A Night in the Tavern (Open)

[Quibby]

OOC: Anyone who wants to get another thread out of the way on their way to the next rank, go ahead and jump on in.  Good way to develop your characters a bit more and get to know other characters.

 

IC: His shift in the infirmary done, Jehryn set himself an inconspicuous but hasty pace to one of the many taverns strewn throughout the Citadel.  It had been an interesting day, to say the least.  One of his patients had finally died after a week of agony; he'd been bitten by a bat or something, and the resulting fever and illness had been beyond what anyone in the Citadel could handle.  By the time a Wisdom from one of the villages had arrived, it had been too late to help the man.  Jehryn had, in his seventeen years, seen people die; in the two years that he'd been working with herbs and illnesses, there had been three.  This man was number four, and there had been nothing they could do about it.  In the end, because it was his patient, Jehryn had given the man a strong sleeping medicine to stop his screams.

 

He'd expired three hours later.

 

There were some days that just required a drink, even if it did mean unraveling the wrappings around his face to do so.  Jehryn did not drink heavily as a rule, but a drink now and then, from his professional standpoint, was not a bad thing.  He'd also spent enough time at one of the taverns that they'd started setting a corner aside for him, darkening it enough that he could unwind.  Literally.  The scarring from that forge fire was years old, yet Jehryn still did not recognize his own face in the mirror.  The white wrapping he kept over it was more for his own sake than that of his patients; he couldn't stand the idea of people making fun of his looks.

 

By the time Jehryn had arrived at the tavern, he was out of breath.  Another pleasant side-effect from the fire.  "Hey, Nowal.  The usual to my corner, please," he rasped, his voice muffled through the thin scarf he wrapped around his face, before seating himself with a relieved sigh.

[Taymist]

Elynde was not in a good mood and that was expressing her feelings mildly. Having reached the end of her first full day with the Band, she had that strong need that sometimes assailed her to be in familiar surroundings. She'd never been a heavy drinker, needing to keep her wits around her, but had built up a remarkable tolerance over the years. Being in an inn was almost enough to feel like being at home.... almost... and right at that moment what she needed was a drink.

 

Her temper had risen steadily as she'd walked... perhaps stalked was a better description... through the streets getting offhand directions given to her in spite of politely worded queries and, having been turned around several times, she was just about ready to explode. Luckily, the turn around the next corner brought her to her goal, the sign above the door indicating a decent looking inn. Not that it mattered to her what the place was like as long as she got served and served quickly.

 

Pushing open the heavy door, she was met by a wave of alcohol fumes and pipe smoke mixed with the jovial sound of voices from the patrons. It appeared to be a popular place which spoke volumes about the quality of the ale. Stepping in and closing the door behind her, Elynde found herself the focus of several pairs of interested male eyes, a phenomenon she was well used to and largely ignored. Her clothing was far from tight but, loose or not, it did nothing to disguise the curves it covered and her looks were sufficient to draw attention in any crowd. As those eyes finally raised above the level of her chest to take in the rest of her appearance, each one was hastily averted having seen the casual stance, the hands lightly resting on the hilts of paired daggers and a stare that was hard enough to chisel rock. Satisfied that her point was made, Elynde moved towards the bar.

 

"A tankard of your best if you please," she called over the noise to the man serving. Within seconds she had her drink, a dark looking brew that had her smiling with pleasure after the first sip and speaking again with approval. "You keep a good cellar. Do you stock any Ebou Dari ales?"

 

The barkeep nodded and they fell into an easy conversation on the merits of various brewers, swapping some banter over the trade in general between calls for service. By the time she'd finished her drink, the man had introduced himself as Nowal and a mutual respect was born. Feeling quite comfortable and beginning to unwind, Elynde took her second tankard and let Nowal get back to work. The inn had continued to get busier and she looked for a quiet space to enjoy the ale, finally finding one in the far corner of the room. It took her a few moments to realise that someone was already seated at the table placed there, preoccupied as she was with scanning the crowd and soaking up the atmosphere.   

 

The man was almost hidden by the shadows to anyone standing further away but as he leaned forward to lift his tankard, Elynde caught a glimpse of his fire damaged face and her free hand flew involuntarily to her mouth. It was not how he looked that caused her reaction but the stark reminder of her mother's death and the horror at how much pain Cairalle must have been in before the end. It could not have been a quick passing but now, Elynde thanked the Creator that Cairalle had not had to live with her still distinctive beauty marred by flames.

 

Finally realising how ill mannered she must seem, she blinked back the unshed tears, nodded her head respectfully and spoke the first words that came to her tongue. "My mother... died... in a fire. Apologies for my rudeness but your injuries reminded me."

