RP:A Dragon, an Orc, and A Changeling Walk Into a Bar...

Kelay Tavern

Gorehilt pats Cinderback's flank and leave the nightmare contently tied to the horse rail outside the tavern. Dusty and sore with a long day's ride, the greenskin shoulders the door open and surveys the crowd with a coolly appraising eye. Finger by finger, he tugs off his gauntlets and sets them on the bar with a clatter. He exchanges stock banter with Mesthak, a brief prelude to an exchange of coin for drink. With a sweaty glass of ale finally in hand, the knight turns around to lean his back and elbows on the bar so to better scan the crowd. If he wanted to drink, he could do that anywhere. Gorehilt came to a bar for company.

Nikola was horrified of what she saw

Nikola :: "Isn't it a bit late now to drink?" It was a long day, Nikola has been doing her rounds since this morning and only now were she able to rest. She wonders if she could ask someone else to gather materials for her though, cursing her own knowledge with metals as it far exceeds anyone else, basically burdening herself. She waited for the.. Orc? probably to get settled down. Many of the bar patrons drink at this time of day but if one plans to get drunk, they should've arrived sooner hence her inquiry. She has been here for hours, had... seven plates of dinner, passing out then woken up randomly. It was a light meal as she is a dragon... maybe. She stands up from her table before approaching the bar and ordering herself a drink. "I'm more of a wine person, I think beer taste like rust, but that's just me." making idle talk for now to start up a conversation, the saurian warsmith wonders where a chat with a stranger would lead.

Gorehilt raises a brow. "Rust?" The half orc peers over the lip of his glass as he takes a slow, slow sip, taking plenty of time to judge his beer and to judge Nikola alike. "Hm." He swallows. He smacks his lips to oxidize his palate. "That's definitely just you." Gorehilt shakes his head decisively. "Sorry lady." His shrugging shoulders gently shake with a badly suppressed laugh. Nonetheless, his eyes jump curiously to Nikola's glass. There's already one strike against her sense of taste, and she can probably tell he's wondering what she'd voluntarily drink if, you know, beer tastes like rust.

Nikola orders a glass of wine and have a little sip of it as soon as it lands before her. "Lager or Mead, now those are better options." sadly however Mesthak has neither of those so her options are limited. "Name is Nikola by the way..." before pointing at the nearby tavern board... she is quite sure she posted an advert there before, offering her services as a warsmith. Its probably underneath all the other parchment. She can't even recall when was the last time she was here anyway. Days? Weeks? Years? time is a bit difficult to keep track with when one is a dragon. She turns to the half orc once more and asks. "Most patrons here are drinking after a long day's work from the nearby lumber yard or mines. You don't look as if you are either. Mind if I ask what you do?" she stares at his clothing, armor, garments wondering if he is some sort of soldier, perhaps she could see a patch or a battle insignia somewhere. Empires and Kingdoms does come and go in her perspective but she might remember a logo.

Quintessa is here too, sitting by herself at the end of the bar. She can’t help but overhear the conversation between Gorehilt and Nikola though she doesn’t butt in. Instead the changeling simply nurses the whiskey sitting before her, occasionally taking a drag from her clove cigarette. She’s dressed in her combat gear, black cloak draped over her shoulders with her hood down. Over her left eye she wears a leather eyepatch- also black, something that was unusual for Quintessa to be wearing. Eventually she cannot resist speaking up any longer. “I thought people liked that rust taste. That’s what makes it strong, yeah?” She lifts her drink and moves to join them. “Evening Nikola, long time no see. You don’t mind, do you?” She asks, flashing a look at Gorehilt as though she is interrupting something. “Good to see you again too.”

Gorehilt considers this. "I'd take lager. Or mead." Full disclosure, he would take most things with booze in them; this is a low bar to clear. "Hey, Nikola." Nikloa, Nikola, Nikola. "I'm Gorehilt. Nice to meet you." He offers the dragon a handshake. "I'm a knight errant." Being well versed in symbols and logos, Nikola could likely recognize the small mark of Vakmatharas on Gorehilt's breastplate, just over his heart. The style and placement could even give away his military allegiance: Larket. He's just about to use a well rehearsed schtick about the carefree romance of life as a knight on the open road, but someone decides to interrupt the cadence of his encounter. "Oh hey." Gorehilt's look turns appraising again as his eyes sweep up and down Quintessa. "You, good to see you too, again." Panic, panic, aha. "Quintessa." Close one.

Nikola smiles at the orc does seem to agree with her tastes. "Gorehilt." she smiles as she repeats his name. Finally recognizing an insignia in his armor. "Oh, Larket. Is King Macon still about? I did forge him his ax." before taking another swig of her drink. As she place down the glass however, a familiar voice takes her attention. "Lady Quintessa." Smiling as she welcomes her, the warsmith extends her hands as if expecting her to reach in with hers? The saurian has lived for a long time and etiquettes in meeting nobles or royalties has changed over the years and she pretty much don't know which one she should use at this point. "Well, I do work with metals daily, I would prefer not tasting more of it." hence her hatred for common beer. She does look lovely as always, though the dragon does prefer that ornamental dress the lady has worn before.

