[The Bounding Tankard] A Gentle Greeting

[Itinerant]

We lay our setting here, in a firelit room filled with the smoke of a dozen pipes and half that many fires blazing. Were one to walk in, they would be assaulted with the warmth of the place, yet if they stayed, it'd soon become a comfortable background heat, warming them and filling their nostrils with a welcoming, nearly homely scent of cooking food and burning wood. A woman and a young woman who would appear to be her daughter walk around, weaving in between tables and benches, carrying platters laden with trenchers and tankards. Men and women alike stand and sit around the room, watching a skilled duet play folk songs in the back. A man behind the bar, no older than thirty, makes drinks for a small group, while periodically moving to the kitchen to stir some stew, or get a bowl of it. The sound of muffled voices fills the room. The door swings open and you step in.

[Of Two Minds]

The worn door opened and a man entered, smiling a tired, travel-weary smile. He paused for a moment, looking around the homey comforts of The Bounding Tankard and nodded at the ambiance, this was exactly what he'd been looking for. A few eyes glanced in his direction, but the majority of the tavern's patrons took no notice of his arrival. This suited the mercenary just fine, as he was not the type to want too much attention focused on him. His companion, on the other hand, was different.

"Hello, Bounding Tankard!" Syrian DeVries called out, though no one in the establishment took notice of the boisterous outburst. Syrian frowned at the crowd then shrugged, unconcerned. "This place is a dead fish, Jer. Why don't we find someplace more interesting?"

"Syr, it's not like there are many other places to go in a town this small," Jeren sighed as the duo made their way to the bar. It was crowded, but not overly so, and they quickly made a place for themselves. "We've been on the road for two weeks and I, for one, just want a place to wash some of this road dust out of my throat." Jeren gestured with two fingers as soon as he managed to catch the bartender's attention.

"Besides," he muttered to the man beside him, "with the way you're talking you'd think we'd been camping for the last two weeks with nothing to do instead of tracking down bandits."

The lone figure at the end of the bar turned and settled his back against the warm, polished wood while he waited for his two tankards of ale, casually continuing his conversation with himself.

[Itinerant]

Jacques raised his head, looking weary as the day slogged on. His eyes lit up, and he stood up, tossing his bar-rag into the bucket of water down the bar. The man looked over the person entering the bar and chuckled as his outburst failed to catch any attention. The guests were involved in their own conversations, the newcomers only garnered a cursory glance.

“Welcome to my establishment, sir! Please, come take a seat!” Jacques shouted across the bar. The door to the Tankard shut behind them as a patron walked out and another walked in.

Music played on in the background, a ballad about some pair of lovers, doomed to die for some reason. As the man gestured for his tankards of ale, Jacques nodded. He stepped over to a cask of ale, and tapped out a pair of tankards. His eyes narrowed for a moment as the person talked to himself. Shaking himself back to reality, the bartender straightened his back and walked over to the man standing at the end of his bar. He slid the tankards across the pitted, yet still carefully wiped counter.

“Your drinks, sir.” He said, nodding his head down at the drinks.

Jacques stepped back, then turned on his heel, walking into the kitchen to check his stew. He absently patted his belt, checking to make sure his dagger was present under his apron.

[Of Two Minds]

"Cheers, mate," Syrian said, lifting his mug towards the retreating bartender. "Quick service here. I like it."

Jeren grunted, but as he looked around the Bounding Tankard he found that he couldn't keep from smiling. While it wasn't the fanciest tavern he and Syrian had ever had the fortune to find themselves in, it had a certain homey warmth to it that made it feel welcoming. And even better, not only was the service quick but the place was clean and the ale wasn't watered down. That put it in the top ten percent of taverns in Jeren's eyes.

Jeren picked up his own mug, tipped it towards Syrian and took a long drink. The pair of them settled into a relaxed conversation as they watched the Bounding Tankard's patrons come and go. After two weeks on the road, they were happy to just have a nice place to relax.

