The Bearded Lady Inn {Open}

[Penance]

{In Jadet}

Qarl had run from Salvar just as he had from Aleraar. You see, Qarl had the unfortunate trait of always being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He also had the terrible fate of being a raving mad drunk. Back in Aleerar he had been a merchant until one night he witnessed something he wasn't meant to see when he was half-asleep in an alleyway trying to beat a hangover. A man was murdered. Qarl had the wits to act like he was asleep just long enough for the murderer to begin walking away before Qarl sprang to his feet and ran off like a madman screaming all the way home. Yet the assassin had burned Qarl's face into his memory, and it seemed that no matter where Qarl went, his pursuers weren't that far behind him. Qarl found his home and business ransacked, and without even liquifying his assets, he hopped on the first boat to Salvar. That decision probably saved his life. Starting a new life in Salvar had been promising, but Qarl had quickly gotten back into vices, old and new, as gambling became a hobby. The truth was, Qarl wasn't a bad gambler. The problem he encountered was not being able to get away from the ale. Whenever Qarl wasn't utterly wasted he actually managed to turn a profit on gambling. Yet when was Qarl not wasted? Debts had quickly arisen, and after getting his arm broken and knowing he couldn't pay back his collectors Qarl chose to once again flee. He had spent the entire trip to Corone drunk. They had this hearty red Salvarish ale that reminded him of a fiery romance in his youth. The ale... Yes. Ah, the ale.

Qarl was awoken by water hitting his face as a bucket was emptied over his head. Qarl groggily looked up to see two of the crewmen discussing what to do amongst themselves before they both agreed to pick him up and carry him ashore. Qarl was heaved up into the air by the two sinewy sailors before he could begin to protest. They didn't bother checking if he was all right, either, they simply dropped him on the dock and walked back aboard, not even having the courtesy to tell him where his luggage was being kept. Not that he had a lot. Most of his things were left behind or sold. Checking inside his clothing to make sure his coin purse was still there and felt as heavy as it had been the last time he checked (which wasn't as heavy as it had been when he got on the boat), Qarl took off to find somewhere to stay for the night.

It wasn't long before he came upon an Inn in somewhat of disrepair with a large sign hung crookedly over its door that read 'The Bearded Lady Inn.' It struck him as quite affordable and modest. Pushing open its large, wooden door and stepping inside he realized it would be a lot more affordable than he had first thought. It had a decent amount of guests, surly sailors with busty wenches in their arms who occasionally slid a few coins into their cleavage and made off with them up the stairs giggling and smiling.

There were also a few sellswords, judging by their armor and weaponry. Qarl did notice one man sitting quietly in the corner, cleaning his nails with a knife. He was dressed in a suit of plate and had a shield resting against the wall nearby him. Strapped to his waist was a fabulous blade judging by its ornamented pommel. He wore an expression that said, 'stay away,' something people would be sure to do as he was taller and larger than all of the other men there. Even without his armor Qarl imagined. Shivering, Qarl went to get himself a drink.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

It had been a long journey from Scara Brae to the new lands of Corone where Ulrich's new employment had found itself. A drunken man, and a bum at that. Someone stupid enough to gamble away all his money, and then drink till the sun rose the next morning. It was a simple and boring story. Qarl's creditors from the neighbouring land, known nationally as Salvar, wanted him back to work off his debt and paid the wizard a purse full of do it quietly, Ulrich had requested only two things in advance: A general location and a couple strands of hair from the top of his head. He'd be able to find him in a matter of days. And be back in a couple of weeks.

They returned the morning after. Two large men wrapped in expensive looking formal wear. All black and cuffs, with an embellishment on each forearm and an insignia on the left breast stitched in thin gold thread. An ensignia which Ulrich didn't recognise. It was reminiscent of a winged horse rearing up towards the right. Hard to make out, but that was what the stitching resembled he decided as he ran out of details to distract him from meeting the identical faces of the muscle men. Huge square jaws on dark skinned faces with sunken eyes that stared out at him like living black rock. Large hands dropped two items in front of Ulrich. A purse of coin, Dented and tarnished but still good. A down payment on his work.

And a lock of hair bound with a rough thread. Ulrich didn't ask how they had it. Just levelled his best cold stare.

"Corone. Docks" Rumbled a voice deep enough to match it's face. Then the duo left. Defeated in the game of silence by a single but fatal point.

A hair, a needle and an uneventful journey later.

Heavy evening rain fell around both Ulrich and The steel needle hanging from his hand. Suspended there by a tie of hair, previously belonging to a Mr Qarl. Now showing the wizard where he could be found through simple application of his own willpower. It led him to a tavern. A hole of a place, grime running the walls outside, a drunken vagrant laying against the wall and he was not surprised. Given all that he had been told about the client, Ulrich was more surprised that the vagrant had not been Qarl. The needle Pointed towards the open door and Ulrich followed, leather coat Blowing back behind him as he moved. emi crowded mess of what he was already expecting. Bar, Girls, Merceneries. None of which took his fancy. Ulrich, Professional wizard was here to collect.

Raising his hand, needle to eye level. It spun, compass like, before settling on the back of a stranger, fitting the description of the man he was to find, looking to be served a drink. Wrapping the needle and strand together, placing it into his deep pocket, Ulrich decided to say hello and walked over to the bar.

The bartender placed a heavy mug of ale in front of Qarl. Before, however, he could pick it up. Ulrich Took it, sliding it over to the grateful stranger beside him. Fixing Qarl with a steady stare. Gripping his hand around the drunk's forearm.

"Hello Qarl. Time to go back to Savaar."