[Harbor District] The Limelight Tavern

[Striker]

The Limelight Tavern Tavern Appropriately renamed to reflect the bitterness of memories past, the Limelight Tavern was located on the outskirts of the eastern residential district. In the aftermath of the orc invasion, the establishment remained as the sole distributor of alcoholic beverages -much of which was consumed on a regular basis. Whereas some had chosen to preoccupy themselves with restoring ruined Paxia, others had retreated to the bottle to wash away their miseries. It was truly a dismal time in the lives of those who had once dwelt in the mercantile heart of Arium, and thus the tavern had served as a beacon of light for those hoping to escape from their wretched existences. The Limelight Tavern was relatively large. It had been partially restored through the combined efforts of a tribe of giants and civilians who had patched the facility’s many holes with wooden boards. The crude floor, too, had been replaced with shoddy planks that creaked when the tiniest bit of pressure was applied from above. And the windows that had once existed on each side of the resort were no longer present but were instead supplanted by open spaces to promote ventilation. For the most part, though, the establishment was firmly upon its feet and had perseveringly endured through the grueling seasons. The entrance to the tavern consisted of half a swinging door –the other half had repeatedly fallen from its hinges and had eventually been discarded. Beyond the entry point was the main floor which was littered with tables of all sorts and sizes; none of these, however, were identical as they had been salvaged from the ruins of various locations that had existed prior to the orc assault. Chairs of different scales, too, surrounded these tables and were filled by noticeably weary occupants. The room itself was dimly lit subsequent of a shortage of candles situated upon only a handful of the tables, but fortunately the mornings and afternoons were illuminated by the sunlight pouring in through the glassless windows. To the left side of the pub was a bar complete with a liquor cabinet that seemed to be lacking in bottles. The bartender, Tom, could be seen tending to the patrons seated on stools before the counter, filling their glasses or retrieving them as the hours progressed. He was a middle-aged human, several inches shy of six feet with golden blonde hair and brown eyes. It was evident from the flecks of apathy in his gaze that he had seen better times in Paxia, but for the most part he managed to greet his patrons with a cordial smile. On the opposite end of the room was a makeshift stage composed of elevated wooden tiers, sturdy enough to withstand a reasonable amount of weight. Saira, the petite half-elfin waitress, occasionally performed on the stage during nights when the tavern was busier. Aside her lovely voice and harp playing skills, both of which had won acclaim from visitors and regulars alike, her flowing hazel locks and entrancing green eyes had become quite a sight for the sore eyes of the refugees. And the Gods knew that no one else on Telath needed such an uplifting sight more than the tired people of Paxia. OOC: Rewritten by GM Striker, originally created by GM Ragboy

[Stephan Woulofen]

31st Brightening of Aperitus. Late Evening

For cycles now he had hopped from tavern to tavern, from stable to stable, from alley to alley, and now he found his way back to the Limelight Tavern. He had stayed here only once before, but now he would make it a more long lasting place he would stay for he felt he was safe enough. That wasn't totally true, but he really could not sleep in anything but a bed anymore. He had enough of hard floors, straw bedding, and shady characters who he did not trust. Walking into the Limelight Tavern he looked out from under his mop hair and heavily bearded face. If Stephan could not even identify himself, no one could.

Wearing his obsidianite breastplate he could not let it go, but he now had his large longsword, his gift, his punishment for his crimes. It had more weight to it than anyone could possibly understand, and despite the strength in his arms to easily wield it, he had yet to try, and never wanted to. Finding the same table he had sat at the time before he walked to it and sat down, moreso collapsed into it. His legs were tired and he had barely walked this brightening. One's subconscious that was in conflict with the memories they carried with them could destroy any physical advantages one had. That was true for Stephan who felt as if he had just come from the battlefield. That was correct in one sense for he was always at war with himself in these times, only massive amounts of alcohol and other drugs seemed to take care of it.

Not looking up or around as he did not want to catch the eyes of others, Stephan awaited for the waitress to approach, surely the same one who had served him that time before. Though she looked nothing like her, these brightenings any woman reminded him. What he saw sometimes when he looked at a beautiful woman scared him half to death, often causing him to lose it in a sick rage. Mumbling to himself a bunch of incoherent things Stephan had been looked at oddly by many of the Paxia citizens who wondered just exactly who he was. He knew he should have ditched the obsidianite armor for it was an expensive item and did not allow him to really melt into the crowds. But, he simply could not part with it.