[Josette]

Over the sound of shifting straw and thudding hooves, and the low, rolling nicker of horses, she heard the approaching footfalls. They were heavy, and the worn wooden floor groaned in protest with each step. There was no sharp clip of metal, indicating that the newcomer was most likely not of the equine variety; all of the knights' mounts were shoed. And if it was not a horse, there was only one man who could thud in in such a way.

"Hawkes." The source of the bark was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. The familiar stink of alcohol suddenly mingled with the musty aroma of old leather and horse sweat.

She did not turn to face him. Her attention remained on her own long fingers as they expertly nursed a tangle from the gelding's thick, wiry mane. "Grath."

Marcus Grath's lips curled into a smile at her greeting, ignoring the cold tone which accompanied it. "What are you doing out here?" The woman's own lips pursed in annoyance. What does it look like? At her silence, he spoke again. "We have people to do that for us."

Annoyance gave way to anger the longer she stood there, with his breathing heavy and hot, and directly behind her. The tension hung as heavy as the dust in the air. "I'm perfectly capable," she countered cooly.

If her anger had any impact on him, Grath did not let on. In fact, deep down, she suspected that he quite enjoyed tying her up in knots this way. He was her commanding officer during their short stint in Radasanth, and while he was certainly no peach on his own, the whiskey only worked to emphasize his less favorable attributes. "Go relax. Find a bar. Drink something. That's an order."

And just that easily, he left her with nothing else to say. The urge to round on him was difficult to resist. She had a sharp tongue, and if her willpower failed her, an even sharper sword on her hip. But she was a knight now, or well on her way to being one. There was an order, and a way of doing things, that she had to abide by. Any less than that, and there would be no reason for laws at all. With that thought burning in her mind, the teenager slipped past the man without meeting his gaze. If he had some quip to send her off with, it fell on deaf ears.

Her comrades were packed into the two nearest pubs, which was precisely why Josette Hawkes strode past. The raven-haired youth would follow the order she was given, but she would do it her own way. The crowd inside her final destination, a pub at the end of the street, was much more reserved. And that suited Jo just fine.

Though it was done in silence, she did take a moment to appreciate the warmth of the place. Her sword, which never left her side, did attract a bit of attention as she navigated her way to the empty chair in the corner. It was even stranger, considering the woman wore no other armor - merely boots, breeches, and a long tunic. But no single conversation rose above the din, so if anyone spoke of her, she did not hear it. Besides, she was supposed to be relaxing, so she merely sunk deeper into the wooden chair.

[Itinerant]

Jacques gazed curiously at the newcomers. His eyes pierced in a hawk-like manner. He absentmindedly raised his hand, a bit of magic dragging a mug in a tiny vortex of air to him. His fingers sparked as the vessel flew into his hand. He clapped the mug down below the spigot of a cask of ale, draining a pint for himself. He sipped from the mug, nodding contentedly.

The minstrels in the back changed to a significantly happier tune. The din of the conversation lowered slightly as a pair of people, newlyweds by the looks of their dress, stood up to dance. People clapped merrily, and the pair jumped and spun about to the beat of the music. Jacques smiled behind his drink. His eyes caught the form of the woman with the sword in his gaze. He tensed, unhappy with the presence of such an obvious weapon in his establishment.

Jacques drummed his thin, long fingers on the counter. He brushed off his apron, moving down the counter, to where the seemingly crazy person had ordered their two tankards. He stepped into the kitchen for a moment, grabbing a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread from the back. His legs carrying him for no particular reason, he offered the soup to the man. ((Of Two Minds))

“On the house.” Jacques said, leaning on the surface. He gazed at the man for a moment.

“So, what brings you into town?”

[redford]

The bunnying of Jacques is approved by Itinerant, :).


John made his way down the road toward a new tavern he'd heard of. The fading light of evening meant few people on the road, though the ones that were present thankfully paid little mind to the giant.

Finally, people are getting used to it.

