A Night At the Red Hawk Tavern (Flint)

[Lion]

This night wasn't a promising one, and that was just fine with Roland.

Everyone needed some downtime, a moment just for themselves. In the middle of the chaos, a quiet place like this, not far off from the road, was casually packed. A small group of dirt-sodden men congregated in the corner, grumbling to themselves over watered down pints of beer.

The Red Hawk Tavern was quite less in shambles than even Roland expected. However, it was nice to know that the proprietors probably paid considerable attention to it's well-being. Likely due to it being the only structure they had. There were no colors flown here.  The only sign of any nation being that of the Red Hawk perched on the sign outside the door, now faded and touched up here and there where it was convenient.

The rural area was much preferred either, although the elements were much crueler to the structure's condition over al.

The wood here was cracked and worn, but it would support the weight of him as Roland took himself to the bar, sitting on a stool there and ordering a pint of beer. It was pisswater, but better than drinking actual piss at any given time of day.

Roland took a whiff of the brew before downing quite a large sip. The washing of throat alleviated that parched tissue, and the sounds of tavern seemed a little duller, a little less rowdy. He looked up to the stranger that sat down beside him and raised his pint as a sign of respect.

[Flint]

Things seemed duller than ever for Flint.

Sitting at a bar again, he was drinking some gods-awful ale, simply because it was the only thing on offer, and he needed to drink something. He was leaving Connlaoth, finally. His time here proved fruitless. A few odd jobs that earned him a meagre sum of coin. The war took it's toll on the regions business, and the thief needed to migrate to find a more reliable stream of coin.

His plans had not progressed even in the slightest. Axton Claybourne still sat somewhere in Connlaoth, wealth and women all around him, living a life of pleasure. His father, the man who had cast him out. The man who needed to pay. Flint would take everything from him, somehow. And then, he'd be filthy rich, free to do as he pleases. Maybe he'd create a guild, settle down. None of that seemed realistic until Axton lay in a dark and dirty street, not a coin to his name. All Flint needed was a crew. And a small sum of currency.

He was roused from his thoughts when the man beside him raised his cup. A sign of respect, the thief supposed. He wasn't sure why the man had done it. Flint was dressed like a criminal. He was in his dark travel gear, the same gear he wore when breaking into houses or traversing the urban rooftops. Sure his mask and hood had been pulled down, but his clothes, paired with the scar running across his face, should have been a telltale sign that he meant trouble.

The man was quite formidable himself. Built strong, cleanly shaven with sunken eyes. The eyes of a man who had seen horrors, maybe. Flint raised his own cup half-heartedly, taking another swig.

"Connlaoth seems less hopeful than I'd remembered", he stated, keeping his gaze pointing right ahead of him, away from the man.

[Lion]

Roland wasn't in the mood for trouble, not even when the people all around him clearly were up to no good. But they had nothing better to do, and they weren't bothering him, and he learned a long time ago sometimes it was better simply to mind one's own business.

The gesture had been done solely for courtesy's sake, and required no words. Just two folks having drinks in a shitty run-down tavern in the middle of a godforsaken wasteland. That's all Connlaoth had become these days. Misery to be had in every glen and dale, and valley and marsh. And it held only a shadow of the beauty Roland remembered from his youth.

All this fighting, for what? 

Another sip of his terrible beer and he rolled his shoulders in an effort to stop sulking.  "Yeah," he agreed, laconically. "That's an interesting observation. In general, we're a very hopeful people."  Roland smirked and chuckled.

"I take it you're not from around here, then?"

[Flint]

The man's statement almost hurt the thief, though that clearly wasn't his intention. The truth was, Flint felt estranged from Connlaoth. He'd fled the place years ago, running from his past, from his problems. Happenstance brought him back here, and it was as if a bucket of iced water had been dumped on his head. His father's business had flourished into one of the larger groups in Reajh, and he'd become immensely profitable.

Flint needed to change that. He was leaving Connlaoth, but this time he had motivation. He was going to do what he had set out to this time. No cowardice.

"I suppose you could say I once was", the thief replied. "This is my home, but I left... when the war broke out", he lied. "Upon returning, I've noticed significant changes and, as I'm sure you'll understand, my perspective has change as I've matured". The latter part was true. Growing up, Flint saw the world for what it truly was. Under the seemingly normal exterior there was death, deceit and betrayal around every corner. Connlaoth was no different.

