Marian
"I hate it here."
Naros grumbled out loud - an instinctual response to getting knocked over by the bustling crowds of the morning rush. It was apparent the man was entirely too small to compete for room when it came to the everyday bustle at the Open Market. Even compared to some of the hardier dwarves, his slight and short frame was laughable. Naros would take a deep breath, grounding himself before he stood up. His hood had fallen from his head, it seemed, after he fell. Taking a moment to mess with his unruly, almond-brown hair, which curled around a sharpened ear - he'd pat his pocket to make sure his mission could still be carried out. Naros would shake his head, and wave out his cape. Confirming he had everything, he'd pull up his hood, and take a step back out into the wave of crowd.

Large, looming amber eyes peered out from underneath his hood - his shoulder bounced against other passerbys. He would finally come across the lion's den, led straight by the sheep themselves. As the sun peeked over the trim of mountaintops, he turned a corner into the main square of Aismir Open Market. The best place to get sunlight, some locals claim. Cold, brisk morning air paired with notes of the bakery's first batch, along with the singsong of the merchant-birds that populate the area - there's no wonder the Open Market attracts so many. Appearing loud, gawky, and full-of-itself to Naros, it was the man's least favorite part of town. Out-of-season decorations lying in areas no one wishes to clean them. Telling, he thought, of the town's view on things that stay past their prime. As he ruminated, an elderly human local merchant, assuming he was a traveler, offers her old, shoddy, local wares to him. He'd scoff at the woman, and puff out his chest a bit. When she scoffed back and turned her head in return, it felt as if he had a bolt of realization. With his head on a swivel, he'd turn to look over at her wares. There, he noticed what his brain had been pointing to - there, he noticed a cloth rag, one that contained embroidery. With small bits of green yarn, ordained on the rag was the phrase; "Hope you're doin swall" - it also included a vague-looking cat at the corner. He could tell a word was misspelled, he just couldn't decide which. Still, he bolstered himself enough to give a small bronze coin, and a poster tack in exchange for the mispelled, not-stitched-with-love cloth scratch.
As he approached the posting board, he took a sparing glance. Nothing he saw, he took note of. That, he hoped, would be a good thing. Taking off two soft, tan woven gloves, he'd pull the poster out. Worn and with a coffee stain, he'd take a second to look over his and his brother's handiwork. He clicked his tongue, and, after a moment, seemed proud of himself. Naros would take a rusted dagger from that pocket of his, as well as a tack. He grumbled at the thought of giving away security of the poster for the security of an old rag, but he knew in the end, it would be ultimately worth it.

Tapping away at the tack with the ornate hilt of that lackluster blade, he pulled back to view The Needle's Eye's newest posting, before turning away from it with a proud grin. With varying handwriting from both brothers and misspelled, pretentious wording, it read as follows;
WANTED
We humbly request the services of any group or individual brave enough to travel past the treacherous Steep Woods, through the perilous Southern Mountains, Miller Vale for a delivery. 
Interested candidates shall report to The Needle's Eye and inquire within.
Naros & Krugorim Teare


The short, mysterious poster would whisk himself away through the crowd after a short moment of silent boasting, finding it easier with confidence in his step to navigate through the rowdy crowds. This trip around, he would pay no heed to the haggling and hawking of strangers. He had a bounce in his step that could only be the cause of something great.

Turning the corner of the market street, he'd slip into a seemingly inconspicuous cold, wet alleyway paved with dirt - where the world seemed to turn into despair shades of dull grey. The daylight seemed to embrace the previous crowd and pity the new one he had now encircled himself with. What lined the close quarters of the alleyways now had been fed lowest in the pecking order. The begging, drunk, and hapless people - his people. 
Naros felt more comfortable in that sludge of dirt than anywhere else in the city, and it was made apparent by his relieved sigh. He almost seemed to mimic the sin around him - gaining an ever-so-slight stumble as he turned the corner, and entered the door to his sanctuary.