Ruu had better return soon, the two needed to move on.

OOC: If you carry this Striker, or if someone else does, if you have no clue what is going on just ask me.

[Striker]

More than a few pairs of eyes settled upon the disgruntled knight as he ensconced at a table, generally keeping to himself save sparing a few intermittent glances to the patrons nearby. Upon meeting his stare, those who watched him self-consciously turned away, burying themselves in the foaming mugs of ale poised in front of them. Despite their silence, it was clear that they distinguished him as an outsider –and it was not incredibly difficult to learn why.

That black armor…

A few dwarves huddled around a circular table adjacent to Stephan’s occasionally looked at him, exchanging full, partial, and sometimes toothless grins to one another before inclining their heads towards the center of the table to share mirthful mouthfuls of murmurs, cackles, and smiles. Their conversation was restricted to the small area of their discourse, but whatever it was that they were speaking about, it was clear that they were having an incredibly merry time.

One dwarf whose right eye was covered by a black patch even fell off of his chair in a fit of laughter.

“Um… mister…?” Came a voice from Stephan’s side.

If the knight was to glance upwards, he would notice the slender physique of a petite half-elfin woman standing nearby, one hand poised languidly upon a hip and the other steadying a tray full of empty glasses. She wore a long-sleeved, loose-fitting tunic that fell too long past her waist, nearly covering her knee-length black skirt. Cocking her head to the side as she regarded Stephan with alluring green eyes, her long wavy auburn locks tipped over her shoulder and bobbled against her backside.

“I said…serale mister…” She repeated, this time flashing an innocent smile. The manner in which she spoke suggested that she had been vying for Stephan’s attention for some time –however long that had been, though, was uncertain. “You okay there hun? Can I get you anything?”

“Saira! Three cold ones for them dwarves over there!” screamed the bartender from the side of the room.

“I heard you already!” the half elf roared back, shaking her head in mild agitation before turning back to Stephan, that same smile of hers spread delicately across her lips.

[Stephan Woulofen]

He may be more depressed and nearing the bring of complete insanity with every new brightening with all this weight upon his shoulders, but Stephan was not deaf nor did he let things hit and roll off. The glances his direction were something he did not want, but he should have really known better considering he stuck out like a sore thumb. Shaggy bearded and with a mop of unkept hair he looked much more like a drifter than a warrior, and thus the black obsidianite armor caused much more attention. He was not doing a very good job at this blending in thing, without Ruu here, his surviving personal guard who was in Nexus Prime, it made it only worse. The elf understood such things about blending in and going unseen; that was completely foreign to Stephan.

Hearing the laughter coming from the group of dwarves who also looked over his direction at times, Stephan had to struggle to keep it cool. If they really wanted him to snap they were on a very good start. Dwarves had constructed his armor and had forged his dwarven-steel blade that had perished with him in the fire in Mystique. His master swordsman of Zerdargia that had actually taught him expert skills with his scimitar had also been dwarven as well. He had much respect for them, but these dwarves were certainly draining his good nature towards them quickly.

He had so much focus on them that he didn't even hear the voice of the halr-elvin female who was trying to wait on him. It was the second time she spoke that he looked over. First, he saw her waist and the lengthy tunic, but eventually he trailed his eyes upwards to look back at her as she was already watching him and awaiting his response. As soon as he caught her green eyes looking back at him he brought his stare into them for they were the wrong color. Green eyes reminded him of her and the memories of her these days were only of those green eyes looking back at him as they filled with blood. Memories like these caused his heart to beat rapidly and had times set him into a fit. Shaking slightly Stephan looked at the table, not looking back up at her again.

Still looking at the table, thanks for the break he got to reply to control himself, he replied to her question. "Yes, I will take a house ale, and keep on bringing them my way. I will also need a room for the night." It sounded as if he was done but after only a brief pause he spoke up again. "Those dwarves over there, their next round is on me," he said and finally, he looked up at her again, however as she looked back she would see that it looked as if he was looking over her shoulder. Anyone who knew him well knew this was not the Stephan they could recognize, had this been before the deaths he would have charmed this half-elf right to his bed, such thoughts were now not even a part of him. In truth, there was something much darker behind it all that he hid. "But tell them, that my friendliness only goes so far." Reaching in his pocket he already pulled out a decent bag of crowns and tossed it onto the table, much easier to store it here and more likely that they would give him the ability of a tab.