A fire blazed in the sky as the sun set, lightly warming the back of his neck as he walked eastward. Wooden and stone buildings, at first densely packed and rising two and three stories, now were more sparse and humble as he walked toward the outer edges of the city. The smell of stew and soft sounds of merriment drew him gently and John turned aside to a tavern with a large engraved placard above the door, comically depicting a tankard of ale racing on wooden legs toward a waiting hand. The side of John's mouth upturned a tiny bit as he pushed the door open, ducking his head so he could pass through, noting thankfully that the ceiling inside was tall enough for him to stand up straight in. The air inside was pleasantly warm, and had he been able, the half-giant would have taken off the silvery magical gauntlets that covered his forearms like a segmented second skin.

Naturally, as he entered, the commotion stopped, most eyes lingered, at least one patron sputtered into his ale, and the music came to a halt with a screech of a violin. John paid them no mind, and moved slowly, refusing to acknowledge the stares. As he walked, most of the eyes that stared returned to their drinks and friends, and the tavern's air returned to the friendly state it was before he walked in. The minstrels in the corner of the room even struck up a new tune, stomping on the floor and displaying great skill.

Well, as welcoming as can be hoped I suppose.

(Note: Song they're singing is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF6MTwACKZk)

John grabbed a stool and dragged it next to a second one, knowing that one would not support him alone. The tender, as comfortable as any he'd seen, hummed along with the music and finished drying the cup he was holding with a gust of air from his hand. He turned, facing John and looking up slightly even though John was seated. His eyebrow raised, but he neither started or backed away. Well, at least more welcoming than the guys at Mead'n'mutton, John thought as he pointed at the whiskey in a nearby hand and held up two fingers for a double. A coin sang on the bartop for a moment before it was snatched away, and quick as a flash a cup of whiskey was before him. John took a sip cautiously, for though the patrons were as tolerant as the bartender, it would definitely not do if the whiskey wasn't up to scratch.

[Itinerant]

The man to whom Jacques had offered soup had now gotten involved in his drink, muttering to himself. Jacques walked back down the bar, and began cleaning out cups with a worn dishrag. His hands worked deftly at scrubbing the grime and residual liquid from the cups and tankards, then drying them with a touch of magic. The door creaked open, and the chimes behind it tinkled in a brief cacophony of metallic tones.

Jacques raised his head as the giant ducked into his tavern. He raised his eyebrow inquisitively, wondering briefly about the tales this man may tell. He shrugged, and went back to humming to the tune of the song the minstrels were playing. He set the cup he’d just dried down, and picked up a bottle of whiskey, pouring a double for the man. He pushed it across the counter, nodding.

“Best I got in house. Well, best three gold crowns and a copper can buy.”

Jacques smiled at the man, his eyes lighting up with joy at meeting yet another soul. He began sorting the bartending supplies on the counter. His eyes flitted between people on the background before settling back on the mountain of silver and skin that sat before him. He grabbed a jug of water and poured himself a cup. He gazed down into the liquid for a moment before returning his sights to the man.

“So, what’s bringing you into my fair establishment?” Jacques said, raising an eyebrow as he asked the question. He sipped his cup of water, awaiting an answer.

[redford]

John snapped his fingers, evoking the magic of one of his rings hidden under the metal of his gauntlets, and a cigar appeared between his fingers with a little pop. With a second snap of his fingers it was lit, and John scooped up the whiskey with that same hand, taking a draw on the cigar. John's eyes met the barkeep's at his inquiry, and he tapped the glass with a metallic finger, producing a light clinking sound as if to answer his question. As he lifted the glass, his patchwork shirtsleeve rode up to expose the impressive network of burn scars that crisscrossed his arms, and even most of his body, like tiny blood vessels, appearing almost as if fire itself flowed through his veins once. Just as fast, John's arm came back down after drinking the whiskey and the scars were obscured by the rough fabric of his shirt and the metal of his gauntlets.

Taking another draw on the cigar, John pondered the whiskey. It was good, smooth, but had enough kick to be whiskey proper.

Good, Id've left if he watered it down, He thought as he lifted a tiny purse from a pocket. It jangled against the bartop as he pushed it forward a little.

"That's fifty, bring me a bottle."

Now, John meant no trouble. What would get a man staggering drunk would only barely dull John's mind for his size. He just wanted to lose a little of his worries for a while.

