When You Have A Hammer, Every Problem Looks Like A Nail (Open to two)

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Simple adventure thread here for those looking to join! Some bandits up to no good, hiding up on a small town they've taken over. Let's go smash them and take their stuff, aye?

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Tristain stared steadily at the thin, reedy looking woman who was nervously wringing her hands in front of her, staring up at him with hope and fear evident in her eyes. Finally he sighed, and nodded. "Fine, madam. I will heed your request. If you find any others willing to go on the extermination, I will be waiting at the local tavern for two hours." The woman bowed repeatedly to him, her body bobbing before she took off not running but definitely walking faster than was the usual. The mercenary way he'd her go, before sighing in aggravation. He just had to be trying to make a name for himself, didn't he? Here he was taking a contract that had no actual pay-off, because the bandits had already taken everything.

Well. The bandits had taken over the small outlying town, and were currently using it as a base of operations. From what the woman had told him, there weren't actually that many bandits - but an illness the last winter had devastated the small guard, and so no one had really been left to defend when they came to attack. Now, they ere casually looting the town as they modified it to serve as a fortification. If they got this off the ground - well, with everything else going on, the small bandit band could very well grow into a more legitimate threat. Still, while that was something to have in consideration, it wasn't the reason that the woman had come asking for his help.

No, she had come asking for a far more simple reason. She wanted revenge against the bandits. According to what she had told Tristain, she had been on the outskirts of the town when the bandits attacked, and had managed to escape notice. She had seen them kill almost everyone she knew - and in typical fashion, they had not been nice about what they did to the villagers before killing them. So, she had escaped, and begun looking for help. Tristain was the first one who had listened past the "I can't pay you" long enough for her to explain that she didn't want anything back from the town, just the bandits dead. Which meant that anything and everything they had taken was fair game. There was the potential of far greater rewards than just what the woman could have offered herself there - who knew how long the bandits had been gathering treasure?

And taking on a bandit town was sure to be something that got people's notice. The more 'noble' ones would likely crow about the fact that he had taken the contract when the woman couldn't pay. The more practical ones would know the real reason, but would likely be impressed.. So long as he could pull it off. Even if the woman was able to convince others to heal, which he doubted would be the case. Still, he would wait as he had told her. So to the tavern he went, to get some water while he waited to see if the woman could find anyone else who would listen to her plea.

The auspices were strange the night before. A vacant wood stood still and calm in the darkness, with many overhanging branches blotting out the sickly-pale moonlight that dripped in. And beneath it all, hidden in the crawl spaces and bushes, were yellow eyes alight in hunger and waiting. Strange beasts crawled out from their caverns, roaming the wood with impunity and sniffing about for prey. They stood on four legs as wolves, but there was something human to them; they possessed a greed known only man. They hunted deer more for sport than for food, and when a lone village girl entered, Morus had to force himself awake to avoid the gruesome sight of their bounty.

Dreams led him, and he followed without question.

The boy knew well what waited for him within the forests, and took it upon himself to seek out the lone survivor of a bandit raid. She was hesitant of him at first, as many people were when a boy his age offered his services. Barefoot and with threadbare clothes, he didn't look much the part of an adventurer. His recounting of his dream did little to avail her worries either, as she looked upon he with a concern one saves for conversations with mad beggars. But a demonstration of his power, by breaking a thin tree with the push of his hand, finally allowed her to give him the information he sought. She promised riches in whatever treasure he could recover, but gold was a light snack compared to the full meal that justice offered. He told her he'd have the bandits brought to heel and bring them to the full might of the law, but something in her ragged eyes made it clear that the law wasn't her goal. There was an ember there still, that smoldered and burned, a rage that required blood for blood. He shook the feeling off, and made his way to the meeting point she described where others had promised to aid.

And that was how he found himself in a small tavern by some lonesome road near Stonevale, just beyond the woods. Though tiny by comparison to any city watering hole, it was rather lively with travelers from all necks of the country. Two elves stood solemn nearby, refusing a table that looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in ages. A dwarf regaled a small crowd in his exploits of finding a massive vein of gold deep within the reaches of the Alerar. And so the boy took a seat, right in front of the bar, on a massive stool. He kept his knees close to his chest and curled his toes just over the edge of it, as he found such tall seats had the indignity of making his feet dangle without touching the floor. Morus took a few gold pieces from his pouch, and slid them on the bar. Ignored at first, he remained undeterred as he tapped them against the aged oak until a barwoman finally came to him.

“What do you want, youngin',” she said, with a sour surly expression on her face. Age had not been kind to her, and in fact might have been the abuser in their relationship.

“Mead, if you have it. Ale if you do not.”

“Wouldn't you prefer water, considering.” She studied him up and down. It was a problem the boy encountered at many a bar, so much so that it didn't really bother him much any more.

“Madam,” he began, so politely that it bordered on condescending, “I wouldn't trust the water here if I saw it blessed by the Thaynes themselves.” He slid one more gold piece from his pouch, and that finally encouraged her to pour him a drink in a tankard so large it took two of his small hands to hold it. He went at it without grace, though found the mead inside to be a bit more sour than his liking. The truth of it was, life on the streets had taught him water was safe at best half the time, and the other half left many a naive young urchin curled up in the outhouses if they were lucky enough to live.