"Flint", he greeted. No alias tonight, he was off the job. Only employers of his more expensive high risk jobs learned bus true name. Them, and casual people that Flint wasn't worried about trying to kill him.

[Lion]

Now that was completely out of the blue.  And although he had no expectations, he certainly wasn't expecting for anyone to bother with a conversation here. Roland turned his head toward him, listening and drowning out the background noise that echoed within their vicinity.  Why would he come back home when war broke out?

Was he just a glutton for punishment?

Roland eyed him, setting the glass he was drinking out of aside and turned to meet the stranger, taking his glove off and holding out his hand.  His sleeve was rolled up too, to show he had no weapon on it. "Sir Roland Harker," he murmured quietly.  "Pleasure."

"So you came back to fight? Or to make profit from it?"  Because really to come back at all was foolish unless there was something to be gained. Roland made no judgments with his gaze or tone, however, preferring to let the man speak for himself.

[Flint]

Sir Roland Harker. A Knight. He had the kind of name that Flint kept hearing in tavern tales. Tales of valiant heroes who slayed dragons and rescued damsels in distress. If this was true about Roland, Flint was suddenly very interested in the man. Until now, the tall tales were exactly that. Tall tales. There were no heroes. People did things for themselves, sometimes one or two of their loved ones.

He'd yet to meet a man fighting for a cause for the 'greater good' as some would call it. People ran on coin almost as much as they did their own blood. Maybe Roland was no different.

The question of why Flint was here posed a decision for the thief. Would he tell the truth, or a version of the truth? Deciding on the latter, he turned his head a fraction in the man's direction. "Family business", he explained. "I needed to make some arrangements to meet with my father".

"What about you? Sir? No offense, but what's a nobleman like yourself doing in this shithole?".

[Lion]

Roland actually barked a laugh. It was a long time since he made that noise, but it was somewhat refreshing. Even if this Flint stranger didn't mean for it to be amusing. He chuckled and sobered.

"I'm not noble by any means. I'm just a man. Sir is just a title, nothing more. But it has it's uses, Mr. Flint," he went. "Honestly I am here for the beer. Such as it is.  Bartender!"

He requested another drink and gestured Flint's as well.  "For my friend, whatever he was drinking." Friend, hrm, that was fast. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but you've caught me in a good mood. Cheers."

A clanking of cups, and Roland settled it on the counter. "So what kind of business is your father into?"

[Flint]

The laugh caught him off guard. Loud, sudden and hearty. Apparently he'd been wrong to say Roland was a noble. He should have guessed. The more privileged would avoid this old tavern, despite it being the only one around. "Er, if you come all the way out here for the beer, then I'd advise branching out your tastes". He wasn't wrong. The beer here tasted awful. The lack of competition meant the standard didn't need to be up to scratch.

Regardless, Flint raised his cup to the man when he payed for his next drink. "Much thanks", he said, trying to hide the spite from his face as Roland asked what kind of business Axton Claybourne was involved in. It was quite simple. He dabbled in an assortment of fields, building up his little empire while others barely scraped by. Sure, Flints business was as illicit as professions came, but at least he didn't prey on the poor.
"Lumber, mostly, involved in mining too, last I checked. Though he owns property all over Connlaoth".

A woman entered the tavern, catching eyes with him momentarily before joining the group in the corner. After a quick frown, he turned back to Roland, his shoulders losing the tension they'd previously held. He'd come to the conclusion that Sir Roland was not here to kill him.
"And you? What do you do to get by?".

[Lion]

Roland had a sharper eye than most men, and he saw that nigh imperceptible changes within his drinking companion's expression. Curious. He didn't seem fond of his father, or his business, or some combination of both. But he wasn't going to dwell on it now. Instead, he nodded and smiled.

"Sounds like he's a busy man. I'm sure he'd make time for you," he said. The woman came in, looked at him and walked away.  Suspicious.....  but not completely out of the ordinary.

"Me?  I intend to take over Falkenrath," he murmured, tone jovial and joking.  "I used to be a mercenary. I was damn good at it too. But gold is getting harder to come by these days. And it doesn't always strike me as important.  I take what I can, not rob mind you.  But if it's for the taking, it's every man or woman for themselves."