Quintessa smirks at Gorehilt, impressed he remembers her name. After all the research that went into him for Vailkrin Blood Bowl she’d never forget his. By this point everyone knew it- It was a freak phenomenon. Without missing a beat, the countess gently holds her hand out for Nikola, a more sincere smile offered to the dragon. “Oh, King Macon is still alive. He’s not as public as he used to be but… “ Her smile grows into a grin. “I did get to see that ax in action once. An execution no less, it was quite the spectacle.” Quintessa leaves out the part where she fought against his Kingsguard during a small skirmish in the Xalious pass. “Speaking of your trade, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that salamander hide. I also had a separate business offer you might be interested in.”

Gorehilt is a little surprised to be recognized as a Larketian. Well, a Larketian by loyalty anyway. It's complicated. "Oh yeah, the King's great! He's my boss" Gorehilt had been in the same room as King Macon exactly once and had been so nervous that he could not, now, recall a single detail of the occasion. The half orc laughs and scratches the back of his neck. "Everyone loves the axe." Oh right, the one he executes people with. That axe. "Or well, everyone that matters right?" Gorehilt forces a bawdy laugh at his own joke. He finishes his half-full drink and, while so submerged, signals Mesthak. He throws the bartender a well known "keep them coming" gesture. When at last he comes up for air again, thank Vak, the conversation has moved forward. "Salamander! Good for fireproofing, right?" Donning his best "impressive, tell me more" face, he grabs his fresh beer and looks expectantly to Nikola. "You work with exotic stuff like that?"

Nikola leans in to plant a kiss upon the lady's hand but before she could continue with her greetings, Gorehilt joke sends her smiling, trying her best to contain it as she turn her head towards the orc, shaking her head as she try her best not to be rude to Quintessa. She clears her throat for one sec, recomposing herself, "Yes. Of course. The ax." exhaling as she get the last of the laughter out of her system. "I do use all sort of exotic materials in my work, Salamander pelts are but one of them, Lady Dragana here asked for them to be use as a grip to her sword but due to lack of supplies recently, I was unable to complete it. The Adventurer's guild did procure a pelt for me though, I received it few weeks ago. So, if you wanted something made, feel free to visit me at my shop in Craugmoyle." Nikola rarely advertises her work, its tedious and she prefers her name to be known through the word of mouth, makes it alot more 'prestigious' if one does that this way. Still holding Quintessa's hand, she turns to her finally and said, "Business offer you say? Tell me more." As the pair is by the bar, all Nikola could offer is a barstool between her and the orc.

Quintessa is again surprised as Gorehilt’s astute observation when he correctly points out the salamander hide was meant for fire-proofing. “You are absolutely correct.” She gestures to the sword on her hip, the katana Nikola had made for her called the Jubaku no Kijo. “I use a lot of spellblade techniques, flaming blade and the like. Ray hide tends not to resist the heat so well so my idea was- Well, I’m sure you can guess.” She doesn’t wait for him to guess. “So tell me Gorehilt, what’s your relationship like with Vakmatharas?” There was an eerie tone in the changeling’s voice, one that alluded she wasn’t asking just because she was curious. Quintessa was a strange enough nobel that the unprofessional behavior didn’t bother her at all, but when Nikola says ‘Lady Dragana’ the corners of her month turn downwards. “Ah yes, about that- I am known as Lady Blackwell now. House Dragana, sadly, is no more.” Something about this correction makes Quintessa uncomfortable, so she moves on, taking the seat Nikola had offered. “Yes, business. Though I am quite talented at item enchanting- runology, magical binding, alchemical implements and the like… I can’t seem to attract any clientele. What I want to offer you is a partnership, if you will. Not an equal partnership, you would hold more authority in this matter, it is your prestige that I am attempting to benefit from after all, but I think I might be able to provide certain amenities. I can do glassworking and gemworking. I’m especially good at enchanting these things too. I have mithril tools that can inscribe runes to most metals and there is not a single runic alphabet that I do not know. I really think I can be of benefit to you and your customers, and in return I can showcase my skills in your shop. Does this sound like something that would interest you?”