“What brings you around here?” Her voice was at least more pleasant than her face.

“I am on the lookout for a few other of the mercenary sort, tasked with a quest I've given my word to complete. You wouldn't happen to be privy to any, would you?” He asked in earnest, but the smirk she shot back was enough to tell him how foolish he sounded. All around them were seedy men with sullen looks on their faces, cloaks with hoods drawn up and swords at their belts. And each one, strange as it seemed, sat in a different dimly lit corner of the bar, counting gold or honing their blade. “Yes, well,” he stammered a bit, trying to regain some gravitas to his voice. “If any happen to be here looking to rid a small town nearby of bandits, I'd like to meet them.”

Ulrich’s horse was moving with a mind of her own. The Grey mare trotted along mudded cobblestones, neighing at the wind. Her rider sat tall, almost regal. Having learned that such was the only real way to ride atop another living creature.

With Pride.

It was probably this pride that drew the woman to him. She emerged out of the crowd of passers by as if from nothing, pleading for him to help a woman made poor by those who took joy in handing out sorrow and death. A grand tale of near death and desired revenge. It was however, to Ulrich’s mind. A dark path.

“You have your life for that you should be grateful. Don’t send others to their doom with nothing but a promise that you can not support. There are temples that may take you in. Help you heal.”

Softly he squeezed his horse forwards a step faster than the now begging woman. And out to the outskirts of town. The woman’s pleas ringing around his head. Loosing weight with each cycle. One phrase ringing out clearly, that the threat was going larger. That the bandits were growing confident and raiding other settlements. Not everywhere had guardians and walls.

Sighing, Ulrich let the worry off his shoulders and stomped down into the mud outside the tavern. Tying his horse outside before pushing his way inside the cursed place. Already regretting what he was drawn into.

The disgusting tavern was filled with unsavory patrons and a smell which punctured straight to his gut. Why there was a child here, he couldn't know. But Morus was eager, he’d give him that. He stepped up behind him. Listening as the boy called out publicly for the rest of the party. For others who were aiming to kill a bunch of bandits. In a room that must have been half filled with bandits.

Ulrich was filled with less gravitas. His own voice dropped to a quiet murmer as his hand brushed the boys shoulder.

“You have found one. But are you certain you …are one?”

The traveller didn’t like to judge anyone for where they were in life. So it pained him visibly to question the boy. His eyes darted around the bar, A couple in an argument, drunks playing with knives. A mercenary with a glass of water infant of him.

That stood out here. So he pointed, to distract the kid from his questions, already moving to the stranger, nodding subtly to advertise his approach.

“I believe that one is a third.”

Tristain had been standing up when the boy - a young, shabbily dressed teen, looking like he'd barely gotten the first growth of his beard - had been trying to proclaim that he was a mercenary, or looking for them. The young boy reminded uncomfortablely of himself before the Danse had taken him in. The child had faltered when many of the people in this place shot him dark looks, over dirty mugs. They had been leaving Tristain alone because of the heavy armor and the hammer clearly displayed on his hip, but the teen had neither of these, and was drawing attention. And drinking before a job, or at least trying to.

But then another man had entered, on the tail end of the boy's proclamations, and immediately moved over to him. This individual was dressed a fair bit better than the boy, and carried a weapon openly, and seeing him approach the boy had made the other seedier patrons of the tavern avert their gaze. Then the man had indicated Tristain himself, gesturing to the armored mercenary. Well, that was a good enough cue as any. Tristain leaned back in his seat as the second man approached him, and gestured to one of the chairs across the table from him.

"Morning, neighbor." Tristain's voice was low and level as he examined the man walking up to him. He carried himself differently than the boy had as he entered - the boy had been full of braggadacio and surety in himself, while this kind hearted man seemed much more calm and friendly. Tristain...didn't trust that. Kind hearted friendly men didn't usually get themselves involved in bandit purges. Still, he was not likely to turn away a bit of help, not from someone who actually looked capable of swinging their sword. The boy on the other hand - who had wandered over to the table after the swordsman...

Well. "Drinking before you seek to go into combat is a rather poor decision, even if understandable in light of the current drinking water situation." His eyes flicked back and forth between the two for a moment. "My name is Tristain Edelven." His voice was low, pitched just loudly enough for the other two to hear him - but not the other patrons, some of whom were inching slightly closer to the small trio. "I intend on dealing with the situation in the woman's town with prejudice. I take it the two of you have been convinced of her plight as well?" His eyes snapped to one side, and narrowed as his hand dropped to the haft of his warhammer, lifting it from its hooks slightly as he glared at someone who had stepped a little too close.

"I have no qualms with beginning to deal with that problem here." The shifty looking man that had been sidling up behind the child quailed and moved away, taking with him much of the attention of the rest of the bar. Or, at least, the attention was centered on the armored man, not the shabbily clad child.