Entitled (RP thread)

[Zylaa]

((Look! A new roleplay! See the OOC thread before posting, please.))

The Crown and Throne was by far the oldest pub in the city, dating back to the days when there actually was a monarchy, but its popularity hadn’t slackened over the years. That day, with summer noon frying the streets, the usual crowd of the city had crammed inside the pub for safe haven from the heat. Even the mages, with their cooling spells, had retreated indoors rather than waste the energy. Inside, the air was cooler and quietly loud with the sounds of a hundred soft conversations.

Ellie Tanner sat alone at a large table in the far corner, back to the wall. She scanned the room, waiting, trying not to seem tense. Although the heat had helped crowd the pub, it was too blasted hot to wear her usual overcoat, a handy concealment for some of her weapons. As it was, she wore a loose, dirt-stained white shirt and brown pants over worn leather boots. She shifted a bit, felt the reassuring pressure of her belted-on dagger and the two hidden weapons by her boots. Not handy in an emergency, but hopefully she would have enough time to react if anyone tried something.

Curses, she thought, I even forgot the hidden pin. I’m far too jumpy over this. Usually she hid a pin tipped with tranquilizer in her ponytail, but today her thick, mousy-colored hair didn’t serve any sinister purpose.

The clock on the wall struck twelve, and she breathed deeply a few times to calm herself. Soon she’d know if anyone had seen the ad. Yesterday, in the West Quarter of the city, where disapproval and hidden resistance of the Mage Council ran highest, she had posted some hastily drawn-up notices giving this time and place. Hopefully, those interested in some decisive action against the rich, discriminating government would show up. Despite the threat of spies and betrayal, Ellie knew she needed allies.

She patted one of her pockets, a nervous habit, just to make sure that the yellowed parchment was still there. Hopefully a scholar shows up, although that might be too much to ask, she thought. This paper won’t do much good without a way to read it.

[Shadaras]

Tyriel hesitated, outside the door to the tavern. The sign above his head, showing a crown on a decorated chair that was supposed to a throne, named the place. The Crown and Throne. Oldest – and probably noisiest – tavern in the entire city of Va’an. And Tyriel almost wished that he didn’t need to go inside. Almost. Wishes were dangerous, for one who has a mage’s blood without a mage’s control. And Tyriel was one such, perhaps the only such, person.

By all the darknesses, he thought cheerfully, brushing back his dark hair, this should be good. He opened the door, stepping out of the heat, into the dark, the cool, and the noise. Blinking, he cursed under his breath, weaving through the mass of people. His plain and ragged clothing wasn’t out of place here. He just hoped that nobody he knew – or rather, nobody that knew him – was around. Things could get messy if someone tried, yet again, to recruit him.

He smiled a bit at that. Well, someone had recruited him. The person who had put up the posters had. And was probably lucky that the mages hadn’t found any of them yet, he added, shaking his head and hissing as he had to brush his hair back again. They could certainly track down who’d placed them. And that person was, according to the poster, going to be in the far corner of this blasted place.

Tyriel slipped through the crowd like the thief he was, taking care not to try anything that could get anyone killed. Right now, that would be one of the worst things to happen. Scanning the corner, he saw a young woman sitting alone at a table. In the far back corner, just as the note had said. It seemed that he was the only one who had dared to come here so far. The first, as it were.

Approaching her, Tyriel inclined his head, right hand drifting to the hilt of his dagger. Seating himself beside her, Tyriel said, voice quiet, but not in the carrying tones of a whisper, “So, you want to mess with the mages?” He didn’t really look at her. No need. Instead, he leaned back on his chair, balancing it on two legs. Brushing his hair back – why didn’t he just cut it? – he stared out at the crowd, keeping her in his peripheral vision. He would rather not need to hurt her, but if she had set the posters up as a trap, he would need to. He’d probably end up destroying half the tavern in the process, but hey. Life was better than death, even if living meant killing a dozen or more people.

[KitClairvoyance]

Ralen laughed heartily over the crowd's chatter, cheering on a couple of heavy-set men who were having a drinking competition. Gold coins scattered over the table as more drinks were ordered, both for the crowd and the men. Sweeping the coins into his palm, he tossed them into the bar's coin chest and heaved a fresh keg of beer over to the cheers of the crowd who shoved and grappled to fill their empty tankards.