[Striker]

Startled, Saira winced as the bag of crowns was flung onto the table. Eyeing the bulging purse of coins with evident awe, she briefly looked at Stephan questioningly before swiping up the payment and nodding pleasantly, a wide smile soon spread across her delicate features. “Excellent, mister!” She exclaimed, seemingly satisfied by the haggard knight’s order. “And I’ll be sure to relay your message to the folks over there.” Saira added, giggling as she scuttled around the table and retreated to the counter where she placed the knight’s order.

Several minutes elapsed before Saira’s return, though when she did, she set a foaming mug of ale directly in front of Stephan. The horde of bubbles at the brim of the glass was settled just beneath the rim, resting quite delicately atop the golden-brown liquid contained within the glass. “There you are, sir. And here are the keys for your room tonight. Head upstairs and two doors down the left.” Smiling innocently again, she held out the keys almost tantalizingly in front of her and then also placed them beside the mug of ale. Bowing shortly, she skipped away towards another table packed with a group of ruggedly dressed humans.

By now the dwarves had received Stephan’s kind gesture, and their dirty faces were buried in the goblets of ale that had been provided to them compliments of the altruistic knight. Their laughs continued in unison, though, and their voices began to rise mirthfully in volume and pitch. Their stares, however, failed to discontinue and instead of keeping to themselves, one of the dwarves, a hairy creature whose black beard nearly swept the dirty floor, leaped off of his stool and ambled clumsily over to Stephan. Chortling stupidly, he shrugged as he nearly slipped on the polished wooden floor. Luckily he regained his balance in time to catch himself and complete his journey.

He plopped right down beside Stephan.

“Aye’ mate! Yer not bad!” He laughed, stringing his short but heavily muscled arm across the knight’s shoulder and clapping him appreciatively. “Thanks fer da drink laddie! Me n’ muh boys cannae thank ya enuf!” Cackling boisterously, the dwarf stood up and beckoned his comrades eagerly to the table where he and Stephan sat. The others, cheeks flushed in red, blinked excitedly and then hurriedly advanced to the knight’s table, nearly surrounding Stephan completely as they jutted their mugs out in front of them in a toast –they waited for Stephan’s mug to join, of course. “Ta da gener’us man!” one of the bearded folk cried out, and he received a unified “aye!” in response.

“Man. Dis is sum nice armor ya got der’…” another dwarf, the one whose right eye was covered by a large patch, commented as he petted the gleaming obsidianite much like a child would stroke a cat. “Ye a king man?!” He asked, quite serious despite the inebriating toxins coursing through his veins.

[Stephan Woulofen]

In no part of his explanation had he thought he gave her the notion that she was to have taken the entire bag of crowns. But, she seemed more than eager to, or more likely, had no clue what to do and thought that was what he wanted. She wasn't exactly the biggest brain in the room, then again, compared to the dwarves she appeared to be a member of an elder Council to the Empire. For what seemed to be far too long he waited until the woman, way too bubbly, and way too reminiscent of his young, innocent Tenance, returned with his mug of ale. As she smiled he looked to see the keys dangling, her seemingly allowing them to hover there as if there was something behind it, until they fell with a thud, a sound that oddly wasn't quieted by the obnoxious and incredibly far too loud group of drunk dwarves.

Nodding as she bowed he allowed a slight smile, more of a smirk, to form on his lips and a thank you to follow as the words somehow escaped his lips. He wanted not for her to speak to him any further this evening, her attitude, smell, and innocence reminded him far too much of her. But, then again, no matter the attitude or personality of any woman, they all seemed to remind him of her, even if they truly had no resemblence in any way. Reaching for the key first he plucked it and placed it in his pocket, followed closely by his reach for the ale, the mug which he dragged slowly across the table, like it was painstaking. Just as he raised the mug to his lips he saw the dwarves deep into their goblets, no thanks his way, but the quiet view moments as they drank were rewarding enough.

Finally, he took his first gulp of the sweat nectar, the first of so very many to come he knew. Just as he had retreated the mug from his lips he heard the sound of the dwarf plop by his side, a sound that caused him much difficulty to hold back a groan. And then, it was worse, a hand upon his back, a horrible smell coming from his breath as he spoke, and worst of all, a clap on his shoulder as well, which prevented him from raising the mug to his lips as he had intended to do. Before he could take another sip the dwarf had called his drunken buddies over, who were more than eager to join. With all their mugs out in front Stephan did not hesitate, and joined their mugs with his own. Raising his drinks in thanks to their words he took a big gulp with them, celebrating his generosity while he was cursing his good will.