Gorehilt follows Nikola's elaboration with rapt, fastened attention, and is careful to reflect this in his facial expressions. "Oh dang. Wow. You do all that? Holy smokes." The interjections casually pepper his fascinated reaction. "You don't look like a smith, or at least what I imagined. I guess I had this ignorant picture of someone rough and weathered, you know? Aged by soot and scarred by sparks." Lightly, in amused self-reproach, he smacks the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Serves me right for assuming! You know–uh…" Quintessa's question derails him. He's already danced a side-step around discussing politics tonight. Why not religion, too? Ho boy. "Oh, Vak Man? Yeah, that's my guy. Death and suffering are what life's all about." Gorehilt inclines his head gently forward. He peers at Quintessa from beneath his dark brows, a few dreads falling across his scarred face, green like wet stones. "Everyone knows that. No need to be gloomy or scared about it." Extending a hand, the half-orc moves to clink his glass off hers. "Easy peasy. That's Vak Man." This is the part where a person would say, "why do you ask?" But he doesn't. Instead Gorehilt drinks, and as he does, his eyes bounce between the two women, rather like an attendee in the stands of a tennis match. All frontery aside, this stuff was genuinely interesting, and he doesn't mind learning an incidental thing or two from a pair of apparent experts. Life is too short to pass up handouts.

Nikola wonders if she went to hibernation again without her knowledge. Quintessa was... a Baron, then a Count, then now the house fell? Did an entire kingdom just lost without her noticing? But she listens to the lady's proposition. "To be perfectly honest, I have not learned runology... For the last... century I suppose, I have sold weapons with runes, yes. But all I did is copy the symbols exactly using a enchanted piece of equipment that I have as a guide. I would then charge this newly runed gear with my own lightning." As lightning is basically a raw form of energy, the runes would naturally be able to harness them and slowly turn this raw energy into whatever element or power the engravings are supposed to be representing. But all in all, Nikola has no idea how to make them work, she could read them, true but she doesn't know what makes them tick. "I made deals with some members of the Adventurer's guild recently and would not mind a bit of helping hand." nodding at her, smiling as she reply. With regards to the orc however, listening to their conversation, she can't seems to understand the need for a diety. Dragons are beings of long life and binding one self to a single entity would improve one's might but also shackles one, something a free being such as her could not even imagine... there are dragons who does worship a diety though. She find those ones odd.

Quintessa turns to Gorehilt, offering her other hand like she had to Nikola, her gaze lingering on his for a moment. He doesn’t ask but the changeling is about to tell him anyway. “My mother also worships Vakmatharas. I mean, I've even been known to sacrifice a human to him every now and then, but my mother? She hates Larket. I’ve always found it interesting that faith didn’t bridge that particular gap.” She raises her glass to clink against his before finishing off what was left inside. Looking back to Nikola she follows what the smith had to say carefully. When she mentions the Adventurer’s Guild the young countess smiles once more. “I have friends in that guild,” she proclaims happily. “I’d love to be involved in helping them if I can.” She thinks for a moment, considering what to say next. “Is your shop still in the same place? I suppose I’ll be working there… Although you should definitely come visit my castle some time. It’s much better than that old manor Larewen left me anyway.” Her blue eye flickers over to the orc, “You have an open invitation too. It’s the least I can offer someone who bled in the Blood Bowl.”

Gorehilt also uses his time on the sideline to reassess his odds and his strategy. His pragmatic gut says this is the time to cut his losses and hop bars, but his second brain still insists that it's too early for a tactical retreat. "Oh, your mother? I don't think we've met." She hates Larket. "That would be why." He laughs, wide eyed, blows a sigh into his beer, and drinks. The cool, refreshing beer inspires him. "I could use a shot. You want a shot? You?" He looks between Quintessa and Nikola. "Or, you know what, how about bottle service." He relays this to Mesthak, and in no time they have a bottle of whiskey, a bucket of ice, some glasses, and a tray of garnishes. Visibly pleased by this, regardless of whether or not the others join in, Gorehilt relaxes against the bar and raises a lil' cheers of acceptance to Quintessa's invitation. "I'll take you up on that. Where," his face scrunches, "where is that, exactly? I get around, but I must sound kind of silly saying I don't know where you're from. Either of you, really."

Nikola 's smithy is small. Mostly because half of it is her shop as well. Her house is also behind it too so space is sometimes an issue. Still, Nikola likes it that way, a small store in the middle of nowhere. Her works are always sought after and therefore placing herself by a busy street would be a nightmare because she works alone. "Yes, still the same place." listening further, "Your castle? My my, I'm being invited again to move in by someone." flirting and blushing toward Quintessa's direction. It has happened plenty of times before but the most recent ones are offers from Larket and Schezerade. She rejected both clearly as she still lives in her humble abode by Craugmoyle. "Unless I have my smithy remodeled to fit books, enchantment stations, rituals... I don't believe my shop has space." she replies. "I could always visit though, watch you work, personally deliver you items that need to be enchanted or engraved." Turning to Gorehilt for a second, "I'll have one!" accepting an offer for a drink. It is getting real late anyway and getting a bit tipsy would help once she reaches her bed. "I live by the mountain path, near the south entrance of the dwarven city of Craugmoyle." she nods at the orc as she accepts the drink. Back to the lady, "Some of them asked me to make things for them, do remind them to contact me yes?" in truth, Nikola is the one who needs reminding, a member of the Adventurer's guild asked her to make something but for the love of everything that is holy she can't remember the name. It was a woman... and she wanted a harness that holds knives? As adventurers are a dangerous job, there is also a probability that whomever asked for her services is no longer around, still it would be rude to say no to business especially now that she recently concluded a big transaction with the guild.

