Master Marcius,
I apologize for the rude behavior, I was tired from a rather long journey and my temper was a bit frayed. I am staying at the Dragon's Roost Inn, please stop by, as there are a few questions I wish to ask of you. I mean your Master no harm. I hope we can reach a conclusion that is beneficial for both of us.
Signed respectively,
Mage Lady Alicia Wendeline
He never thought she would be one to apologize, but he was still wary. Maybe, just maybe, he impressed her with his social awkwardness to the point where she fell irrevocably in love with him.
Yeah, that sounded plausible.
Smiling, Marcius stuffed the note in his pocket and went outside. De decided that he would let Ruby rest today, so he hailed a coach. It was going to be a long day, and things had a knack for piling up when it was most inconvenient.
❧ ❧ ❧
"What do you mean he isn't in?" Marcius asked, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. He hadn't even been in town for an hour and was already experiencing setbacks.
Raggor, the owner of the only dwarven brewery in the town and sole proprietor of the key to the cellar that contained his goal, was off at some bar drinking. "He runs a damn brewery! And you're trying to tell me he couldn't just drink some of his own wares?!"
"Sorry lad," the dwarf in charge mumbled. "Raggor has a strict policy ‘bout nev'r mixing business wit' pleasure."
"I thought dwarves loved their own brew? ‘Strong enough ter clean dirt I thought the saying went?"
The dwarf shifted around on pillar-like feet for a moment before leaning over and saying in low voice laced with secrecy, "Aye, just between ye an' me, me husband has a weak spot fer the human drink!"
Marcius blinked in surprise, not because of a dwarf liking human drinks, since that wouldn't be too out of place in a town like this. He was more amazed at the fact that this bearded dwarf in front of him, with arms as thick as two of his own, was a she! He realized there were a great many things in the world he was ignorant about, and, more importantly, he needed a drink.
He asked the dwarf where her husband was, and after a healthy amount of blustering, he managed to wring the name out of her. Fortunately, Marcius knew its location, though he had never physically been to it. He often saw the sheriff or one of his deputies making their way there to break up the fights that spawn from the mixture of sailors and alcohol. It was one of the more popular taverns, after all.
He thanked her and, after promising several times to never let the other dwarves know Raggor's wandering ways, he was soon walking around the streets in a very roundabout route to the bar.
Unlike most nobles, he enjoyed the streets of Rhensford. They were vibrant and constantly busy. Vendors of all wares, races, and types littered the streets, offering would-be-buyers everything from minor baubles supposedly blessed to bestow luck, to rare fruits imported from distant lands.
The whole situation had a sort of skewed beauty to Marcius. So many people, with their own tales and motivations, all mingling together in a cacophony of colors, smells, and sounds to create a rich tapestry of stories. His mood had brightened and before long his feet had carried him to the entrance to the tavern. He didn't believe it was exactly the best place to hide your love of human alcohol if you were a dwarf, but who was he to judge? With an apathetic shrug, Marcius opened the door and walked in.
The pervasive smell of sea salt, sweat, and alcohol hung about the air like a blanket and threatened to overwhelm him. He longed for the fresh air outside.
After he became used to the smell, and his eyes gradually adjusted to the lack of light, he saw that the tavern was little more than a dimly lit room, with several rickety wooden tables that lined the bar. It was smaller than Marcius expected. There was the hushed atmosphere of people drowning their sorrows with the drink, and a familiar seafarer tune was being played from a piano next to the bar.
The tavern quieted further as the occupants stopped to consider the newcomer, and finding nothing amiss, everybody resumed their own devices.
Marcius didn't see any dwarves around the bar, nor did he see any occupying the tables. Well, why not just start with the obvious and ask the guy behind the bar? The bartender was a burly bald man with a dirty apron and leather breeches. He was pouring a drink when Marcius sidled up to the bar. "What've want?"
"I'm here looking for a dwarf, goes by the name of Raggor. Have you seen him?"
"I can't say I have, now're gonna order? If not, get yer ass off the bar. Holdin' up business you is." Marcius looked behind him. There was nobody around.
"May I talk to the owner of the bar?"
"Yer looking at 'im." Name's Anthony."