With the comment on his armor he watched as it was then stroked by a dwarf who seemed to have a bad run-in with someone who had cost him his eye. Stephan hoped it hadn't been a result that stemmed from the dwarves drinking, or he was in for a very bad evening. Taking another big gulp of his drink Stephan finally responded, the first time in the entire encounter. "No, not a king, just a poor bastard with good luck in killing kings," he said, looking at the dwarf with the eye patch with a big smile. He figured after the confusion surely caused by their drunkeness to register things, that he would get a roaring laugh from them all. Raising his mug to that he then took another gulp of ale, chugging the rest and finishing it off, and then slammed it onto the table.

"Saira!" Stephan called her name, not even closely as loud as the bartender had, allowing him to call her over using the name the bartender had so kindly given to the room. Raising his empty mug he showed her what was required of her. No more drinks for the dwarves, hopefully the bartender would get rid of them soon enough or he would have to drop a few crowns to the bartender to ensure he knew this well paying patron wanted them out.

[Striker]

“Killin’ er…kings?” the one-eyed dwarf reiterated in a slur of speech. His large head tilted curiously to the side, resting upon a heavily dented shoulder-plate that would normally have been connected to his battered armor –in this particular case, though, the armor that should have covered his torso was nowhere to be seen. He seemed confused at first, and when he sought elucidation from his peculiarly attentive comrades, they offered sheepish, dumb, and even a few toothless smiles in response. “Ta killin’ kings den!” the inebriated dwarf roared as Stephan raised his glass, and that particular gesture elicited an enormous hail of drunken cheers from the pack of Zerdargians and the errant knight.

“Aye’ I killed me uh king’ once too, twas ten feet tall I tell ya!” stammered one of the dwarves farthest away from Stephan. His brown beard, much shorter than the others, hardly fell past the reasonably sized gut hanging over the front of his belt. By all accounts he was the youngest of the bunch as was telltale of his facial hair -which was still much longer than most could have grown in a lifetime.

“Shuttdap, nitwit! Ya couldn’ ev’n cut a cows’ teet!” came the reply.

A song of laughter ascended through the air once more as the dwarves cackled and chortled, slapping their comrades excitedly on the backs or grumbling to themselves as they took offense. For the most part they seemed completely at ease in the presence of the bitter swordsman, though whether they took note of his far-from-amused demeanor was up for speculation.

Saira came when summoned, though contrary to Stephan’s previous evaluation of her, she was not completely air headed. Winking innocently his way as she displayed an already filled mug of ale clasped in a delicate hand, she set it down in front of the knight. When she did, however, the dwarves became suddenly silent as they fixed their wide-eyed and hopeful stares at Stephan again…

If he were to look around, he would notice that their cups had been empty and drained dry.

Tapping his dirtied fingers on the table next to Stephan, the one-eyed dwarf watched him carefully with an unwavering and surprisingly attentive gaze. His demeanor, solidified by a moment of seriousness, was short-lived as he suddenly flashed a smile that nearly spread across his entire face. “Haha! Drinks ‘r on me boys!” And with that said, he jabbed a large hand underneath his filthy shirt, picking out a bag of crowns and tossing them into the air.

The gesture elicited a candid giggle from Saira, and she quickly disappeared to fetch the third, fourth, or whatever round of ales it was that the dwarves had already consumed.

As they waited for the refreshments to arrive, the one-eyed dwarf’s hand fell around Stephan’s shoulder again. Another of the dwarves, a small one who had been relatively excluded from the main portion of the conversation thus far, maneuvered around the table to stand behind Stephan and peer over his shoulder –sadly, though, he was not quite tall enough.

“So matie, whatsa nice laddie like yerself doin’ ‘ere? Dun’ seem like no place fer uh…clean guy like yerself…” the leader of the bunch asked.

[Stephan Woulofen]

Stephan did smile as the dwarves enjoyed his comments, he could not, no matter his mood, hide the humor he found in their drunken spirits. Any fellow drunks, who were friendly fellows, were good company for one so down, even if he still wish them to leave soon. But, should they stay, he supposed he could enjoy their company for alittle longer, they at least brought his attention away from other thoughts that consumed his soul all brightening long. Listening to the one dwarf blurt out and obvious drunken lie he laughed just as well with the others laughing at the dwarf, who was a big fellow. For how short they were, they certainly did round out well, certainly thanks all to the countless numbers of ale they drank in their lifetime.