Quintessa nods her head. “Yes, I’d like that shot. A double.” She seems a little bit annoyed that he doesn't know where she’s from. “I’m the Countess of the Dark Forest and the Shield of Vailkrin,” she proclaims, “And my fortress, Castle Blackwell, is just east of the bridge across the void next to the Black Spire.” Her gaze flickers back to Nikola and she responds positively to the dragon’s flirtations. Oh I have an entire citadel. There’s a smith under my employment but I’ll kick him out and remodel a space just for you. The tournament I’ve been running has brought in so much revenue that I’ll spend anything to make sure we have the best smithery in all of Lithyrdel!” She gives Nikola’s hand a squeeze. “Oooh, I can show you my underground laboratory where I keep my runology tools. I’ll give you the special tour- the one I only give to trusted people.” She pauses to ponder who it was that requested the knife belt. “Just a simple leather knife harness? I can implement a number of enchantments to something like that, a returning spell or an elemental enchantment. I’d have to discuss it with the person requesting the commission to get a better idea what they want out of it.”

Gorehilt hasn't had any formal logical training, but he is nonetheless beginning to develop his own independent, rudimentary understanding of the sunken cost fallacy. "South entrance of Craughmoyle, got it." He taps his temple and winks at Nikola. "Across void, black spire, big castle, can't miss it." He makes finger guns at Quintessa. "Good pow wow. You know, I'm glad I get to hob nob with folks like," Gorehilt smiles warmly and spreads his arms in a gregarious, open gesture of gratitude, "you wonderful people. Nikola, if I ever need a smith, you're the first one I'll look for." He picks up his gauntlets off the bar and starts tugging them on. "Quintessa, the castle sounds great, can't wait to see it. You two, keep the bottle, polish it off." The knight pre-empts their objections, holding both hands up, palms outward in placation. "No, I insist. You'd leave it too, don't lie!" Gorehilt jerks his head toward the door. "All that knight errantry. I'm got that old wanderlust, can't shake it. Tsk." With a wistful sigh and a tusky smile, the half orc begins backing his way to the door. "The road calls, and I must answer." 04:04:22Nikola simply comments as she waved the orc goodbye, watching him leave. "He is a weird one." As for the knife harness... she doubts it. Anything that comes out from Nikola's smithy is never 'simple'. Smiling at Tessa, giving her hand a squeeze as well... she hopes that she is joking. She would rather not get someone kicked out of their livelihood on a whim. "It'll be difficult for me to live in, I'll think about it." looking at the lady's face for now, she makes a mental note of her knew outfit. Eye patch is new, she tells herself but didn't bother commenting on her looks or choice of clothes at all. Nikola no longer knows the current trends.

Quintessa seems confused but she points back. “Like a crossbow ‘pow pow’...? Nevermind. I hope that ol’ dusty trail treats you well, my friend. I hope to see you again very soon.” Now Nikola has Quintessa’s undivided attention and both hands if she wants them. As usual, the changeling was prone to running with these whims but listened when cooler heads prevailed. “Oh yes, of course take your time, there’s no need to decide now just… this century perhaps? I’m not nearly as long lived as an elegant creature such as yourself.” She was joking again, or at least she hopes it doesn’t take dragons 100 years to make up their minds. “Honestly I can make space to add an auxiliary smithery just for us to use when you come to visit. I’ll still need my other blacksmith to make mundane things like horseshoes and nails.” The countess doesn’t mind picking up the tab one bit. Quintessa glanced in the direction Gorehilt had left, a thought popping in her head. “I should get headed back to Vailkrin soon; There’s a match tomorrow that I need to host. Mathollak versus Lita. Things are really getting intense.”

Gorehilt is already caught up on his tab, but he's sure to tip the establishment well on his way out. Better luck at the next bar, greenskin.

Nikola jokes back, "Who knows, maybe shorter than that. fifty years?" Nikola doesn't like making commitments, as the younger races tend to die far sooner than her, it was difficult to make relationship, same reason why she has been looking for another saurian like herself as a partner but like herself, Xolin is busy elsewhere north of Rynvale to create his little town with the younger dragons. "A match you say? Man, I wish I have the free time to watch... sadly I don't. Maybe next time we can go on a date?" she teases/ "But yes, don't let me stall you any further. It was nice catching up. Lady Blackwell." kissing her hand again before finally letting it go.