As he entered the slimy, dusty tavern, the first thing Naros noticed was his regulars. There were two this early in the morning - he even knew them by name. To be honest, one might have even spent the night - the older stout human was already passed out on one of the sprawling wooden tables, fast asleep. That was Toby Aderlard. Disgraced knight, merchant, tailor... Well, disgraced *Everything*, to be frank. After a quiet but rippling incident in knighthood, he tried almost anything to come back to his old life, only to be shunned into the alleyways of Aismir. Now, as he uses his arm to prop himself up, his scarred collarbone is all that remains as history of his conquest. Unkempt white and blonde hair frames his bloated, sleeping face. The man who sat opposite of the room from him, at the bar - a dwarven guard after finishing a late-night shift. Harrumli Savepert. A full-headed ginger-haired fellow whose face - despite mostly being covered in beard - was full of youth and vibrance, apart from the dark circles under his deeply-nestled emerald eyes. He was fully conscious and drinking - albeit, there were two empty mugs in a row at the counter in front of him. 
Naros would look up to see the predictable third mead glass being cleaned with careful diligence by his one-and-only brother. The large male holding the mug was an orc more commonly known as Krugorim. An orc that was 7'0" In height, with long, billowing black hair that he kept up in a neat bun, a black beard, and small round glasses that he wore when 'precision-cleaning' glasses and the bar counter. He had tusks protruding from his lower jaw to his upper-lip, and he kept a much more muscular-tone than his frailer brother. He wears a brown belt with a mug-belt attached, a few loops for rags, and a hilt for a wood-cutting axe. A tan shirt that barely fit his tall form blimped at his shoulders, and contained holes in his lower stomach and on his collarbone.
 Naros felt himself brighten up upon feeling his brother's presence, and quickly called out; "Hey! Krug!" Without second thought, he'd toss over the haggled rag over to the tall, green orc. The ornate hard work of the unknown moved Krugorim, and with a gleam, he exclaimed in a low rumble; *"Where'd you grab this from?!"* His low rumbles seemed to move even the intrepid tavern with his excitement, and Naros would laugh and rush to calm him. He even stirred the sleeping Toby with his noise. 
He'd give both an acknowledging nod, before hanging up his cloak. As soon as Noras pulled off his hooded slip, and his constraining girdle, he revealed giant wings that burst from his back. Leaf-like - translucent wings that resembled a dragonfly began to flutter behind him, and in response, he'd stretch - twisting his arms and hips after exerting a lot of pressure in hiding such troublesome cargo. 
He'd approach his brother - an orc whose size seemed insurmountable to his, and gave him a caring pat, a smile apparent from the moment he had walked in. "Got it up. Send anyone worthy enough up." The fae, who would pull a loose strand of fiery brown hair around his hair, would give a knowing wink to his friend at the bar. "... And we know Harrum over here is a loyal customer. Give him one on the house." The fae had a happy, boisterous pep to his step as he sauntered up the stairs to what once was the steps of an inn - he yelled as he disappeared up to his newfound office; "Today's a *Good* Day!"
John
"Wow, this p-p-place is so cr-cr-crowded." Kaly stuttered to herself. Her anxiety creeping throughout her body as she navigated the busy streets. Bumping into townfolks, she mumbled curt apologies and pulled her forest green hood tighter around her head. The halfbreed did not know what kinds of people this town held. She had come from much distrust, persecution, and simple ignorance - and that was from her own people. Well, her father's. Finding a small gap in the crowd toward one side, she flitted to it. Taking some deep breaths, she steadied herself. Kaly looked down at herself. The mud and filth from the cobblestone road had taken over the better half of her skirt's hem. Her rust colored boots looked more dark muddy brown at this point. *Ugh, what a mess.* As she stood to the side, the crowds continued ebbing and flowing like a great sea. More and more of her long, flame red hair came out of her braid as she pushed through the crowd, so she took this reprieve to fix it into a more controlled braid. Quickly, she pulled her hood back over her head and tucked the braid inside. With a deep breath, she walked back into the crowd and started the rhythmic cycle of bumping and apologizing.