Somewhere else in the tavern, more shouts erupted as beer was demanded, shouts that Ralen gladly answered with another fresh keg. More coins for The Crown and Throne, more beer for the crowd. Tankards crashed to the floor along with spent drinkers, more often than not spilling good beer onto other equally drunk patrons. The more rowdy ones got thrown out into the street, either by patrons spoiling for a fight or Ralen himself. The last thing he needed was a mage's servants swarming over his establishment over the death of a loud mouthed noble.

Mages. They were his bane and his fortune. Ralen dealt with more than beer for The Crown and Throne was full of news to those that stayed sober enough to listen for it. Gold flowed freely as magic for the mages, a flow that would easily come to Ralen for the right commodity. He didn't particularly enjoy it, but it kept his establishment safe and the gold chest full.

It was this trade in news that kept Ralen aware of the dark corners of the tavern. Private business often brewed there; sometimes it was innocent enough, like a young noble having caught a barmaid, and sometimes conversations ran darker than aged beer. Right now, there was a couple in a corner; a young lady and man, both quiet and inconspicuous. Perhaps it was shyness, perhaps it was secrecy. Both of which could be loosened with a little old tavern charm.

Filling two fresh tankards to the brim with the tavern's signature beer, Ralen brought them over to the table with a grin and heart.

"These one's are on the house!" he proclaimed and set the tankards down on the table in front of them with a heavy thunk, beer spilling over the brims. "Now, 's there anything else I can get y'lot?"

[Zylaa]

Ellie watched the man carefully as he approached the table. His clothing was far too ragged for any self-respecting mage, but that could be simply to put her at ease. She gently eased her right hand around her dagger hilt, realizing too late as he sat to her left that the seconds she would need to swing the dagger around towards him could make a vital difference. Ah well, no use worrying now.

“So, you want to mess with the mages?” the man said, appropriately soft. Ellie evaluated his words. It could be interpreted as a threat, but also an offer of help. As he leaned back in his chair, she raised a mental eyebrow. Either he was cocky, powerful, or just careless enough to put himself even slightly off-balance meeting a rebellious stranger.

“Everyone does,” Ellie said, matching his tone. “But most of them are too scared to bother acting.” She cut off quick as the barman came over with two overflowing tankards. He seemed cheerful enough, though Ellie had seen him haul patrons outside on rougher days.

"These one's are on the house!" he said as he thunked the tankards onto the table. "Now, 's there anything else I can get y'lot?"

“Nothing at the moment for me, but thank you,” Ellie said with a winning smile. She paused to let the black-haired man answer for himself. “What’s the occasion?” She kept the question light, but couldn’t help wondering. If the barman had seen the signs, he could be an ally as well. She took a hold of the tankard without sipping, noting that it could be an effective distraction if anyone came to meet her planning violence.

[Shadaras]

“Everyone does. But most of them are too scared to bother acting,” the woman said, her voice matching his in volume. Tyriel grinned. True. Very true. The fear of power was well ingrained, as was the fear for ones life if that power was opposed. He looked at his own hands, grimacing for a moment. He knew the power well, all right. And the payment it asked for, he knew even better. But he couldn’t let any word of that reach the mages. In some ways, he was surprised it hadn’t already, but the gangs probably wanted his power too much to leak word, and the rest would be afraid.

He would have replied to the woman, but the bartender was coming over, bearing two tankards. Tyriel raised an eyebrow, letting his chair fall back forward. Why would the bartender be coming over to them? He somehow doubted that the woman had asked for anything, and he certainly hadn’t. As the tankards were set on the table, beer sloping over their brims, Tyriel made a face. Beer. Of course. "These one's are on the house!" the bartender said, rather loudly. [/i]"Now, 's there anything else I can get y'lot?"[/i]

“No, thank you,” Tyriel said, not looking at the man. He reached out for the tankard, but didn’t pick it up. Instead, he began running a finger through the spilled beer, making looping patterns in it. Beer – well, any alcohol, really – was something he avoided. It messed with his judgment more than he liked, and his control was hard enough won as it was.

He glanced up at the woman’s question, though, looking at her, not at the bartender. “The occasion? That we’re peaceful and quiet, perhaps?” he said, a glimmer of a smile on his lips. “It doesn’t seem like something that you would find here very often at all.” If ever, he added to himself. He’d seen the amount of beer going around as he made his way back here, and he doubted that it was in any way abnormal. Curiosity alone could lead someone over, if they were noticed.