"Well Anthony, are you sure that you don't remember a dwarf? It is of utmost importance." Marcius was irritated at the cold shoulder the barkeep was giving. It was a struggle to bite off several trite remarks that came to mind.
"Well, me memory is a bit foggy. Lil' coin would prob'ly clear it up, I thinks." The bartender made a big show of rubbing his head in feigned ignorance. Marcius prided himself in his ability to take a hint and reached into his pouch. Pulling out two silver pieces, he laid them down on the worn bar, but kept his hand covering them.
"Okay my semi-forgetful friend, the location of the dwarf?"
"Well rumors say-" A loud noise interrupted their business exchange as a young woman burst into the tavern, her shoulder length black hair disheveled and her round face flushed with terror. She wore a dirty dress that was frayed around the edges, and the petite feet that flashed out from underneath were noticeably bare, as if she had gone straight to the tavern without time for shoes. Everybody was deathly quiet as she rushed to the bar.
"Father! Help me! Camden is drunk again! He. . . he. . . he thinks. . . I. . . I am cheatin'. . . oh Goddess, there he is!" The bartender encircled his arm around the girl as another form pushed its way into the tavern. It was a very muscular man, Marcius guessed he was a sailor judging by the uniform he wore; numerous tattoos decorated him, making him seem like a painting that had come alive.
"Mary, now'll come 'ere! I knows you're cheatininin. . . in." His movements and slurred speech gave away the fact that he was heavily drunk. Marcius distanced himself from the bartender and the girl as the sailor half pushed, half stumbled, his way unsteadily closer to the pair.
"Camden, you're drunk, you know what you do when you're drunk." The bruises on her face, something Marcius had initially missed in the gloom of the tavern, gave several hints to Camden's demeanor while under the influence. "Y-You also know what my father said if he caught you drunk."
At the mention, Anthony encircled his arm even more protectively around her. "Aye, Camden, you make no sense while drinking. It's unhealthy for Mary. I won't have you beatin' her again."
"Oh is that so, pops?" A rather malicious grin found its way to Camden's face, and faster than Marcius would have expected from a drunk guy, the sailor's fist closed the distance between the two men. The sound of broken glass and flesh hitting flesh filled the tavern. Though as quickly as it had began, it suddenly settled around the now unconscious body of the bartender. He had taken an awkward position on the floor, knees bent at opposing angles with his head off to the side. The girl screamed and sought refuge the nearest place she could. Unfortunately, the location was behind Marcius, and the now seething sailor turned his glare and attention towards him.
"Who's this pansy, Mary!? He's your lover that you 'ere seeing behin' my back? I knews you're a cheating whore!"
Marcius reacted on instinct as the sailor loomed over him. The energy from the nether welled up inside him, a sensation that always thrilled and terrified him, and he quickly shaped it into the can-trip that signified sleep. A muffled throbbing was felt near his temples, the blood threatening to pound out through his skull. It came to a head and thus he released it, streaming from his body like a mental purging. Camden's eyes flickered for a moment, a slight green haze afflicted the air around him, and Marcius closed his eyes with relief. Crisis averted.
"What the hell was that?!?! Tryin' to do witchcraft on me? Is this who're you left me for?" the drunken sailor's cries were borderline hysterical and he was clearly still awake.
Marcius hurriedly scanned the room, looking for anything that might help, trying to suppress the feeling of panic that was cascading through his veins. All attention was focused on him, but frustratingly no one made a move to help.
Why did it fail? He didn't have time to deliberate as the man warily moved closer. An idea sprung to mind when he spied a stool on the ground, discarded by someone who obviously didn't want to get between a man and his troubles. Marcius started edging his way behind the table, hoping that the belligerent man would follow.
"Running away dress wearer?!" the man sneered, reaching over to grab a chair. Marcius noticed that he all too easily broke off one leg of the chair and discarded the rest to the now littered ground. Camden started edging his way to the table with arms spread. The chair leg was in one hand, and he was ready to take off in either direction should Marcius try to dart away.
With a smile, Marcius cast the can-trip, a simple device that summoned an object to the casters hand. The only noteworthy detail was that it did not "warp" the target. It simply pulled it from a nearby location. Marcius had found it useful to grab objects around his room as he worked.