As Kaly continued her fight through the people, the smell of baked goods wafted. Her stomach grumbled and growled. She followed the delicious and sweet smell towards a window display of confectionaries. Pulling out her small coin purse, she drew it open and peered inside. Hardly any coin, she tightened it along with her regard and walked away from the baked goods. Coming to a plethora of stalls, her vision became glazed over and her mind became overwhelmed with the various sights, smells, and sounds of the busy market. Fighting her anxiety and curiosity, she made her way through. One stall selling weapons and armor. Another selling herbs and balms. She had to chuckle at this stall. It was way overpriced for the tins and salves they were selling. She could easily make them for a quarter of the price. She pressed on, not wanting to make a scene. Yet another had a woman behind her counter of wares. A small figure, who was barely tall enough to be seen above the group that stood in between them, seemed to be making a transaction with the woman. Kaly craned her neck to see more. He had bought a small cloth. *How curious.* In the pit of her stomach, there was a magnet that pulled her quite strongly toward the stranger.

Keeping out of their direct line of sight, she followed behind. She had witnessed them putting up a poster with their gilded hilt of a rusted dagger. After they had left, she paused a moment longer. Her hunting instincts taking over her. Knowing the figure wouldn't be back, she took the gap between her and the poster in leaps and bounds. Reading the wanted poster, she found her heart give a little leap. *A delivery run! This is perfect!* With the prospect of a few more coins jingling in her pockets, she made her way to The Needle's Eye. Unsure of the way, she inquired at several stalls. The owners were able to point her in a general direction each time. She came to damp alleyway with a chill in its air. Tightening the forest green hooded cape around her with her two gloved hands, she hoped that she'd be left alone until she got to this Needle's Eye place.

Jumping over quite a number of homeless and drunk people, she finally came to the door, whether it be to her fortune or her misfortune. There was only one way of knowing. Making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, she entered the slimy, dusty tavern. Kaly, for the most part, found her home in taverns where the mead poured freely as did the gossip. This one was different. The clientele seemed rougher... Tighter lipped... More disgraced than her usual crowd. In one corner, there was a former knight. Who knew what kind of transgressions he committed to land himself in his predicament. At the bar, there was a dwarves guard. Kaly wanted nothing to do with this man. She had far too many run-ins with dwarves guards, most situations awkward and some downright dangerous. Sitting as far from this fellow while still hiding her identity from him, she almost fell off her stool as the barkeep made his way to her. The freakishly tall orc with tusks protruding from his lower jaw gave Kaly quite the scare. A small yip escaped her lips. *Great. You had one job, Kaly... Keep the attention to a minimum and here you are yipping like a child.* She chastised herself. Coughing to clear her throat, she kept her gaze averted as she spoke to the orc. "I came to inquire about a delivery run. Saw the poster in the market. Are you Naros or are you Krugorim?" She waited with bated breath for the answer.
Marian
The orc that approached did come with height - his eyes piercing swampy orbs that seemed to strain at the newcomer. He - which he did not realize at the time - had forgotten his glasses at the counter. This made sussing the newcomer out a bit harder without his god-given crutch, and, after squinting a bit harder, made him take a few moments before he blinked and gave the women a hard stare. He noticed her small yip, and pulled anxiously back, clearing his throat. He wondered if it was her *Or him* That was more frightened by this interaction. Still, he found the comfort to speak to her, especially after he caught note that she was interested in the *Wanted Poster*. "That was quick!" His guttural exclamation rang across the tavern, stirring the sleeping knight once more. Krugorim would notice this, and almost make the same, feminine yelp himself, if it weren't for catching himself. *"I'm Krugorim, but people around here call me Krug." It was either as if he noticed the awkwardness of the situation or the nervousness of his newest compatriot, but he decided to wipe away a stray, inconspicuous crumb from her side of the counter. With another smile and almost matriarchal care, he insists; *"We... Well, Can I get you anything? Do you like beer?" He'd clear his throat, the imaginary friends on his shoulder easy to see as he shakes them away, and his previous statement, and would say instead, *"You should probably go up to see Naros, though. He's 'tha boss' around here." The orc would point up the steps, towards the mottled steps. *"Old inn. He likes it when you knock, makes him feel 'special'."
John
Kaly nodded and quietly spoke her thanks to the orc. "Thank you, Krug, I appreciate your assistance in this and for the helpful tip. I want to start on the right foot with Naros." She hopped off her stool and steadied herself against the bar's counter. Though completely sober, the anticipation felt stronger than any liquor in her body. With small steps so she would not trip causing more attention to turn in her direction, she slowly made her way to the old staircase.