As Saira came to bring another drink he smiled slightly at the wink, though some of it was due to the fact he had allowed the ale to take a quicker effect than it normally would. All drinking could be intensified when you wanted yourself to become drunk, as he did. But, the beauty of the woman also hit him wrong as well, every beautiful face he looked upon reminded him of her. A curse he had placed upon himself, subconsciously of course, or was it the gods finally turning their backs on the redeemed man who they had given second life, that he chose to spend it like this? The gods only knew, Stephan had no clue anymore besides his own paranoid depressed wonderings of it all.

With the drink set before him he looked at the dwarves as they looked back at him, drinks all empty. Did they really expect him to pick up another? Just then, he was saved as drinks went around thanks to the one-eyed dwarf, who came out as the leader of the group obviously. What they did and if they all worked together Stephan didn't know, but there seemed to be very close comraderie. Taking another big gulp of his ale he knew that this one was going to go just as quick, if not faster than the first, going to keep Saira very busy. Feeling the arm around his shoulder again from the dwarf he had no idea what he wanted this time, but the presence of another dwarf behind him trying to look over his shoulder allowed him to determine they were still interested in knowing more about him.

"Nice laddie? Just because my beard is not as long as you makes me no young guy. My stories aren't as wonderous as I'm sure you and your mates could fill me in on. Seen far too many battles, far too much blood spilt, drinking the images away, far from where I call home." Stephan wasn't specific nor would he ever be with these dwarves. Taking a big gulp of his ale he thought of a dwarf who he hadn't seen in very many patterns. They did remind him though of his expert sword trainer, a good dwarf from Zerdargia who was the best swordsman he had ever seen, more surprisingly was that a dwarf was so skilled with a scimitar. Anton Setik, that was his name, finally he remembered it.

It was then he raised a question their way. "Do any of you gents happen to know a dwarf by the name of Anton Setik? He hailed from Zerdargia, master swordsman. Has a dragon tattoo on his left shoulder." He knew great tragedy had befallen Zerdargia, and had never asked of the dwarf or thought of him in a very long time. With that he took a big gulp followed by yet another, finishing off yet another ale, trying to quickly catch up with his new friends.

[Striker]

The scent of vanilla drifted lazily in the air as Saira returned with a round of drinks for the blabbering dwarves. Giggling as some of them batted their eyes or even combed their beards as she approached, the woman sighed at their hopeless gestures and set the tray of ales on the table. Five greedy hands reached for the foamy mugs, stealing them from the serving plate in a matter of seconds. “One at a time!” Saira shrieked, glaring as one cup, a sixth, was nearly knocked over by a hurriedly moving dwarven hand.

“Here you go sugar.” the half-elf said to Stephan with a smile as she placed the remaining mug in front of the knight. Having been employed at the Limelight Tavern for the past few months, Saira was accustomed to Stephan’s type, the type that generally retreated to the ‘bottle’ when circumstances were difficult. She didn’t know what haunted him, but it was clear from the human’s somber demeanor that something was agitating him. Her alluring smile faded finally as she turned to one of the other tables nearby and then departed into the backroom to retrieve their orders.

“Ye dun got no beard?” the dwarf behind Stephan asked, and he roughly pushed one of his comrades to the side as he poked his head past the knight’s shoulder and examined his hairless chin. “Aye’, by Cetheron’s hammer ya dunt, but ye’d look mighty fine wit one!” At this comment the other dwarves surrounding Stephan cheered. There was nothing more that amused them than trying to convince someone why they needed more facial hair. Even dwarven women, for example, were encouraged to wear their beards like male lions wore their manes.

Finally, after a few heartbeats of laughter, the one-eyed dwarf rolled his beady eyes and slapped the runt dwarf, the one who had commented about Stephan’s beard, against the back of his head. “Pipe down, Nitwit!” he growled, and the sternness of his tone immediately silenced the others who, instead of protesting, returned to the brims of their goblets. “So too much blood eh?” the dwarven leader asked again, and this time his one good eye fell appraisingly upon the knight. “Ye got da look of uh fighter, kinda familiar now dat I thin’ ‘bout it…ye been ta Zerdargia a’fore?” He curiously asked.