 

 

[Quibby]

As caught up as he was in trying to forget, Jehryn never noticed the woman arrive at his corner until a muffled gasp caught his attention.  Looking up, Jehryn quickly noted the features of the woman, none of them unpleasant from the brief glimpse he had.  His hand instinctively found the end of the wrapping and brought it up over his face, his features hidden again.  "My mother... died... in a fire. Apologies for my rudeness but your injuries reminded me."

 

Jehryn shook his head slightly at the apology.  "No need to apologize, ma'am," he rasped.  "I'm used to that and worse, and my day's been unpleasant enough that it would take more than shock to upset me."  Gesturing to the chair opposite him at the table, Jehryn slid his chair back a bit further into the shadow.  "If it helps, this was the result of a mentally disturbed colleague of mine from a long time ago.  He thought it'd be funny to try to shove me into the furnace at the forge we both apprenticed at.  Matter of fact, the only reason I'm still breathing- well, relatively speaking anyway- is because of a former Bander."  Nodding to the woman, he continued, "However, that's ancient history.  Private Jehryn do'Holocaran, of the Medics, at your service.  I hope you'll forgive me if I don't observe the other common niceties that normally accompany an introduction, but I would rather avoid making you any more uncomfortable than you already are, it seems."  A rueful smile briefly touched Jehryn's lips, the thick scar tissue protesting the motion.  He'd learned a long time ago that many were as uncomfortable looking at him as he was letting them see him; this saved a lot of discomfort all around.  "I take it this is your first time in the Citadel?  I only ask because most people who have been here before avoid this corner."

[WhiteWolf]

    “Just because Corlinny has gone back to her parents is not reason for you to sulk Amon.”

    “I am not sulking Ham, you think anyone who thinks more than you do is either sulking or showing off, mind you a week old corpse thinks more than you do at times.”

    “You’re a wool headed ninny Amon, it is no wonder Corlinny left you.” Ham spat through the gap in his front teeth, barely missing Amon’s foot, and then took a deep swig of his ale, before he continued his tirade aimed at the man by his side at the bar.

    “And it is your turn to buy the drinks, and no protesting, you always try to find a way out of buying your share of the drinks, you are tighter than an Aes Sedai, and we all know how tight they are.”

    The volume of laughter to Ham’s comments buried any response Amon could come up with and so he raised his tankard and quickly finished the contents before calling the innkeeper over and ordering another round of drinks. Ham was not serious in his remark, everyone knew that Amon would buy his share of the drinks, more than his share if you stayed around long enough, but that did not mean he was an easy mark for those who thought to inveigle their way into his good books.

    “After the recent events we have been through Ham I would have thought you would have thought you would have a bit more respect for your Commander than you are showing right now.”

    “The Commander is an ass Amon and I thought we were talking about you not about the Commander.” Grinning Ham picked up one of the tankards and took a hefty swig. “You know what I meant Ham, I was referring to myself not to our glorious leader, and if you keep on drinking at that rate we will have to pour you into your bed, just like last time. Everyone here knows you cannot hold your ale, don’t we lads.”

    A chorus of agreement was the response to Amon’s words. “And the less said about the state of your quarters the following morning the better.”

    “You know Amon, it is at times like this that I realise I should have left you in that camp full of bandits, that way I would not now have to have my evening drink ruined by you.”

    “Ahhh, but who would pay for your drinks then Ham, who indeed?”

Amon (Tik-Tik) Turmaber

 

Under Commander, BotRH

 

Born to live, Live to die

 

[Daetirion]

"Report back here tommorrow for your training. We'll see just how good you really are. For now, there's entertainment enough around the Citadel. Dismissed"

 

The recruiter finished barking out his instructions and quickly dissappeared, glad to be away from the persistant questioning of all the new recruits. He left a dozen or so new recruits milling around outside the Barracks, all fairly tired from the journey to the Citadel.

 

Daetirion considered his options, as most of the other recruits dissappeared sharpish. Youngsters the lot of them, but they seemed alright lads. Still, with little else to do till morning, Dae decided to follow their example and wandered from the square they'd been brought to, into the streets of the Citadel.

 

Eventually his feet took him to a likable enough tavern, with a fair amount of trade heading through its doors and a fair bit of noise spilling out into the street. With a mental note not to drink too much before training the next day, Daetirion walked through the door into the gloom and cacophony that awaited. Carefully manuevering his way through to the bar, he was eventually rewarded with a pint, albeit coupled with a lighter purse. Prices nowadays just kept getting pushed up and up.