**CREEEEEAK** The first step moaned under her footfall. Thinking to herself, *By the fucking gods, you got to be kidding me. I'm going to notify the whole continent of my moves.* She grimaced as she took another step up. **EEEEEEEEEEEEK** *Fuck.* **SQUEEEEEEEEAK** *Me.* **CRIIIIIICK** *Fuck me.* Shaking her hooded head, she stared ahead of her. She had gone four steps up and all the patrons were now looking at her. She could feel their gazes pierce her as if they were throwing their weapons at her. Taking the loss, she finally just ran up the stairs. *Gods be damned* Clearing the stairs, she stepped up to the landing. The mildewed rug had seen better days and yet she welcomed its power to muffle her steps. 

She walked up to the plain door. Prior to knocking on it, she removed both of her black gloves and stuck them in her bag. Taking her now ungloved fingers, she removed her hood. The comfort of it now gone. The fear of being seen drenched her. Adjusting the black leather corset and the dark mossy green tunic beneath it, she inhaled deeply. Knocking, she cleared her throat before speaking, "Sir? I have been sent up here by Krug. I would like an audience with you regarding the wanted poster." Holding her breath between her two reddened and chapped lips, she waited in silence.
Marian
Krugorim saw her attempts in vain, and could only offer a small, camaraderie smile that furrowed with worry at the brow - the awkward exchange leaving small eye-bats fluttering in Krugorim's stomach, which the orc would grasp at. He'd watch as the fiery-locked woman *Creeeak* Along the steps, silently cheering her on with each loud bend of the decrepit steps. 

Harrumli, who had, up until this point, been silently nursing his drink, watched the commotion with a lingering scowl. The ginger-haired dwarf would adjust on his stance sitting on that stool, clanking his metal armor against the oak seat as he moved. When he found his new, comfortable position, he seemed to only have enough patience to put up with the rest-of-his-drink's worth of excitement. A low, hushed growl emitted from his lips as the creaking began, and before he knew enough to say anything, it had disappeared into the shadows of the late inn. He'd down the last of his brown ale before loudly slamming his mug down with a brisk and intrusive; *"Ahh!"* This gave Krug the cue he needed to lumber back over behind the counter, and refill the guard's glass. The orc would pour for the dwarf, his eyes flicking back over to the nightmarish steps. Krugorim thought of his brother, the tavern... But mostly of the newest face on the block. He wondered about her name - her adventures. He wondered if she'd be the right choice for the job at hand. Mostly, he wondered if this was all going to be worth it in the end. He'd overpour from his distraction, the liquid gold falling over the mug and onto his large fist and arm, dripping onto the floor. This gave the dwarf a jump into the action, as he gave a disapproving, confused shout. This, in turn, awoke the sleeping Toby with a start - the older man seeming as spry as his youth as he nearly lept from the table in startle. 

As the steps give way to a long awaited guest, the creaking stair would lead the woman through a museum of cobwebs and dust bunnies - the same occasional dusted painting of a wheat field scattered in frames along the walls opposite of the worn oak bannister. The air seemed to thicken upstairs - a mixture of dust, humidity, and lack of care. As the hallway stretched its arm wide to the auburn-haired adventurer, the decor comes into view, and the ghost of what once was presents itself.