At the mentioning of Anton Zetik, the dwarves seemed to deliberately pause in unison, raising their bushy eyebrows and then glancing uncertainly to one another. Finally it was the dwarf at the far end of the table with the short brown beard who spoke. “Sure we know ‘em, mate! Da sarg is one o’ dem finest out ‘dere!” Cackling deeply, the young dwarf raised his nearly empty glass into the air again. “To da sarg!” he hollered, and every mug at the table raised again in cheer.

“How do ya know da sarg?” the one-eyed dwarf asked, and again the others immediately quieted. Wiping some spittle and ale residue from his thick black beard, the Zerdargian leader watched Stephan curiously. For Anton Setik, one of the most legendary fighters of Zerdargia, to have known this human spoke volumes of the man. Who was he, though? “Ye a friend or er enemy…?” At this the other dwarves wore helpless and disappointed expressions. Was their newfound friend one of those who had attacked them? It had been rumored that a human had been behind the invasion of Zerdargia after all…

[Stephan Woulofen]

Stephan watched again with a wide smile as the dwarves nearly assaulted Saira as they sought the drinks she was carrying. Good folk they were, loyal, tough fighters, and gods only knew just how much they loved their ale. He fit in with them very well, shared much of their codes and love for ale and fighting. As she placed the mug in front of him he looked up at her with a smile, he felt like they were getting closer, in a sense, an understanding. He had never been aggressive or mean towards her and had tipped her, always, very well. At times he wondered if he could have had her if he so wanted, but he had not thought about it far too much, she seemed too innocent and sweet for him to damage as he had so many other women.

He laughed again with a shocked humorous expression at the one's comment he had no beard, laughing with them as they laughed at the comment and the fact he could never really have a good enough beard for them. There was no way he could honestly let it grow it that long. However, as soon as the one-eyed dwarf slapped the other he stopped as well with the laughter, though later than the other dwarves who seemed to not dare go against this dwarf. He was the leader, and not only that, he led with force and they knew not to mess with him. Interesting stuff really. Who were these dwarves anyways? "Aye, been to Zergardia many times, I was actually a prominent member of the Templar of Steel, which was stationed there. That was a few patterns ago that the whole thing really fell apart, a shame really."

It was then as his mention of Anton Setik seemed to resonate with the dwarves who had surrounded him. Stephan was not fully sure who the dwarf was nor his influence in the city, but he seemingly had much weight with these dwarves, who it was becoming more clear were from Zergardia. As they raised their glasses, to the sarg, Stephan did as well in honor of the dwarf. However, the tone quickly changed as not only was he asked if he knew Anton, but if he was a friend or foe. There was obviously something up, something surrounding the whole fall of Zergardia he did not know. He had been out of the know when it came to what had befallen Zergardia, he had been far too preoccupied with his own responsibilities, and his misguided ways in his pursuit of female companionship wherever, and whenever he could.

Looking among them as they stared back closely, judging him and seemingly ready to take up arms if he said the wrong thing at this moment. "Yes, I knew him, can't say I knew him too well though. He trained me further in the sword, needed more training and heard he was one of the best. Great swordsman, I owe him much, probably my life as well for how well he trained me. To me, he will always be my respected master for his skills with a sword are far better than my own. Don't think he would take it too well should someone tell him I was going about calling him a friend though, he'd probably show me as a fool in combat if I went about saying such things," Stephan said with a light smile. "Is he well?"

Taking another full gulp of his ale again Stephan looked about the dwarves, wondering who they were, he wanted some answers from them, he had given them some of his own. Though he was sure they wanted to know much more about him as well. "So, who are you all, from Zergardia, soldiers?" Looking around them his eye caught Saira walking by and he found himself looking for awhile, while he awaited something from them all.

[Striker]

“Oh Da Templars eh? Yea we know ‘em.” It was the dwarf seated to Stephan’s left who interjected this time. Of the five blabbering Zerdargians, this one had been the quietest throughout the evening. His face was heavily shrouded by a fiery red beard, but despite this facial overgrowth, his cheeks were not as reddened as the others surrounding the rogue knight. Swirling the contents of his mug with small gyrations of the wrist, he snickered to himself before imbibing another mouthful of the ale –much of which dripped into his flaming beard. “Not much of ‘em left, tho, like ye said.”