[Itinerant]

Jacques looked curiously at the man’s odd methods of lighting cigars, using some form of magic instead of a typical match or lighter. He shook his head at the strange antics, and glanced instead at the center of the room, where people were being served by his mother and sister. He motioned for one of them, politely nodding as he asked for one of them to grab one of the spare tables from the back wall. She nodded, and he returned to chatting with his patrons, before an audible clink caught his attention. Jacques glanced over to the giant of a man (still not knowing his name, he noted mentally.) However, instead of the expected “I’m here to drown out some mysterious sorrow,” all he received was silence. Yet, the second the man let his sleeve fall, there were multiple audible gasps from the bar patrons.

“What in the name of-” One muttered.

“Oh, oh my.” A woman said, grasping the hand of her apparent husband, or perhaps lover.

The sleeve fell back down, the rough, though not quite ragged, fabric of the man’s shirt hid his arm from prying eyes once more. Patrons of the bar stared for a moment, before returning back to their conversations, though some cast suspicious glances at the one who would soon be dubbed the “Burned Man” from time to time. Jacques looked concerned for a brief moment, though he shrugged it off, and his face returned to its jovial but tired expression.

“Well. I suppose that’s good enough an explanation for me. Can’t expect much more, can I?” Jacques murmured. He smiled politely and began to say more, but that brief commentary was cut short by the jangling of a small purse of coins.

Jacques’ eyes widened, and his body thrilled with enthusiasm. He took the pouch from the counter, glancing inside, and was met with the warm glow of golden coins.

“Fifty crowns!?!” Jacques exclaimed, incredulous. He once again waved down a relative, this time nodding as his mother jogged over from across the room. He held out the purse for her examination for a moment, before pointing to a chest in the kitchen, and asking that she grab a few bottles of the previously served whiskey.

“Oh, oh my. I have little to offer but the whiskey and my thanks, good sir. Although, as of now, it has occurred to me that I am yet unaware of your name. Perhaps I can ask that of you?” Jacques said to him as he tucked the coin purse into a small iron safe below the bar. His mother returned, and he took the bottles from her, sliding them across the bar with a slight nod to the man.

[redford]

John again did his best to ignore the stares of the patrons of this tavern. It was this way with all things. People thought him an oddity, some thought him a monster, and others thought him a madman. Truth be told, John admitted to himself that he didn't really know what he was.

The thought lingered as he pondered his scars, oblivious to the ecstatic barkeep. The scars were a part of him now, there wasn't anything he could do about them or what he did to get them. His past seemed to grow and grow, and he wondered how long it would take before it would consume him.

A lot of things were a part of him and his past now, he thought as he grabbed a bottle the barkeep slid across, aiming to have such thoughts drowned out within the hour.

Perhaps conversation on something other than his past would help. He spoke as he extended one massive finger, a corkscrew growing out of it in a spiral made of the same metal as his gauntlets. He turned the bottle into his self-made bottle opener, and soon the bottle was open with a pop. He poured another generous glass of whiskey and sucked on his cigar.

"Name's John. I work a forge at edge of town."

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Since Lorenor awoke in the old ruins where the Ixian Knights once called home, the old Paladin considered his lot in life.

Wandering through the streets of Radasanth, a Radasanth of a different age of history...Lorenor thought of many matters.

He considered his lot in life as he walked, his hood covering his face.

His cloak swished about his person as he walked through the crowded streets, wagons and other vehicles of the more modern era of Radasanth maneuvering through the marble streets. Lorenor looked about at the various establishments of the busy market district and one in particular caught his eyes. It was a particularly windy afternoon. Judging by the clocks in the area, Lorenor had learned it was about the sixth hour of the day. About forty five minutes into the hour. Lorenor didn't like guess work and had quickly adjusted to the new, technologically driven golden age of Althanas. As he stumbled upon the tavern, he noticed several individuals sitting at tables inside and ordering various drinks, meals, things of that nature. Taverns were good places to get work and ask about work. As his eyes narrowed he walked carefully towards the tavern, making sure he avoided the steam driven vehicles that maneuvered through the streets. Lorenor looked about and found himself standing on the front porch of the tavern's building.

