Salvic Hospitality [Open to all]

"By Berevar's Blanket, is that the Breaker of Corone?"

I groaned into my glass and downed the last of my scotch. Yurik's Firewhisky; the best stuff, imported from the dwarven distilleries of Alerar. I'd asked in six pubs before I found lucky number seven that carried my brand.

It was a surprisingly ramshackle establishment, with shingles peeling off the roof at the each lick of arctic breeze, and an airlocked entryway that failed to keep the chill from lacing the tables nearest the front. But a pair of twin hearths crackled merrily at the back of the common room, and the bar served a better variety of beverages than any other Salvic establishment I'd visited this year.

"It bloody well is," a second coarse voice chirped back to the first, "see those Y-shaped scars on his cheeks? What d'you think could've brought the King of the Tiered Mountain back to Salvar?"

The pair of half-orcs were whispering to one another at a table across the tavern, but I could make out their words as clearly as if they were were speaking in my ears. Over the years I had honed my keen senses to the point where I could filter out the background noise and hear the important things being said in any environment.

And the place was plenty noisy; packed, as they would say in Corone, with unsavory types. If not for the quality of their whisky, I would never have entered such a security hazard. For one thing, all of the booths and tables against the walls were already occupied, so my back was badly exposed. For another, the crowd was so thick in the one corner I couldn't see what was going on. Most likely an arm wrestling contest or a dice game, if I knew my Salvarians.

"You know the bounty," one hybrid said to the other, "but do we dare? He's a born killer, all the stories say so."

Bounty? That confused me. It had been a long time since anyone dared to put a bounty on my head. Who would have the gall, and what great reward could the possibly offer?

"I bloody know it well," the second Salvarian agreed. "Let's let him drink a few more glasses of that strong scotch he's swilling, and see what happens. Maybe he'll pass out in an alleyway, and make this easy for us."

I considered the beverage in my hand, and then downed it and signaled to the server for another. I ordered a bowl of soup as well. Not because I needed the warmth or sustenance, but because it came with a silver spoon.

The door burst open behind a gust of cold air, and more paying patrons bustled inside.

((Anyone who joins this thread will get double GP rewards, courtesy of me. If you team up with the half-orcs or take a stab at Josh yourself, you'll get triple GP.))

Nearby, Nosdyn observed the Orcs that were talking. He'd tailed them into the particular location at the behest of his current employer. That particular individual preferred to remain mysterious to the world at large. Nosdyn narrowed his eyes as he observed the traveler...Joshua Crone was it right...? and readied himself. The target were those orcs, they were a careless bunch that did not cover their trails very well. They'd slipped up a previous job for his employer and thought they were going to get away with it.

Joshua Cronen would complicate matters if the altercation became more physical than it needed to. Have to do this quiet like. It was a survivor from the previous job that revealed the mission of the Orcs to Nosdyn. They were bounty hunters gone rogue.

Nobody steals from The Boss and gets away with it. Nosdyn thought to himself.

He observed his targets from the a darker corner of the tavern and he carefully considered how to proceed. He didn't have to act right away. He could savor the moment. Nosdyn was working as a one-Demon clean up crew those days. Picking up after the messes that idiots like them Orcs made. Nosdyn smelled the thick scent of smoke and other herbs in the air, it was a dirty sort of place but it was right up his alley. He preferred shadier sorts of places like that those days anyway.

He sat back against his seat. If I remember correct from my earlier days, Joshua won't post too much of a problem. Indeed, he might help tip things in my favour. As Nosdyn observed there was a dancer girl on his table dancing exotically. She was not a Hume, but a Dark Elf. She had attractive musculature and darker skin tone characteristic of the race's namesake. Nosdyn looked at the girl and smiled with a nod of approval. He slid a small pouch her way filled with gold pieces and grinned. Then he turned his attention back to the Orcs, the time had arrived.