RP:Killjoy Was Here
The Fallen Star Inn
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Raidh is sitting a long table with a dozen men from the deep plains to the city’s far west, all of them wielding heavy pewter tankards as they laugh uproariously at something the shieldmaiden has just said. “And!” she continues, “Don’t let him tell you the bump came from battle. Tell them, Avaldi, how you came about that egg on your brow. Or, shall I?”
The man she speaks to, a tall yellow-bearded fellow with half a forearm and hand missing, scowls at her like she just spit in his ale, and retorts, “Do that, and I’ll tell them some stories of my own, like the time you went swimming in that waterhole and the eel slithered…”
Raidh chokes slightly, “No! No-no-no! I’ll say nothing, if you do the same!”
The other Riders roar for the tales both, but it seems the siblings aren’t budging.
Ohan paces into the tavern amongst the laughter he pauses a moment and gives a brief look around then heads toward the stack of papers where copies of the Chronicler sit. A gloved hand stretches out and takes hold of the top copy, after which he rounds the bar and moves to the bulletin board to read over the last bit of news to come through the city.
Grailan might've stifled the laughter and ruckus when he entered with the cold cruel 'click' of black and armored greaves that denoted his movement. That oppressive aura of dread radiated from his melancholy form as mourning eyes that were both dead and sad searched the area; they rested upon Raidh. Slowly, remarkably so considering his lack of need for rest or food, the dead man began his march toward her, only to speak in that tone of such unnerving depression, "My Queen." He did not need to say she eluded her appointed guard.
Raidh flinches at the title. “I told you not to call me…” But before she can say another word, swords are drawn, axes gripped, and she has to interrupt herself to avoid a bloodbath, “Riders! This is Grailan, he is a King’s-man. Down your weapons!” They aren’t used to her speaking with such authority, and neither is Raidh.
“Stand down,” Avaldi Half-Arm growls, though his pale blue eyes remain fixed with cold intent on the walking corpse, “My sister has spoken.”
Raidh draws to her feet and stands beside the deceased Knight, “Remember,” she tells her kinsmen, “It is Walpurgis, and for nine days we honor the dead. This particular corpse,” she jabs her thumb toward Grailan, “Won’t lie down, it’s true. But there will be no dead-fires for him, I hope I have made myself clear.”
There’s a lot of grumbling, but the hairy-faced men all nod and turn back to their drinking, their jovial mood well and truly soured.
Raidh smiles, not an amused sort of expression. “Good. Let me buy us another round. Grailan, you don’t… do you? Drink?” She is treading to the counter where Cuthwine is uncorking a barrel, so intent on keeping the inn from becoming a funeral for one side of this or the next, that she stumbles into Ohan abruptly. “Forgive me,” she breathes to the half-elf, “I was not looking where I was going.”
Ohan 's attention was drawn from the poster board at the clicking of armor though his head did not turn rather using the sound to detect where the armor was moving. His head rises at the sound of the word “queen” though not from lack of trying. Treading the line between eavesdropping and appearing not to be eavesdropping the rogue was caught off guard as he gets acquainted with Raidh rather abruptly. Quick hand is out stretched wrapping around her waist to keep her from fully falling over. A smile crosses his lips as he looks into her eyes, “No forgiveness needed, it happens to the best of us at the best of times.” Once he is sure that the woman is able to stand on her own he releases his grip on her allowing her to resume where it was she was headed. Though he follows her to the bar to catch her should she stumble again, and if not he would simply take a seat at the bar looking over the menu while Cuthwine attended to the Queen.
Grailan kept his melancholy stare upon Raidh even as the riders began to unsheathe both swords and axes to begin their massacre of the undead being; who was enthralled in his emotion and could not show his distaste at being outnumbered even if he wanted to. But he was no stranger to such fights and being the being that he was, it was extremely hard for the dread knight to remain, well, dead. So came forth the answer to Raidh's question easily, "None of my organs continue to function," he told her, "I have no need." It came along as Ohan grasp the woman along the waist, which immediately had the servant of the King place hand upon the pommel of his own blade and cast his mournful eyes upon the rogue. He didn't speak, but the stare and the hand on his weapon should be warning enough. When Raidh'd move, he'd move too, almost as if some otherworldly escort, "You cannot keep eluding your guards, it is unsafe."
Raidh’s had a few tankards of local ale. Oh, alright, and maybe half a skin of fermented mare’s milk as well. But she isn’t quite at the stage of falling-down drunk (yet) and so brushes off that helping hand swiftly, “Thank you stranger, but I need no help to cross the room.” Grailan’s words make her turn around, and blue eyes fixate on the dead man’s sword-hand before rolling in their sockets toward the ceiling briefly. She can hear Avaldi laughing in the background. At her! She just knows it! “I am not,” she eyeballs the Knight, and then hapless Ohan, “Some flimsy princess who faints at the whiff of a horse-fart and cannot swing a cat, let alone an axe. I am Raidh Jorgunsdotr! I have killed Bull-men! I can have a drink, by the hells, I can even traverse a tavern without coming to peril. Alright?!” And with that somewhat curt comment, she tells Cuthwine to roll another barrel down to the long table.