Radasanth architecture, was still Radasanth architecture.

It was easily recognizable no matter what part of history Lorenor found himself in.

He entered the establishment and noticed the elegant sign's label.

The Bounding Tankard.

The moment he walked into the establishment, he felt the warmth of several roaring flames. There was laughter and talking all about, a particularly lively scene. Lorenor looked about and waited to be seated. He saw that there were adventurers present, and many of them were ones he didn't recognize. A few were locals he'd seen in recent days. Lorenor nodded to the burly folks he did recognize. He also spotted handsome women in the area that were right up his ally. But he was there to get work done. Firstly though, he needed a meal. Lorenor looked at a woman who appeared to be one of the establishment's employees. He nodded towards her, and that seemed to get her attention. He spoke to her with a deep, Old Radasanth accent.

"I'd like a table for one please...and some water." Lorenor said. "I'll pay for food after I've seen a menu..." Lorenor had a mean looking sword across his back. It was sheathed in a scabbard. Lorenor wore the markings of the Ixian Knights on his signet ring and amulet. His cloak also bore the symbols of the Ixian. He doubted anybody would start trouble with him for his allegiance to that old sect, but that would remain to be seen. He waited to be lead to his table so that he could begin the day and night's events. There was work that needed doing...

[Itinerant]

Jacques looked at the man, now known as John. He nodded. The name fit the figure, and that was a good sign.

“Pleasure. I’m Jacques. If it’s not obvious, I own the place. Have for a couple years now. Hard work, but it pays well enough.”

Jacques stepped over for a moment, nodding several times as a woman placed her order. He grabbed a bottle from a chest under the bar, checking the label and sneering. He searched his pockets for a corkscrew, pulling one out a moment later. He wiped it off, screwing it down into the cork before yanking with great drama, staring at the cork triumphantly when it did come out. He poured the glass of wine. Jacques handed it to the woman, simultaneously taking down the cost on a slip of paper, hanging it from a tack above the bar. For a few more minutes, he shuffled around behind the bar, taking care of a few chores. It was getting later now. He glanced at a clock on the wall. Nearly seven. He had time enough to keep going without starting cleanup. He glanced as the door opened, and raised an eyebrow as something akin to a ghost made material walked in, waving down his mother for a table.

--

June looked at the man who walked in.

“More patrons. Exactly what a woman like me needs…” June grumbled as she rubbed her head, adjusting the tight bun she’d tied up earlier, and as she walked over, she could swear she gained another grey hair.

“Yes, yes. I’m just going to be having Jacques serve you. I can’t be dealing with another patron on top of the dozen and a half I’ve got.” She muttered to the man. June glanced at what one could call eyes, but they seemed to be more of a pair of glowing blue orbs. She motioned her son over, then went back to carrying drinks to tables.

--

Jacques nodded as his mother called him over, carrying a pitcher of water and a glass. He smiled kindly as he poured a glass for the man. Setting the glass down, he absently scratched his eyebrow.

“So, what’s bringing you in? Obviously not drinking away the blues.” Jacques said to the man. “On that same note, who exactly are -” Jacques started to say, before he was interrupted by a man shouting for more mead. He grumbled.

“Coming, I’m coming!” He shouted in response, wiping his damp hands on his apron and leaving the menu and pitcher of water behind.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor sat down casually and removed the big sword from his back.

He laid it down at an exact, forty-five degree angle and leaned it against his chair.

As he sat down, the man lowered his hood.

He had glowing blue eyes, fiercely glowing, and people began to immediately stare at the old Paladin.

Lorenor did not mind.

As he sat there, he removed a journal from his packs, and placed it on the table. He listened to the tavern's sound, the noise, the roar of the fire present in the fire place. Was actually a rather cozy environment. As Lorenor sat that he considered the question that the fellow who owned the joint presented. Drink away the blues? Lorenor thought to himself. Maybe in another life...another me. Lorenor was not one who drank ale or mead, or any form of alcoholic substance. He needed to keep his body, mind, and soul strong. He took training extremely seriously at all hours of the day, even when he had some alone time to rest and relax. If he wasn't actively training, he was thinking about training and what to do next. He had a war to fight. The Paladin was a lone man fighting a dangerous enemy. That enemy was N'Jal. Lorenor found himself thinking of N'Jal and her most dangerous servants a lot of late. She abandoned me...betrayed me... Lorenor thought to himself. There was an anger that flickered momentary in those majestic eyes. A silent, seething and dangerous rage. A rage that would not be sated until N'Jal was dead.

