leaned forward before he began to speak lowly, whispering into the pointed ear that faced in his direction. When the man finished, he returned to a standing posture. “And I want ten percent. Standard finder’s fee.”
“It must be nice to make free gold.”
“It is, quite!” he agreed happily.
The half elf offered a graceful hand. Quickly, Paul reached out to take it. He shook heartily.
“A drink?” Keena inquired as she straightened herself.
The man slipped his hand away from hers, holding an open palm upwards.
“Really?” the half elf frowned.
“Free drinks are bad for business.”
The woman sighed. “Put it on my tab, then. If you must.”
“Will do!” The man practically sang as he shuffled to fetch a tall mug. He filled it with a dark colored ale before passing it over the bar to his patron.
Keena took the offered beverage. “And don’t you dare charge me for a tip, you cheap bastard.”
He laughed heartily as she turned to walk away.
The woman allowed her eyes to scan over the busy tavern. There was not an empty table in sight, most of the chairs and booths filled by an array of races as mixed as their respective professions. Failing to recognize a familiar face in the sea of strangers, she seated herself at one of few available spaces at a long table. She glanced at the surrounding company briefly before taking a deep drink. Allowing the mug to fall heavily on the wooden surface before her, she gave a satisfied sigh. "Ah! Paul makes a fine brew, I must say."
She might have been fishing for conversation. The job she had just accepted required that she find an accomplice. She preferred the subtle route...one did not simply yell 'who wants to make some money?' in a tavern filled with mercenaries, after all.
I've decided to close this thread for the time being. Will bump it up the list if I decide to try to start it up again at a later date.
The sign above the main entrance was wordless, displaying an emblazoned image of an over-flowing coin satchel crossed over by an ornate longsword. It was not difficult to derive the name of the establishment: The Sellsword Tavern. Inside, any manner of mercenary could be found. Those equipped with blades, of course, and much, much more. Thieves, rangers, mages, whores…even the occasional outcasted priest or cleric.
The owner of the tavern had not intended for his establishment to become the chaotic gathering of unassociated, self-loyal patrons that it was – he merely thought the name was catchy. But he could hardly complain; he was making an insane profit off of their drinking habits, and the prostitutes paid him well for permanent rooms. Often he’d hear too much from those sitting at the bar about some such job or other…and he’d find golden coins tossed in his direction rather than suffer threats. He’d never betrayed anyone’s trust – and had no intention to. It would be suicide.
The man’s gaze raised as the heavy door at the front swung outwards. “Keena!” he bellowed across the crowded floor.
The half elf woman immediately gained a small smile, raising a hand in a waving gesture. She didn’t verbally respond until her casual pace carried her within a normal speaking distance. “Paul!” she returned with mock enthusiasm. “…What do you want?”
“What? I can’t greet an old friend?”
“Indeed, you may do as you please. But – well. I’ve noticed you’re only happy to see me when you desire my services.”
The man tried to look like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Keena, you wound me! I would never…” He cracked a faint smile, followed by a chuckle. “Okay, fine. You’ve got me.” He raised his hands before him. “I’ll just come right out with it.”
The woman’s emerald eyes settled on the human male, who appeared to be twice her age but was actually slightly younger than herself. She placed crossed arms on the bar as she leaned forward to listen. The barkeep also leaned forward before he began to speak lowly, whispering into the pointed ear that faced in his direction. When the man finished, he returned to a standing posture. “And I want ten percent. Standard finder’s fee.”
“It must be nice to make free gold.”
“It is, quite!” he agreed happily.
The half elf offered a graceful hand. Quickly, Paul reached out to take it. He shook heartily.
“A drink?” Keena inquired as she straightened herself.
The man slipped his hand away from hers, holding an open palm upwards.
“Really?” the half elf frowned.
“Free drinks are bad for business.”
The woman sighed. “Put it on my tab, then. If you must.”
“Will do!” The man practically sang as he shuffled to fetch a tall mug. He filled it with a dark colored ale before passing it over the bar to his patron.
Keena took the offered beverage. “And don’t you dare charge me for a tip, you cheap bastard.”
He laughed heartily as she turned to walk away.
The woman allowed her eyes to scan over the busy tavern. There was not an empty table in sight, most of the chairs and booths filled by an array of races as mixed as their respective professions. Failing to recognize a familiar face in the sea of strangers, she seated herself at one of few available spaces at a long table. She glanced at the surrounding company briefly before taking a deep drink. Allowing the mug to fall heavily on the wooden surface before her, she gave a satisfied sigh. "Ah! Paul makes a fine brew, I must say."
She might have been fishing for conversation. The job she had just accepted required that she find an accomplice. She preferred the subtle route...one did not simply yell 'who wants to make some money?' in a tavern filled with mercenaries, after all.
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