 

Turning, Dae scanned the crowd, noticing several he instantly put down as soldiers with a fair bit of experience under their belts. At least he seemed to be in the right kind of establishment. And, tasting the Ale, he knew he was right...

[Jehaine]

Saira came walking into the inn, wanting to forget about what happened during training. Regardless of whether she had passed the class or not, the way her arm stung from the training sword was a near-constant reminder that she had a very, very long way to go if she'd ever want to be in the force that liberated her beloved Borderlands. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, coughing softly at the scent of tabac drifting into her face.

 

Never having been much of a focus of attention when it came to the other gender, she just walked over to the bar, and ordered something simple to eat. Even though she had been living with the Band for a couple of weeks now, her body still liked to remind her of the way she practically lived on scraps during those weeks of travel, and more often than not she'd sneak into the inn for an extra meal.

 

- "Evening innkeep... Usual please."

 

Mumbling her words along with a small nod of the head, she looked around the inn. Just about the only person she knew was talking to some guy with burns on his face, and she quickly focused her attention back to the counter to prevent getting caught staring. She figured the man was conscious enough about his burns that he wouldn't like her reminding him of them, anyway.

 

The 'usual' arrived shortly afterwards, and mainly consisted of a mix of what looked like leftovers. Which is what they were, in fact, but even though the amount was equal to a full meal the price was low, and her merchant's mind told her that that would allow her to keep buying these extra meals until her first pay would arrive. After that, she'd be able to arrange her finances properly, building up some coin as a reserve again.

 

But first, food. Stabbing her fork into some potatoes, she took a bite, giving Nowal a grateful smile as she chewed. Judging by the meals on the menu, he was giving her a discount as it was, and she made a mental note to repay him the favor as soon as she had some money to spend again.

[Taymist]

Elynde hooked a foot round the chair and pulled it out, sinking onto it gratefully and crossing one ankle over the other knee as was her wont. The day had been long enough that standing around held little appeal even compared to the hardness of the wooden seat.

 

"Heh. Nothing to forgive. I'm not uncomfortable with your injuries if that's what you mean, man. We can outrun our past but it's a damn site harder to outrun memories and I have enough of them to make me uncomfortable without adding more," she responded with her normal forthright manner, amusement at human foibles suffusing her tone. "Well met Jehryn and aye, it is my first day here. I'm still finding my way around but an inn is as good a place to start as any. Elynde Sidoro of Ebou Dar, training for the Infantry."

 

Her gaze wandered the room as she spoke, enjoying the familiar ambience and keeping an eye on any new arrivals. Old habits were hard to break and she still found herself warily watching for trouble. The woman that walked through the door next, however, was familiar and Elynde nodded in recognition at Saira. She looked as done in as Elynde felt.

 

"So Jehryn, you've been here longer than I. Any hints or advice for a newcomer? Officers best avoided and the like. Or better yet anything for aches and pains?" she grimaced at a twinge in her shoulder. That blasted Sergeant has a strong arm.

[Tigara]

A fire burned in Heather’s shoulders. Her first day of professional training had been brutal. Maybe she wasn’t as good as she thought she was. She unstrung her bow in her tent and grimaced often as her shoulders protested violently. She needed something to ease the pain. A drink or two should help, maybe some food. And the inn wasn’t far, so she just jogged over.

 

Stepping in, many familiar smells filled her consciousness. There were enough taverns and inns in Baerlon that the smells permeated nearly the whole city. Heather surveyed the seating situation. A man with bandages sat in the back with a young woman, likely near her age. A recruit sat along at another table. Two more experienced men sat at the bar, laughing and making merry. Yet another fresh face sat at the bar, along eating what appeared to be a smattering of different dishes. She looked nice enough. Heather plopped onto the stood to the right of the girl. “Barkeep, one of those Domani drinks and a dinner, please.” The keep nodded and plunked a tall mug in front of her. She had on of these yesterday, and she loved it. It was light, fizzy, and fruity, but was a wonderful painkiller. A new thing from Arad Doman. She took a sip then turned to the girl beside her. “Heather al’Morris, Private of the Archers. My second day here. Pleased to meet you.”

 

Heather al’Morris

 

[minisamus]

I will find you . . . someday

 

Upon seeing Jehryn in the dark corner she almost left but he was chatting up some girl in stylish clothing flattering curves Tris knew she lacked. She found herself paying more and more attention to rating what others wore, so perhaps it was a sign of her womanhood. But had she not seem malnourished for her age, which was all of fourteen, could she have dressed as a man? I know, right; lah-dee-dah.

 

Her blue tunic over yellow tights resembled a page's livery, simple enough. Only a peony she stuck into her sash gave any indication of her liking for extravagance.