And her followers as well... Lorenor thought to himself as he took a deep pull of the goblet of water.

The water was clean and fresh. Lorenor took the menu he'd been given and took a few moments to browse through it. A few entries caught his eyes. Lorenor was a bald man, he'd lost his hair long ago. As he sat there, he removed his pen from his pack and began to write. He wrote a lot those days. The writing helped calm his troubled heart. It helped him sort out his mission in his head, and wrap his mind around the very deed he had to complete. After all, how does one simply kill a Thayne...? Lorenor thought to himself. He allowed himself a brief chuckle at the thought. Sei Orlouge...where have you gone...? Lorenor thought as well. He thought of his old friend a lot. If ever Althanas needed a new generation of Hero, it was at that time period. His eyes were deep in thought as he finished looking over the menu. He looked up and called for the male waiter once more. From his knowledge of Radasanth's current establishments, The Bounding Tankard's reputation was a positive one. A few items catch my eyes. But I'm here to impress and gather information. Don't forget the primary mission at hand. He looked at the fellow that spoke to him before.

"Sir." Lorenor began. He had plenty of money, probably more than the establishment itself on hand. "How much for a round of drinks for the house?" Lorenor was feeling bold. He knew the inquiry would raise a lot of eyebrows, and he said it deliberately loud and well timed. There were quite a few gathered patrons in the tavern just then, and Lorenor knew the price would be steep. But he didn't mind. He was a fellow simply enjoying some down time.

[Itinerant]

Jacques turned his head sharply, his eyes going wide at the man’s inquiry. Startled didn’t even begin to explain what thought raced through his head in the instant before he began surveying the drinks that people were drinking. Some had the strongest alcohol in the house, trying to drink away the sorrows that should never see the sun. Others drank an ale or mead, simply here to chat off the stresses of a long day.

“Nine or ten gold crowns and a handful of silver, or around that.” Jacques shrugged and sorted through the logs of drinks served. “Aye, aye. Ten crowns.” The bartender looked up at the newcomer and raised an eyebrow. He brought over a piece of paper with the amount and a line to sign on. He nodded down at it, motioning for him to sign it. As he waited, he raised his head as well as his voice.

“Ey! All of you, a round on this guy! Nothin’ more expensive than what you’ve got though. Don’t be trying any funny business with it.” Jacques shouted over the constant din. The patrons of the tavern looked at the bald man and cheered, before a chorus of shouts for the waitresses and Jacques rose up from the crowd. He scurried off to start filling drinks, but not before shouting for the bald man to find him and give him the money when he was ready.

[redford]

John had largely taken to his musings, his mind deluged by worries and cares that by rights should not have been there. He thought of his late wife and daughter as he took another sip of whiskey.

Such worries often drove him to wash his thoughts in alcohol and smoke.

He considered again the words of an old wizard he had known long ago. The wizard had promised, upon payment of coin, to excise the memory of his wife and daughter completely from his mind. He had declined then, in a moment of strength uncharacteristic of himself at the time. Even now he wondered if it was the right choice. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have lost something of himself that day, something that made John Cromwell the man he was, but he wondered if that was so much different than what he was doing now. He tipped back another shot.

The crowd inside the bar erupted into applause and cheers, rousing John from his increasingly buzzed musings. He called for the bartender after the young man had made sure everyone was ordering something sensible, noting that he'd need another cigar soon.

[Itinerant]

Jacques looked over to John tiredly, though being dragged away from rushing around to get three dozen people their drinks was more than welcome. He smiled as he jogged back behind the bar, sliding up to the giant of a man, wiping his hands off on the rag hanging from his belt. His apron shifted on his narrow frame. He reached back, quickly retying the knot, before adorning his face with the smile that he so treasured.