A few frowns marred the visages of the other dwarves nearby, and one or two heads even drooped as they recollected all that had been lost several seasons ago. Not only had the undead invasion leveled Zerdargia to the ruins that it was now, but it had also reduced the dwarven population considerably. And even those fortunate enough to have survived did so on a day-to-day basis, scrounging through the ruins in hopes of restoring even a small part of their formerly pleasant lives. Like the dwarves that surrounded Stephan, though, they had opted to depart to other cities in hopes of beginning anew.

Meanwhile, the one-eyed dwarf’s beady eyes never fled from Stephan as he explained his association with Anton Setik, a clarification that elicited a delightful grin along the dwarven leader’s bulbous lips. “Yer a lucky one lad. If da ol’ Sarg took ye as a student den he musta saw some worth in ya.” Relaxing in his seat beside the regally adorned knight, the one-eyed dwarf noticeably relinquished any suspicions that he had targeted Stephan with seconds ago. “Da Sarg is doin’ a’right, last I ‘eard was trainin’ fools like Nitwit o’er there ta be true dwarves.” At this comment the Zerdargians all looked and laughed at the youngest of the dwarves, the one with the shortest brown beard farthest away from the table. His mouth opened as if to protest, but a mere glance from the one-eyed dwarf deterred any rebuttals that might have come forth.

Nitwit lowered his head in shame.

“Once, mate.” the red-bearded dwarf beside Stephan answered. Staring absentmindedly into the fire pit situated at the back of the tavern, the surprisingly eloquent Zerdargian sighed finally and shook his head. “Lost everythin’ tho’. When the walls fell, nothin’, no one, was able ta escape. Most of our kinsmen didn’ make it.” The dwarf’s broad shoulders lowered heavily at the sobering remark, and the others nodded in accord.

“Aint nothin’ left fer us dare.” the one-eyed dwarf summarized, and he punctuated his statement by draining the glass of ale in front of him. Smacking his lips together emphatically, he nodded firmly to Stephan as if his clarification explained everything. Indeed, when Zerdargia had fallen, many of the dwarves had emigrated to other realms in hopes of starting new lives; some had resorted to mercenary work, some had enlisted in various militias, and others had even gone so far as to endeavor on pilgrimages to find those responsible for Zerdargia’s destruction. “What about ye matie? Ya a soldier er somethin’? I know yer a kingslayer n’ stuff already, but ya workin’ fer anyone?”

Meanwhile, Saira proceeded about the tavern in a routine fashion, weaving around tables, snatching up empty glasses, and heeding the requests of the Limelight’s customers. Despite her proven ‘airheadedness’ at times, she was noticeably graceful as she moved around. The sway of her slender hips was the most evident at times as she was usually walking away from Stephan’s field of vision, but it certainly caught the attention of many of the men in the room. One man seated at a table with five others, perhaps driven by a whim to impress his comrades, even reached out and cupped the half-elf’s bottom, all the while grinning provocatively.

Gasping in a combination of astonishment and infuriation, Saira spun about quickly, her face suddenly flushing a deep shade of red as she glared vehemently at the bold offender who, along with his comrades, laughed vigorously.

[Stephan Woulofen]

Stephan turned his head to another dwarf this time, who decided to speak up for once. He truly had no idea that dwarves even could have red hair and beards, but that surely wasn't true. This dwarf did not even appear as intoxicated as the others, but then again there was no redness in his cheeks possibly only because the red hair and beard made it appear that way. "That is sadly true, wish we could have been there during Zergardia's troubles, but we really fell apart way before then. Sad fate." If the dwarves had told him why they were in Paxia he had truly forgotten, but he wondered why they were here and not back in Zergardia aiding in rebuilding. They were builders and truly would rebuild Zergardia back to its former glory, if not greater. Why were they here?

When the one-eyed dwarf spoke again Stephan nodded and took a sip of his ale, showing his respect to what the dwarf had said about his likely qualifications to have been trained by Anton. Hearing him demean the younger dwarf though Stephan did not laugh, but smiled, wondering how the dwarf got the name Nitwit, he was sure it was not the name he got at birth. At least, Stephan hoped so. Tough love at this table between the dwarves he knew, but it was getting alittle old at this point, he had no idea how they could take it. However, he knew it was likely just a trial the younger one went through until he grew in age and wisdom, or until a younger one joined their merry drunken band.