 

". . . so that's why I've been asking around. Her absence pains me, I've only realised now that I cannot bear to be alone. I'd indulge in the drink, but there's enough wallowing already thanks." She turned down the proffered cup, but stayed near the barkeep, figuring he had served plenty of banders. While keeping Jehryn in her periphery. She was amused to see him swathed in a scarf like some black eyed Aiel veiling to kill, when he was a self-professed medic. She wouldn't know though, since he certainly had to drag her to the Citidel earlier. Tris should thank him, maybe but that would be time better spent elsewhere.

[Barmacral]

Finishing training a bit early for the day Burgandy decided to visit the tavern, rather than hit the sack like he had been every night. He’d been here a week, and was exhausted each day when he finished, he’d not taken the time as of yet to actually explore the Citadel.

 

Entering he looked around, he noticed a woman shuffle off to some dark corner where a very burned looking man sat, and little Saira off to the side. Seeing that Saira was very involved in her food, he decided to wait until she was finished before disturbing her. Walking over to the bar he ordered a mug of ale, then looked to the young man beside him. The man had a newish look to him, like he’d never been out in the field, and Burgandy hadn’t seen him in training in the past week.

 

“New around these parts?” He asked the man, deciding that it was high time he made some friends. A man without friends in an army is a dead man, after all.

[minisamus]

Tris looked at him sharply, then relaxed when she saw who it was, or rather, who it was not. She did not know him, but was glad to see the stranger's tentative smile. Returning a kind smile she stretched out her hand "would it upset you if I were to shake your hand?"

 

Clasping his hand with both of hers she proceeded to do just that, once, twice then released her hold. It was pleasing to reach out and establish some sort of contact even if this one felt a bit sweaty, probably from a workout.

 

"Yep, I've only been here at the Citidel a few days. And I know that smile, young man, you're relatively new here too, aren't you? Discovered anything cool?"

 

Edit: Oops! That'll show me. Also I presumed it was to me. x]

[Barmacral]

OOC: Older man actually, think in his 40’s. Also, I just clued into what your handle actually says :P

IC:

‘A young woman!’ Burgandy thought, though he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to find this out until he looked a bit more closely, a very young woman, she did not look old enough to be in any sort of army. Not that it mattered to him, if she was underage she was hardly the first or last person to lie about their age to get into an army.

 

“Would it upset you if I were to shake your hand?" the girl asked, offering out a hand. Studying the hand for a moment Burgandy reached over and took it, at which point she grasped his hand with both of hers and shook it twice before releasing it. ‘An odd girl, certainly.’

 

"Yep, I've only been here at the Citidel a few days. And I know that smile, young man, you're relatively new here too, aren't you? Discovered anything cool?"

 

Burgandy’s eyebrows rose at that, young? No, that was not a word he’d use to describe himself. He definitely found himself wondering at the child’s background.

 

“New to the Band and the citadel most certainly, but hardly new to war; I’ve fought my fair share of battles in the past.” Not to scare her though he smiled and added, “I’ve not been around much in the short time I’ve been here, just trying to get myself back into shape, slow going as it is.” Burgandy patted his rather large stomach, “and what brings you to such a camp as the citadel? You look easily an age to be at home courting a nice young man.”

 

[minisamus]

Wishing she had seen more before she spoke, she glared very hard as the darkness gave way and the stranger whose hand she grabbed had turned out to be quite a lot older than Tris initially thought. She had imagined his age to be near the medic Jehryn's but, by the light from sidelamps he looked even older than her father. This man--one shaggy brow arched in amusement at her no doubt!--was shamefully old.

 

You have a deceptively young voice . . . and smile! Tris purported as he spoke. Her hands swiped on the front of her tunic, not even trying for surreptitiousness reserved for polite society. She was still way too super embarrassed. She touched old people sweat, gosh!

 

However, a blush of an entirely different sort came over her at the mention of courtship. "My mother brought me to this camp, Mister. She ran off with a young man, although I am sure he's not really nice at all" She said, truthfully. "They're tied up with the Band somehow, and I'm here to find out how. Only I know nothing about fighting and all that, so I'll want some training as well." Something else occurred to her, "And is that a potbelly you have?" 

[Barmacral]

OOC: It was actually to Dae, for a bar fight, but he’s MIA anyways, and you’re fun to write with, so don’t worry.

 

’A potbelly!’ This girl was a bold one, Burgandy supposed that he should be offended, but he was actually far too entertained by her social awkwardness. The child was certainly young yet, which meant impressionable… and hiding out in an army of soldiers was not going to make her any sort of stately young woman.