“Aye. What can I get you?” Jacques inquired of the man, turning as he did so. He pulled out a couple more bottles to pour some drinks for waiting patrons crowding around the bar. Jacques contemplated why he allowed that man to even do this. Little to none of that money would even go to him. He sighed dramatically as he topped off somebody’s glass of whiskey. He glared at the forming line of people, before he finally shouted for some measure of quiet. He nodded as people shuffled away to wait at their tables for somebody to come around. Jacques smiled once more as he returned to his spot in front of John.

[redford]

As the barman approached, John made ready another cigar with a snap of his fingers and turned the bottle upside down, then right side up again, hoping that his new friend would take the hint. Several more coins jangled on the table, proof of his purchase, and spoke.

"Another. And food, if you have it."

Hopefully the boy would know to give a little extra.

[Itinerant]

Jacques looked at John, silently watching while playing with a spoon that was resting on the counter. The young bartender looked up and down the man's torso, mentally comparing his own form to John's. He'd been standing behind the bar, pale green eyes darting about, taking everything in. The young bartender exhaled slowly, drawing himself into a standing position as the coins toppled from the man's palm onto the bar. Jacques nodded and reached up to the shelves hidden above the bar again, pulling out a bottle.

"My last. Won't be getting any more 'till my next supply shipment comes in, 'round week's end." Jacques remarked as he pushed the bottle across. He waited for a moment before turning on his heel and slipping into the kitchen to fetch a meal. The steaminess of the room and the pleasant warmth produced was more than welcoming, but he dutifully picked up a plate from a stack, turning to evaluate what he had warm and ready. Jacques shrugged, glanced over the selection of soups, stews, and roasts that were in various stages of cooking and warmth, and arbitrarily shoved half a beef roast on the platter with some potatoes and beans.

Departing the kitchen, Jacques quickly returned to John, placing the food down in front of him. For what he'd paid for drinks over the night, he'd be able to buy six times what he'd gotten, yet even as it stood the portion was massive. The plate clacked down, wood on wood rattling nearly in time with the ticking of the nearby clock. Jacques glanced up again, shaking his head. In the flurry of drink orders and chatting earlier, he'd wasted over an hour.

"Ey! It's half past eight for all who don't know or don't care to. Last rounds in thirty minutes!" Jacques shouted, voice echoing a bit as the customers quieted. The musicians looked at him, one raising an eyebrow in a silent query, to which Jacques responded with a nod. She nodded back, and began to pack up, whistling as she did.

Get your final posts in people, I'm closin' her up.

[Itinerant]

Soon after his call for last round half an hour later, he watched people get up and leave, his eyes following them as they pushed open the door and departed into the darkness of the night. Jacques' eyes latched onto the inky blackness of the outdoors for a moment, before the door shut once more, leaving him in the light and warmth. He looked to the the now empty establishment. Slowly, Jacques stood from the stool he sat on, and walked out into the back of the building, and began his work in dousing the fire with the ashes and sand, burying the logs in a thick layer of both, until the embers themselves began to fade.

Shaking his head in satisfaction he turned on his heel as the fires went out, and began stacking chairs and stools on the tables, humming a cheery tune that had played earlier that night. Jacques worked quickly at this, and leaned against the counter when he was done, nodding at his work. He retreated to the kitchen, putting out fires as he went, and allowing the excess food to cool before moving it to covered plates and platters, to be warmed the following day. Darkness began to set into the kitchen as the fires cooled to nothing but slightly glowing logs. Jacques surveyed his work one final time before exiting, putting out the lanterns hanging above the counter.

The darkened tavern was silent, save the click of boots on the floor, and the dull clunk of a door shutting and locking.

[Itinerant]

~End~

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Congratulations!

Itinerant receives 955 EXP and 130 GP!
Of Two Minds receives 195 EXP and 30 GP!
Josette receives 95 EXP and 15 GP!
Redford receives 695 EXP and 65 GP!
Mutant_Lorenor receives 210 EXP and 30 GP!

This thread will now be submitted for peer review in the writer's workshop!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!