Nodding again as the dwarf said there was nothing left for them there Stephan did not understand. Had this blow truly broken the dwarven spirit to rise from the ashes to build again? However, he did not know if he should press it or ask them yet, they weren't that friendly yet to press such things, at least he didn't think so. Had he time at a later date he surely would have raised such questions to them. A flow of new questions broke the silence and his pondering if he should ask them or not. Just about to answer the dwarves' question Stephan's eyes caught Saira again moving about, her hips so enticing as she moved. Not really keeping his eyes on the dwarves all the time, he at least answered the questions.

"I've been many things, not always with a blade in my hand, but I use to be the leader of the Stone Guard, and at one time I was a knight of the Order of the Black Rose. Currently, I work for no one but myself....," he said, sorta finished, but definately finished at this time for what he had just seen across the room. Raising the mug of ale to his lips he finished off what was left of it and slammed it on the table. He said nothing to them as he rose and pushed his chair away, walking over to where Saira stood stunned shocked and angry as the men laughed among them at the one who had touched her backside.

She would be able to see him first approaching and surely knew why he was coming, but he wouldn't let her cause him to backdown. "Excuse me gents, this is not that kind of tavern. I suggest you apologize to the lady," Stephan said as he placed one hand on the table to lean over and speak to them, his other hand on the back of the chair of the man who touched her. Fully armored, armed, and with a good drunk load on, Stephan was ready for war, and he knew that the dwarves would not hesitate for a good battle as well. They were itchy for anything that allowed them to get the anger and aggression they had stored up after Zergardia, and they were drunk, and dwarves, that was all that mattered really.

Just normal drunks having a good time, that's all he figured them for.

[Striker]

“The B-black Rose?” the red-bearded dwarf stammered, and he exchanged a nervous glance with the one-eyed dwarf on Stephan’s opposite side. The other dwarves looked skeptically to one another as well, though none of their voices broke above a whisper. Finally clearing his throat to silence his brethren, the sober Zerdargian drained the remaining contents of his mug and set the glass heavily upon the wooden table. “Musta been rough, laddie, bein’ a knight’n all. But I’m sure yer better fer leaving.”

Before the fiery haired dwarf could explain, the handful of Zerdargians watched as the audacious human rose from his seat and proceeded to another table where Saira was admonishing a pack of men. Scratching his black beard pensively, the one-eyed dwarf shrugged to his comrades and inclined his head in the direction of the confrontation, bidding his fellow kindred to pay strict attention.

Several powerful dwarven hands clenched beneath the table.

“S-sir it’s alright. I can handle this my-” the woman’s plea was lost to the background noises of the bar and Stephan’s bold command. Surrendering any further attempts to deter the knight from his course, Saira instinctively stepped backwards and found herself hovering behind Stephan’s shoulder, even as the one who had assaulted her stared vehemently at the knight.

Saira had seen that kind of look before.

“What did you say to me, boy?” the inebriated man asked. He was Stephan’s senior by at least a decade, but the gray highlights in his mess of short black hair suggested more. As he stared upwards at the looming knight, the human adopted a sardonic smirk as he spared a cursory glance to Stephan’s obsidian-hued armor. “You think that wearing that piece of scrap metal means something?” Unrelenting in his stare, the man glared at Stephan and then transferred it to Saira who was still concealed behind the generous knight. The drunkard began to rise slowly, though he had to turn as he did in order to face Stephan.

The other four gathered at the table rose to their feet as well. They were a tough-looking group, clearly hardened by the difficult aftermath of Paxia’s downfall. Aside the drunkard who was confronting Stephan, there were two other humans, one was bald and tightly muscled and the other wore his brown hair in a ponytail. At the far end of the table was an enormous dracon, his green scales proudly exposed through his V-neck tunic. Towering even above Stephan, the muscular dracon crossed his powerful arms confidently over his barreled chest. And last there was a tiny cether, or at least he appeared deceptively so next to the huge dracon.

“Did you hear me, boy? You better turn around and walk away…” the drunkard said again, and he swayed awkwardly as he tried to push the chair back with his knee –though this was somewhat difficult with Stephan’s weight propped upon it.

From behind Stephan, Saira’s slender hand touched his elbow. “I-it’s okay. I don’t want any trouble…” she whispered. Despite her request, a tremor of fear crept into the woman’s tone. She had encountered many like the one who had recently touched her, and as always there was nothing that she could do about it. “It was part of the job,” her boss would oftentimes say. Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Either way, though, enemies were never a good thing to have when one was alone.