But that hardly mattered to him, he’d been a fighter all his life, stately wasn’t something that interested him anyways. The girl’s mother hardly surprised him either, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard of women running off with soldiers, and wouldn’t be the last either. He did have a thought about her training though, as he glanced over at Saira for a moment.

 

“A potbelly?” Burgandy chuckled, “it most certainly is exactly that; give it a few months though, and it should be gone again. You mentioned training? You should wander through the grounds sometime; you might find some people to train with… people of similar physique to yourself.”

 

[minisamus]

This old man, for sure, provided some fascination. She tucked away knowledge of what potbellies are like for later. None of the men in her family back in Tanchico had beerguts, not that it mattered to her mother. Tris wondered if maybe her mother had been attracted to the coarse, pot-bellied soldier type even though she couldn't imagine it, her fourteen years in the city saw many a noblewoman ran off, rebelling against their kin with romantic shines in their eyes and sleazy no-gooders for husbands.

 

Wandering around the grounds trying to find her mother sounded a good idea. In fact, she already felt free to look aroud the Citidel since she got here. The only problem was, there really had not been much to see. Besides some stables and restrictred areas, studies presumably, she had access to the mess, the tavern, the villages. Most of what little there were to look at were laid out in the open, so one could not miss it. All was organized with a military precision that would have been very impressive, considering the restless populace, varied despite the same landmarks. At this rate Tris would never find her.

 

No, she dumped the thought. She's here, alright. Just not here. I should get going.

 

While edifying regarding the subjects of bodies and their shapes, the old man was not as helpful regarding her mother though. He didn't say anything about that. However, his mention of her physique was beginning to grate on her nerves. Especially when he punctuated his statement with that obvious look of appraisal for a sweet-smiling woman sat on the barstool near them.

 

Might as well call me midget. Besides, it can't be easy for him to train, either. "Hey you" she huffed, realizing she still didn't know his name, "I'm just a recruit! And where is my drink? I want a drink. This drink yours, wrinkles? Not anymore."

 

Tris snatched up a whole tankard of ale, "tell me," she continued as she poured out a glass "how would you like to teach me some fighting moves? C'mon now, how say you, up for a brawl?"

 

Ignoring anything from the bemused man she turned instead to one corner opposite Jehryn where the gambling went on. Notoriously serious business being dealt here. Wondering if this sort of activity also went on behind officers lounges, Tris cut into a gaming trio at the Dark One's Eyes.

 

"Let me think . . ." One of the gamblers lifted a finger from his cup and cards, holding it in the air as though to test the humidity.

 

"Sorry," she said to the three, lunging for the cup with its dice "time's up." With her other hand she splashed her glass of ale into their shocked faces.

 

Shock did not last long as she beelined it toward the old man.

 

"What a motley crew we have here! I'll take care of the little brown-haired twerp if you two git the grandpa."

[Barmacral]

Burgandy moaned as he stared in horrified shock as the girl threw the rest of his beer in the gamblers faces and ran back towards him. The nerve of her! Not only did she want him to fight these people, but that was his beer! Clearly, he was going to have to teach her a thing about spilling any sort of booze, most especially, about spilling other peoples booze.

 

Seeing the three men charging him, Burgandy reached over and grabbed the girl by the scruff of her neck and the nape of her shirt, and threw her at their first assailant, and with him distracted he stepped forward and planted his fist in the second mans nose. Feeling a sharp pain in his hand that suggested he’d broken a knuckle, Burgandy didn’t stop, throwing his knee into the mans stomach, and suddenly he felt a loud crunch on the side of his head and found himself staggering backwards blinking, trying to see. His eyesight came back just in time to see the third man bring down a bar stool onto his head, driving him down to one knee.

 

Instead of waiting to recover this time, Burgandy dove straight at the third man, and barrelled full tilt towards the wall, driving the man into it. He then started pummelling the gambler in the stomach as fast as he could when he felt a hand grab his hair from behind, then start driving his head into the wall repeatedly. Burgandy in reaction swung his elbow behind him, connecting only with air. Quickly losing his senses to the wall in front of him, as well as losing blood just as quickly, Burgandy sank to his hands and knees, no longer able to stand; then he started feeling feet connecting with his ribs and stomach, and fell over. This fight was clearly not going well for him. He vaguely wondered about the girl, and how she was holding up.