[KitClairvoyance]

Neither of them seemed to take very well to the beer, but they were polite enough about it as to not disappoint Ralen who laughed at the young man's suggested answer. It was true that peace and quiet was rare in The Crown and Throne, for good reason too. A peaceful tavern was one with an empty gold chest. A loud cheer erupted where the drinking competition was being held as one of the drinkers dropped to the floor.

"The occasion? That y'both found the best tavern in t' city!" he said proudly. It wasn't an empty boast either. Patrons would travel from the other quarters of the city just to get a drink at The Crown and Throne, not something other taverns could boast about, and it was a reputation Ralen was quick to mention to any and all new patrons.

It was also a reputation Ralen was quick to protect. The Crown and Throne gained its fame from its beer, crowd, and its safety to those that would avoid trouble. Anarchists were hardly welcome. Ralen himself held no grudge against either the current ruling party or the people who wished to overthrow them; it was just that the mages held power, and Ralen preferred to keep that power away from his tavern.

"And what brings the both of y'here?" Ralen's smile lightening the question, masking the serious concern he held behind it. Neither of them seemed to be here for the drinks nor the company, which made him suspicious. Lovers had many nooks that were better suited for romance than The Crown and Throne, and black market traders had their own underground safeholes.

[Zylaa]

Ellie laughed at the man's answer as well, while inwardly berating herself. She had chosen this tavern for its noisiness and repute, which she had hoped to use to mask her own plotting. She hadn't considered that the general air of revelry would make her own intended plotting stand out even more. Ellie noted the drinking contestant's demise with a genuine smirk, though. She was certain that the bartender was no spy, though, so the caution that seemed to have defined her life in recent months should maneuver her and this new potential ally through.

"The occasion? That y'both found the best tavern in t' city!" the bartender said. Ellie nodded, grinned, raised her drink in a toast and drank. One swallow wouldn't hurt her judgement, and it would put this man at his ease. "And what brings the both of y'here?" She had prepared for this question.

"Business," she said with a shrug and a weary smile. "Meeting from all over the city- some others should be stopping by- and everyone knows the Crown and Throne." Play to this man's vanity a bit, she thought. She wondered how many more would come- after all, as she had told the man, people were more content to suffer through familiar trials of today than try for unfamiliar freedom tomorrow.

Hopefully this newcomer is able to keep a straight face, she thought. If I fail in this because some inexperienced jittery twit decided to show up, he'll have closer things to worry about than the mages. But it was an idle threat in the back of her mind. This man seemed to have his self-control well in hand. He hadn't drank, she noted with some approval. Someone who wanted to keep his mind clear.

She took her right hand away from her dagger and placed it casually on the table, open and clearly unarmed. "Lucky weather for your business, eh sir? The heat must keep the money rolling in." There, she thought with some satisfaction. If a conversation about the weather doesn't bore him into walking off, we're in trouble.

[Shadaras]

The bartender laughed at Tyriel’s answer before providing his own, and the mage smiled back at him. Unlike the woman, however, he didn’t drink. He did nod in acknowledgment, though. The Crown and Throne was one of the best taverns, if you felt like drinking beer. He’d certainly heard enough about it to know that much. Never seen a point in visiting himself, since he didn’t like drinking.

"And what brings the both of y'here?" the bartender said. Tyriel glanced at the woman, waiting for her response. He didn’t have one, which wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d have at least three ways out of any situation, and a number of answers to questions he though would be asked besides. He looked back at the table as she spoke, slowly letting out his breath in quiet relief.

“It’s hard not to know the Crown and Throne,” he added with a smile, a beat or two after the woman stopped speaking. “In the part of the city I’m from, at least. Natural meeting point, if you have enough to spend and don’t mind the noise and beer.” He laughed a little at the last point, making it half a joke. Who wouldn’t mind the beer? Other than him, of course. It was the reason most people came to a tavern, and this one more than most.

He leaned back in his chair again, though he kept it level this time, still not completely sure about the bartender. Still, as he brushed his hair out of his eyes, he glanced at the woman, wondering. If either of them knew about the rumours that spread through the gangs, then they could have conceived this idea just to trap him, and this could all just be staged to make him feel less vulnerable.

"Lucky weather for your business, eh sir? The heat must keep the money rolling in," the woman said. Tyriel shook his head slightly, not speaking. No reason to and nothing to say besides. The weather was what it was, and not even the mages could completely change that.