Old sheets silhouette chairs sat in a conversational square at the foot of the entrance. Dust and debris seemed to cling to the old floor carpet and settle with each new step. Wood flakes with age on bookcases with moth-hole riddled books, and on tables lining the walls near rooms. Wallpaper hangs lazily off its wall perch. A single window at the end of the hallway shines its bare daylight into a neat square, at the foot of a second set of stairs. That set is so dilapidated, some steps have fallen through the floor - and the third level spills out in debris and despair. No getting in there.
 The ghost of an old inn lives here - what was once a place that seemed to have been filled with people and vibrance now sits in early decay and dis-care. Now, the upstairs seems to be used mostly as storage space. Newer letters and papers litter the floors and tables of the hallway, covering what might be left of the beauty that once was. Empty wooden crates and barrels decorate corners now, lazily pushed to the side by management. A stray enchanted broom sweeps at the corner of the hallway in passivity. There is little life left as evidence here - apart from a particularly placed framed portrait on the table nearest the entering stairway. An older, balding man sits politely there, a monocle fitting sturdily on his bearded face. The weariness in his eyes tells a lifelong story, even from just a painting. The frame of the portrait seems to have been given particular care, and the only effect of its hidden storage is a long, thin crack that sprawls out from within the glass.

The path is clear, by a small brown Office sign on a closed door halfway down the hallway. As open doors are passed, inside are even more hidden revelations. Each room is similar in their layout; a small, hay-filled bed, a desk and accompanying chair facing a well-lit window, a wardrobe, and a door to a lavatory. The only difference are their varying states of disarray - flies listlessly encircle an old, dry bowl in one room. In another, a chair has been knocked over. These rooms haven't seen proper use in years, and work could be seen in each square inch of the space.

Finally, reaching the closed door that could only be assumed to have once had a similar use to the previous rooms, the room creaks with another person's footsteps inside. Their motion seems sporadic in nature without context - and with the sounds of dropping books and a soft; *"Damn it all."* From inside, the owner seemed to be dealing with some sort of spill by the time the woman rapped her knuckles on the dilapidated wood. 

Naros stood up with a halt when he heard that knock - that *Announcement*. He had been waving his hand around frantically, levitating books and letters flying around his head at erratic rates, trying to find their spots in shelves and on perches. When he heard that soft voice, his magic stopped as soon as he did, causing the floating items to crash down to the floor with a loud ***THUD***. His heart began pounding against his chest then, and he'd take an anticipatory breath. Adrenaline ran through his wings now, spreading through his veins and giving him the courage to carry his body forward. He'd rush in front of a mirror first, which situates itself just next to the answering door - the fae would panic to fix unkempt strands of hazel hair, curling one strand behind blooming fae ears. He'd rub his eyes - trying to rid dark circles from his prying emerald orbs.
With no luck, and one last, lingering look in the mirror, he'd take another deep breath, adding a coiling smile to his face before answering the door.

When Naros opened the door, and came face to face with his newest champion - his poker face faltered as soon as he saw her form. The short, frail fairy was a pot calling the kettle black - a frown quickly forming at his face and an ever-raising eyebrow as he saw... A woman close to his height. He'd visibly scoff, and turn his back on the woman, walking back into the room as he flicked a wrist at his mess. His sprawling wings twitched in annoyance. "What, did Krug send you up here as a joke or something?" A few books that had fallen slowly return back to their work of replacing themselves, almost dragging their pace with the tension. Noras laughed, and his pointed ears moved downwards in realization, the short, cocky man pulling his chair out to laze about in. He'd prop his feet up on the armrest, sitting cock-eyed as he looked at the fiery-haired lass, his arms resting behind his head for good support. "Oh, *I* Get it. You from the guard? It's *Totally* Up to code. That board is free reign to local business. Agh, just because we're not marketable, doesn't mean we get the dregs. We'll pay well." 