 

[minisamus]

This was the most entertained bout Tris had been since she arrived, for a while. Any tinge of feeling bad vanished when the old man, her partner in crime, lauched her at one of the gamblers, who wore mostly orange and blue. The other two in crimson and black livery rushed the old man. Their clothes were of finer quality than the assailant she was sailing toward. Amazing what the mind focus on when you're stressed, she thought distractedly, put on an apologetic smile and ducked the first blow, a headcut. Though she could not stop her momentum falling toward her attacker her knuckles tightened on the pewter glass. Panicking, she squeezed her eyes together, mumbled a fervent please?, and threw it wildly. When she looked again, the mug had unfortunately missed him, rather than knock him out but a sherd richocetted off the ceiling and scraped his cheek. Even more unfortunately, she was too close by now and her agility was not much help as he, seemingly embued by his soldier's training, caught her in a headhold.

 

"Oh crap, mercy," she cried, squirming to no avail "mercy! Mercy! Er . . . Uncle?"

 

"That was not funny, boy" said her assailant, as he aimed a casual pain-doubling kick into her middle "now THAT'S funny."

 

His grim face loomed overhead.

 

"A . . . A little help please?" She wheezed, curling up as small as she could on the ground.

[Taymist]

OOC: Hope you don’t mind me jumping in again, I need another post on this thread!

 

IC:

 

Elynde glanced up with casual interest from her conversation with Jehryn when a crash from the far corner of the room assailed her ears. She knew that sound all too well. Standing up and excusing herself to her companion, she tried to see past the multitude of shoulders and heads between her and whatever was causing the ruckus, but to little avail. The room was shrouded in a thick fog of smoke from the many pipes that had been lit and it did nothing but obscure the view further.

 

Putting her elbows to good use, Elynde shoved a way through the rowdy crowd of onlookers, moving towards the bar. It was never a good idea to get directly in the way of any action after all. Much better to appraise the situation first. Finding herself in a relatively clear space, she caught Nowal’s eye and almost laughed at his resigned expression. She grinned back at the older man, sympathising with the mess he’d eventually be left to clear up. Standing on the foot rung of a nearby stool, she was finally able to see over the crowd into the corner of the room and cursed under her breath.

 

One man was already on the ground and another figure, who was calling for help, appeared to be a young girl. What under the Light are those wool heads thinking of attacking a child? Elynde’s eyebrows rose with incredulity as she took in the scene. She was moving again before the thought was finished, barrelling a path through the men watching the sport and taking the stool with her. She had to get that girl out of there. The man was old enough to look after himself for the moment.

 

Angling a path behind the man holding the girl, Elynde swung and brought the hard wood of the stool’s seat down on his head with a sharp crack. His knees started to buckle and she dropped her improvised weapon, finishing the job with a solid punch to his kidney. Certain that he wasn’t going to get up again any time soon, she grabbed for the youngster who’d been dropped unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.

 

“Get out of it lass, now. MOVE!” Elynde yelled over the uproar, thrusting the girl in the direction of the bar. “Stupid child.”

 

In her element now, eyes sparkling with determination, she turned her attention to the man she’d spotted earlier. There were two crimson and black liveried characters assaulting him without respite. Elynde didn’t stop to consider options, lifting one booted foot directly between the legs of the first assailant in a kick that would likely remain in the man’s memory for some time to come. His yowl of agony sounded easily over the general racket as he turned to face her and she caught him quickly with an uppercut to the jaw that sent him flying just as she felt a sharp pain explode through her own skull, dazing her.

 

Elynde whipped round, preparing to defend herself, but found her sight too blurry as a fist planted itself in her stomach doubling her over. Backing away and trying to catch her breath, she wondered briefly whether she was alone in this or if the other man had regained his feet.

 

[minisamus]

Ooc: Lovely!

 

When she regained her breath and began contemplating the protection of her body under the table, somebody else noticed the fighters. It had been the lady talking with Jehryn! Her admiration for the woman rose as she quickly dispensed with conversation and came their way. It was then that Tris' attacker held her fast and no amount of squirming, biting could force him to let go. Luckily he was the first one the woman dispatched, swiftly with the blunt end of a stool.

 

She tried to grin at the woman (who called her stupid child but was saving her life) and had been mostly successful in that respect. However, Tris' legs gave out and despite trying to run or stand she was rather less successful in doing so. Crawling, as Tris was now developing a habit for, she thought wryly, Tris yelled at Jehryn, "hurry up" her eyes and hands still seeking objects to chuck at the men.

[Barmacral]

OOC: Not a problem, we did need a hand. Thanks!

 

IC:

Burgandy groaned a bit as he attempted to brace himself against the constant barrage of kicks. A couple of seconds of waiting though and he realised that there was no new sharp pains arriving every few moments. Looking up he saw a young woman fighting the men that had been going after him a few moments before… and losing.