Ohan holds up his hands to show the undead knight he meant no harm to the lady in fact quite the opposite he intended to keep harm from befalling her. Though when his hands raise the handle of a long sword hidden by the black duster comes into view. His eyes send respect not so much for the knight himself but for the fact that he knows he would be outnumbered here should he try to do anything that would cause the numbers to turn on him. Attention is quickly returned to Raidh as she gives her speech. Though the thoughts had not occurred to him having met many women who could swing a cat as an axe and do as much damage. His voice not rumbling like that of the group of riders or as authoritative as the woman’s. “Mis-stepping and falling dead are far from the same, I meant none or the other simply trying to keep you from eating the wood floor. Not trying to be a hero, just not being an ass that would let anybody fall including....” he pauses and gives a smile to show he's joking “Mr. Smily over there...” his nod is sent to Grailan.
Grailan briefly turned his sad, mournful gaze toward Ohan as he spoke and nodded in the death knight's direction, but the expression remained. "Regardless of what you are and aren't, Raidh Jorgunsdotr, I -must- follow my orders," He moved in a click of armored greaves that allowed him to push past Ohan and bring himself toward the woman's side. "As you full well know. If you keep eluding your guards, it may come to pass that I permanently become assigned to your defense." Even despite his melancholy and depressive aura that very much radiated from his person, the death knight seemed a bit loath to be assigned to his lord's wife as a guard. There were more efficient orders that he could be given.
Raidh’s expression, when Grailan speaks of permanent assignment, makes it obvious that she considers it some form of threat. She turns that glare upon Ohan then, whereon it softens just a small bit. “Forgive me once more,” she tells the half-elf, “I am weary and hard-travelled.” And sick of being guarded, but she doesn’t repeat that fact. Her teeth grit together and grind momentarily, thanks to all the snickering going on that long table, “I know you were merely being courteous.” She knows enough of Utlendr customs for that, by now. “Would you give me your name, so we can make proper introduction?” She gives Grailan a slightly smug grin, “We’re friendly to strangers here in Venturil. Are we not, Sir Grailan the Grave?” She’s pretty sure his orders didn’t include cutting her head off for having a sense of humor.
Ohan takes a sip of the ale when it arrives in mug rather then barrel. Having been around a fair share of guarded folk, and having done some of the guarding he knew both sides of the coin at hand here so to keep things going as smoothly on his end a nod follows the gulp “Names Ohan,” he would hope this to be far enough away from Cenril that his name wouldn't travel. “Been traveling a bit myself thought I'd stop in for the night and head on tomorrow I suppose, smelled the good food so thought it would be the right place, suppose I cant go wrong if the queen eats here as well.”
Grailan 's mood soured. Well, his mood was always sour. But the words of the queen and snickering of the long table had him turn his head to peer with those dead eyes through pale locks toward the other Riders, as he spoke in those melancholious tones to the queen of Venturil. "So long as they are alive, my Queen. Shall I wait outside?" He did not want to be here, not in this place, not in this tavern; he was not a joyous being, after all, longing only for the eternal rest that had been taken from him in punishment for his sins. His gaze turned to level on Ohan, briefly, assessing any threat the rogue could pose. "I do not think you'll need me here, Lady Raidh."
Raidh is not a vindictive person at all. Usually. But she’s been called ‘Queen’ and ‘My Lady’ a few too many times this day and besides, the ale is wearing off. “But oh, yes, Grailan,” she says, without inflection, “I do need you. So would you please stand there, until I do not?” The shieldmaiden addresses Ohan next, in the same level tone, “Just call me ‘Raidh’. I insist. The food is good, indeed, and to make up for my clumsiness, your supper and night’s lodging are on me.” That said, she faces the Knight once more. “I believe I might take some air, to clear my head.” The King’s wife strides on, then, past the chortling Riders, her brother included, without another word, and out the tavern door, giving that portal a deft shove as she goes, so that it bangs on its hinges. From the inn’s exterior, she’ll be heard: “Grailan? Are you coming?”
Ohan gives a nod and thanks as his eyes follow Raidh out of the inn. He then turns back to his ale taking a sip. His eyes looking over Mister Smiley knowing that they might cross paths with out Raidh there to hold his leash. Nothing more but a nod is given to the death knight though a more careful eye would be given to watch as he left looking for a limp or anything that might be useful in the future should it be needed.
Grailan had no choice but to heed the words of the now-vindictive woman, as she knew he would have to. Mournful eyes watched her with that oppressive depression that eternally consumed him, until she left and offered him those words from the exterior. "Aye," he responded simply, and fell in gait to follow after the woman who so loathed the dead -at least those that walk, as well as offering the Riders a glance as he passed them with a monotonous 'click' of black and armored greaves. No limp, not even a single inhale or exhale.