He drank again and looked to the strangers in the corner.  "That your friend over there?  The girl?"

[Flint]

After the amount of drinks he'd had, Flint was finding it a little more difficult to keep his emotions in check. "My father would dance at my funeral", he grumbled, taking another swig of pisswater. "Threw me out when I was a boy, to live with all of the other vermin... That's why I'd like to speak with him. To try and salvage.".

Roland's own goal managed to cool the thief's temper, and his grunt took on a more humoured tone. "Where would we be without ambition", he told the man. He had decided that, once the man had nothing against a mage, he was alright in Flint's books. He could appreciate somebody who could strike up a conversation with a stranger so easily.

"Couldn't agree with you more", he replied to Roland's opinion of taking what you can in the world. He mentioned the woman that had looked at him earlier and he shook his head. "A past client", he said, a little monotonously. That woman had appeared a couple of times since he had arrived at Connlaoth, giving him the same unnerving glances. Both times he had pursued her, to ask her who she was. Both times she had disappeared like smoke. Flint decided he was done playing her games.

[Lion]

Roland raised his drink to his new companion and clanked drinks with the man before taking another swig of the ale. It really was awful. Shame really since in times like these it was really nice to actually have a decent drink time and again. Beer itself wasn't difficult to make, although it could difficult to protect your interests with a war going around you.

There the woman was in the back corner, seemingly disinterested in anything else that went around them. "Aaaand?" Roland asked. "She just follows you around? What did you do to her?  She seems to me more like a shadow. Spy, perhaps?"

[Flint]

Flint shook his head. "No idea. To be honest I'm glad to hear you can see her. Thought I was going mad". He didn't look at the woman, keeping his eyes on Roland. One thing was for sure, there was something off about the woman, something that made Flint want to keep his distance. Sure enough, when he glanced across the bar again, she was gone.

Sighing, he decided he'd had enough to drink. "See what I mean. Gone in a flash." The man pouring drinks stood right in front of them, back turned to the two men. In his back pocket sat quite a valuable looking bracelet. Fairly certain Roland wasn't watching, he quickly leaned forward, snatching the trinket and returning to his position, pocketing his prize. Child's play.

[Lion]

The woman was gone, just like that?  Roland stared at the dark space she once occupied and kept silent for a time. Yes, he could see her too.  And to have her just poof away like that certainly made his stomach drop in an odd cocktail of fear, anxiety, and curiosity. She couldn't have been a mage, or perhaps she was and had an artifact that allowed her to vanish.

He'd only kept his eyes away long enough to see Flint stretch forward from the corner of his vision. While not entirely sure what he did, Roland thought nothing of it and turned back. "You're not mad. Yet anyway. Stay a while long enough and that'll be remedied in no time," Roland assured him.  Glancing up to the bartender, the man disappeared into the back and there was a small shuffling from back there.

And soon another man was behind Flint, putting his arm on the thief's shoulder. "I saw that," he growled.  "You best give that back to the old man.  Or I'll have to rearrange your face my friend."

[Flint]

The man's grip was firm, his tone rough and confident. Thieving when intoxicated rarely went without incident for Flint. Supposing he'd better do something about this predicament, he channelled his influence on luck. Fortune was a lady he flirted with all too often, and she didn't always return the favour. This wasn't one of those times.

Gripping his tankard, he tossed it over his head, and it connected with his coercer with quite the unpleasant 'thump' noise. Rising from his seat, Flint spun, allowing his turning motion to fuel the punch that was fired to the other man's gut. His opponent doubled over, Flint gripped him by the neck and tunic, tossing him over a table. The man landed unceremoniously on the ground, groaning. The thief glanced around the bar, looking to the other clients.
"Will that be all?".

[Lion]

Roland watched the display and the man go down with a fire in his belly that exploded and sent him reeling over the bar. He moved backwards and stood up, the man knocking over Roland's drink.  While he scowled at that, it wasn't much of a loss at that.

But when other patron stood up to join the fray, Roland reached a hand up and nudged Flint's arm. "We should probably get out of here.  Unless you plan on kicking every one of their asses," he muttered. It wasn't that he was running from a fight, but destroying a place of business wasn't exactly conductive to good relations.