Another eyebrow went up as he realized, she might have *No* Clue what he's talking about. She was just... Here. Like, as an actual candidate. He sat in shock for a moment, before he doubled over in laughter. He clung to his stomach, kicking his feet to release pent up energy with a breathless giggle. The faes wings would flicker in tandem, the books releasing once again with a rhythmic ***Thud*** Once more. "Ha... Hahaha..." Noras would sit up proper in his chair now, wiping a tear from his eye before returning his arms to a crossed position. His brow kept the shape of a question mark. "I get that it's a keg run, but... You know where you're going, right? It's kind of a big deal." The fairy shrugged, a smirk evident on his face. "Whatever, I get it, prove yourself and all that - " He'd slap his hand on the table, a serious look now flashing across his face, "... But this is important to us. I can't mess this up." Noras would sigh, finding comfort by leaning back in his chair. "My brother has big ideas, maybe he hopes for the lil' guy, but he can't see the *Bigger picture* Here. I'm looking for someone, *Like, amazing* For this." He'd look her up and down, before giving a self-satisfied smirk. "You might even be shorter than me."
John
As Kaly came face-to-face with Naros, she was visibly taken aback. She had no clue what he would look like, but this, this short fairy was not it. His scoff and turning his back on her made Kaly's blood boil. Taking a few deep breaths, she steadied herself yet again. Following the squat fae, she entered the office. *What an absolute mess.* She thought to herself as she looked at all the strewn papers and books around. It seemed like they were floating all around the room at one point. *Maybe they were.* 

```...Did Krug send you up here as a joke...?``` 

Attempting to stutter out a response, she was cut off with another, even more confusing statement, 

```You from the guard?``` 

Her fingertips flitted against her skirt trying in vain to find a distraction from the utter humiliation she was facing at the moment. His demeaning laugh sent a shiver down her spine and blood rushing to her cheeks. It took every ounce of resolve for Kaly to not reach across the table and slap the tears out of him, but she needed this job. Desperately. The lightness of her coin purse was a heavy noose around her neck. Tightening ever so slightly with each passing day. 

Jumping at the slap on the table, she listened as he prodded on about this job and how important it was. His inflection on the word "Amazing" Meant he didn't see her worth. With her bright, emerald eyes casted down to the floor, she felt the anger rising like a tidal wave that would soon be crashing toward the shore. It finally snapped when she felt his amber eyes undressed her fully from head-to-toe.
Marian
The fae would search for a reaction, truly, from the woman he had called short. Noras has been on the other end of the sharpened stick of underestimation - and it often poked like hot fire in the pit of his stomach. Still, his filter fell short and his need to see a rise in others became priority in this interaction, a miscalculation - he quickly found - as he soon saw a tight draw in the woman's lips. Owl-like orbs that once looked down on the woman with satisfaction would reactively widen.

*Fffwhhp!*

The fairy's head would duck as a dagger flew through the air, finding solace in the chair's back with a relieved hit. Several books on the floor jumped in time with the shock of the fae. Noras searched for a quick-witted response, but fell flat as he thought of the relation to the dagger and his cheek. His breath deepened, heart quickening with the pace of the conversation. Those dark eyes would be unavoidably on the short fit-of-rage, his lips tightening - perhaps an autonomic response to keep his loud mouth alive for a little longer. 

Caught by surprise, the smile had been wiped cleanly off his face as the woman approached pointing a dagger - and she *Really* Let him have it. He'd take the verbal lashings without a comeback, eyes scanning the woman - perhaps for any other surprises. The woman's displeased tirade lingered throughout the hallways of the upstairs inn - the old wood carrying her anger along the rooms of the *Eye* Until it reached the base of the downstairs, fading out into a loud, muffled tone. While he couldn't make out any of the words, Krugorim could guess how the conversation was going. With a sigh, and a gulp of displaced saliva, the orc turned a page of his novella. He'd adjust those glasses on his well-toned jaw, and shift in his seat. 

Back upstairs in the office, the woman - who had introduced herself as *Kalypise Oakenfury* To the fae - was just finishing giving a piece of her mind to Noras, who was silenced in awe. When she finally retrieved the dagger from his chair-backing, the fairy saw a glimpse of tears. Noras opened his mouth - hoping to find words of hope, or solace - but could only find air to escape. He'd close his mouth, finding no words, and watch her leave. With one final, cool, comment, Kalypise would slam the door behind her - leaving him amongst the dust and in the astonishment of the situation.

As the half-nymph walked amongst the grime to reach the downstairs, the dust settling at her boots, she would pass by the once listlessly-sweeping broom, now lifeless on the floor. Walls and floors creak at her disturbance, and as she reaches the bannister, she could hear another, faint *Thud* Coming from the office.
 