 

Burgandy forced himself to his feet, staggering a little bit as he stood, turning to face the remaining combatants he scooped up a bar stool that had been knocked over, possibly even used as a weapon and brought it down hard directly on the man’s spine in the middle of his back. There was a loud crack and the mans legs buckled as he dropped to the ground screaming.

 

Looking around he saw the child he’d been talking to was safe, and then he walked over to the young woman to check on her. “Thanks for saving me there, I really needed that; much more of that beating and I’d have probably not stood up again tonight.  Are you alright?”

[Quibby]

At the sudden crashing noises, Elynde turned away from their conversation.  All Jehryn did was sigh and rest his head on his open palm.  Another fight.  Elynde was far more curious than Jehryn, and she departed rapidly.  Jehryn sighed again, and dug into his bag of tricks.  There was no way that he would get involved in a tavern brawl; he wouldn't last a minute.  Instead, he readied a few of his long thorns with a potent paralyzing agent.  Anybody struck with it would find movement all but impossible.

 

A space cleared between himself and the combatants, showing the last person Jehryn wanted to deal with in the Citadel: Tristram.  Damn fool girl, he thought angrily.  However, she was not doing well in the melee.  With a reluctant sigh, Jehryn stood up and elbowed his way into the crowd.  Another man was in the middle of the mess, though he was not familiar to Jehryn.  As he watched, the man found himself free of the attention of his assailant, who had apparently decided that his ribs were a decent place to begin kicking.

 

Elynde's arrival had drawn all the combatants to her, and she was not faring well.  Maybe it was because she'd been willing to converse with such a creature as himself, but Jehryn felt some responsibility to help the woman.  With that, he forced himself into the empty space, ignoring Tristram's jeering cheers. 

 

The man saved him the trouble of drugging anybody.

 

An audible crunch spun Jehryn back to the man he'd noticed earlier.  He had found Elynde's bar stool, and from the look of the man on the floor, had chosen to use it.  As the man moved to talk with Elynde and Tris, Jehryn approached screaming man.  Details bypassed conscious thought, seeking diagnosis.  Screaming, so there's pain.  Thrashing his arms, not his legs.  Paralysis.  Darts forgotten, Jehryn took out his collection of vials and selected one colored light blue.  He applied a thick coating to another thorn, muttering to the man, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.  Try to relax.  This will help the pain and make you sleep.  I'm sorry."  The next moment, Jehryn had jabbed the thorn into the man's neck.  He twitched once, another cry of pain escaping from his lips, then he visibly relaxed.  Within seconds, he was sound asleep.  Three hours, Jehryn thought.

 

Rising, Jehryn looked at the surrounding men, some of whom had been watching him.  Many outranked him, but there were things that had to be done, no matter what rank he held.  "You six," he said quietly, pointing to six burly men in the crowd, "I want you to seize that man.  If he struggles, stick him with this."  The nearest man to him carefully took the proffered thorn from Jehryn, one that he'd prepared before joining the fight.

 

Selecting another man from the gathered soliders, Jehryn said, "You, go find the Redarms.  Have them come to collect this man."  Another man.  "You.  Run to the Asha'mans' barracks.  Tell them to send their best Healer as fast as they can."  By this time, the sound of struggle had ceased behind him.  Jehryn felt a cold smile cross his face momentarily behind the wrappings he used to hide his burned visage.  "As for you..."  He was an older man, somewhere around forty, and he appeared to have devoted some time to adding fat to his bones.  A new recruit, then.  "My name is Corporal Jehryn do'Halcaran, a medic, and I hope for your sake that the Asha'man who arrives here can undo what you've done.  He's paralyzed."

[Barmacral]

Paralyzed.

 

The word hung in Burgandy’s mind while the other soldiers moved in to take hold of him; he didn’t struggle as they grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. He had not meant to paralyze the man, just take him out of the fight, idly Burgandy wondered what sort of punishment would go with this. As long as the man didn’t die though, he should be ok, seeing as he had no real desire to die himself.

 

Well, Burgandy though ruefully, that’s a good way to cut his training short for a while. Definitely a setback, but then it WAS adventure, which certainly accounted for the reason he was here at all.

[minisamus]

Jehryn looked angry. She had never seen such a furious expression twist what little was showing of his face. Somewhere inside, deep inside, Tris thought she was beginning to feel the twinges of remorse, but she had mistaken the pain wrecking her ribs for emotions. In fact, when she reflected upon the situation later, she was awful glad that the grandpa had paralyzed one of the men who was hurting them. Sure, she should not have poured ale in their faces, but that did not warrant them any right to use their fists to strike children or the elderly down, not when they were so much stronger.

 

It was, not nice. What the fourteen year old should have realised was that grown-ups did not care about niceties. But she did, in that childish wish to please, wanting to transform a grumpy look into smiling faces. But oh, where to start? Pouring the older man, who was being dragged by the soldiers, a glass of ale, she said to the people holding him "let my grandpa go, you horrible skunks! He needs to drink his medication"

[Barmacral]

Burgandy cringed a little, Grandpa? Oh, this kid was something alright; he was going to have to break her of the habit of calling him that though. It made him feel old, and he hated feeling old. He didn’t move to take the beer she offered though, and his guards didn’t release their hold of him in the slightest. Burgandy did cringe a little when some of the blood from his nose dripped into the beer. What a waste of perfectly good beer!

 

Looking at the girl standing there so innocently, offering up what she called medication he realised that he was starting to develop a bit of a fondness for her, kind of like a… granddaughter. Burgandy groaned, he could never tell her that, else he’d never hear the end of it. Plus, he didn’t even know the kids name, and she’d just gotten him into a fight, resulting in this arrest. He didn’t understand what could possibly be likable about that. Something to ponder while he was out of training the next few days he supposed.

 

Looking back at the Medic, Burgandy gave the man a flat stare. He was glad the Private had taken charge of the situation so fast, lest things get even nastier than they did. Burgandy didn’t like the Private though, the man had a manner about him that was… unpleasant, and he doubted that it had anything to do with the scars covering his face. Maybe it was just that the man was a mere private, and not actually anyone of rank, that irked him to no end, that someone of equal rank could command his arrest. There had to be an officer somewhere in this bar.

 

Burgandy still didn’t resist though, equal rank or not, the Medic WAS clearly in charge here, and was also threatening to poke him with some sort of concoction that could put him to sleep as fast as the paralyzed man on the floor or worse, and frankly, that wasn’t what Burgandy wanted at all. Let him stand on his own two feet at least.

 

[Quibby]

Tris' antics garnered some chuckles from a few of the encompassing Banders.  Truth be told, Jehryn knew that he would have laughed at the comment under different circumstances.  However...  Jehryn wasn't sure whether the girl's actions were because she didn't quite comprehend what had happened, or maybe she was willfully trying not to know.  It would make sense in the circumstances.  However, he had no time for it.  Why not? a quiet thought accused him.  You cannot do a thing for him but pray that the Asha'man can.  The rational thought sunk coldly into the bundle of emotions that was the moment, and Jehryn visibly slumped.  He hated feeling helpless.

 

Slowly, Jehryn became aware of the restrained man, who was not offering up any resistance.  Instead, all of his energy seemed to be focused on Jehryn.  There was a definite malevolence about the man, and it seemed directed towards him.  Yet, he didn't struggle.  The men holding him seemed to notice as well; one by one, they released him, but stayed close enough to seize him, should the need arise.

 

There was a clatter outside the tavern, followed by two burly men with truncheons and red armbands.  The two men worked their way through the crowd, taking up position on either side of the older man.  The other six dispersed into the crowd again.  The man's face had not changed yet.  Probably thinking about how much more respectful youngsters were in the 'good old days'.  Hah!  Maybe one day the man would realize that there were a few select people in the Band that could potentially command the Commander herself, and that his fate had been thrown to one who might advance that far.  Just like any other medic, the cold voice added again.

 

Jehryn's head moved before he was consciously aware of the sounds from outside.  The calm footsteps of a man who had all day.  Although most of the Asha'man that Jehryn had spoken to were somewhat agreeable, if aloof, they all had a basic flaw: arrogance.  He assumed that it had something to do with being able to- Jehryn unconsciously shuddered- to wield the One Power.  The man who entered the tavern was unfamiliar to Jehryn, but it was clear what he was.  Clad in black, complete with a long black coat bearing a silver sword pin, the man in the door could not be mistaken for anything other than an Asha'man.  Dedicated.  Count the pins.  One.  Dedicated.

 

There was no vocal exchange.  The Dedicated, a tall, broad-chested man with icy blue eyes and close-cut hair, looked at the man on the floor, then at Jehryn.  Jehryn nodded once, then stepped to one side.  The Dedicated wasted no time striding across the floor to kneel next to the downed man, his face going blank as he did.  There was a moment of stillness; Jehryn could not hear anyone in the room breathing.  They had been allied with the Black Tower for some time before he'd arrived, but nobody was comfortable with a man channeling, especially not so close to them.  The look on the Dedicated's face suddenly changed to one of extreme concentration, followed by a deep, shuddering gasp from the man on the floor.  "It is done," the Dedicated murmured.  "Get him to bed and feed him."