What would greet the woman at the foot of the stairs was an empty bar. Whether they had left of their own accord or per request was of a different story - but, for now, the bar lay still. A few cobwebs in the triangle corners of the tavern even had the emergence of a spider or two, preparing for a feast of their own, but kindly staying in their own space. With an empty layout like this, it was easier to get a good feel of the room.

The space seemed to open up with the lack of business, and the intention was particularly noticeable now. Windows which align the furthest wall, though facing a muddy view of a desolate street, had stunning midday lighting that poured in and gave the room a bigger feel. Though the interior needed fine up-tuning, each table was almost virtuous in nature - hard work had been done to keep stains away from resting spots. 

Krugorim would pull his glasses up on his head , and set his book open, facing down on the counter as the woman approached the wooden barkeep. When she slumped onto the chair in tears, the orc felt his maternal nature take over. His large frame shot up from his stool, and with furrowed brows, he'd grab a clean glass from underneath the counter. Krugorim wouldn't speak up just yet - he felt he didn't need to. Instead, he'd set the mug at an angle underneath the keg - and pour. With quite the show, he'd pull the mug away from the spout and set the glass on the counter - sliding it over the Kaly. The orc would grab a candle holder next to Kaly and then, with a fresh candle - he'd light the wick, giving the woman more lighting than the dim, damp tavern and its midday windows. Then, he'd pull his own stool across from Kaly - plopping onto the seating and slapping his palms onto his knees. He'd keep a bit of distance from the smaller woman - he knew that she responded with quite a fright at first to him. Still, Krug had a deep commitment to help people when he could - and when it was his own brother that was the cause, that became his *Duty*. 

*"It's on the house. What did he say to you?"* Krugorim had a sense of seriousness that peeked through his comforting nature - a large hand gently gripping the counter as he asked. The orc, despite first appearances, was most definitely the more compassionate of the two. Still, he had an idea of what made his brother *Tick* Up there. It gave the orc a small curl of a smile, and a slight, knowing look. 

The creaking of the building was normal, and quite easy to get used to. Soon, the settling of the house becomes second nature, and fades to background noise - just like the mildew scent. There was one creak that was out of place, though it blends with all of the others. The soft steps of a fae, with downwards pointed ears. He paces his office, troubled by the scene that had just unfolded. Wings flittered in anxious energy just begging to be released, and he'd have to catch himself a few times before that anxious flittering would become actual levitation. With a halt of his breath, and then a deep, *Looong* Sigh, he'd glance over to the stacks of mail scouring his desk, landing on a curled, crumpled piece of *The Needle's Eye* Parchment. He'd bite his lip, before letting out a small, audible growl - and grab the parchment, stuffing it in his pocket. Naros would hold out his hand, and the fae's office desk rumbled with anticipation. Out from a drawer would shoot a short, rusted dagger, which found solace in his hand. The fae would place that weapon in his belt strap. Then, he'd grab his cloak, and drape it over his arm - the closing of his office door carrying not quite the weight that Kaly's attempt had. 

The fae found himself amongst the ghosts of his past once again. Chairs that once were used to make fortresses now lay still, in shameful dormancy. Inn rooms lay abandoned and weary, with its newest occupants being the cockroaches from a floor below. The male would run a hand through a loose strand of hair - stopping at a table to look at a framed portrait. His fingers curled around the wooden portrait, picking up the artifact to get a closer look. A thumb would move over the glass - before he sat the picture up on its perch. He'd look to the stairway leading downwards now, and thought of Kalyipse. The fairy held his breath, and then gave a glance back to that painting. He could barely utter a whisper, *"Agh, Gramps... I really don't know about this."*
John
Kaly, bowing her head in appreciation for the kind gesture, raised the tankard and drained it in one gulp. She banged the mug on the counter and glared at Krug. "You couldn't have warned me, could ya? *Knock. It makes him feel important.* You knew. You knew your brother is quite the asshole. Grade A, even. Didn't warn me though!" Blowing air out of her mouth, she pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "He asked if you were playing a joke then thought I was a guard and *Then* He belittled me. I mean he didn't even know my name prior to spewing hate and annoyance toward me like daggers. You must have known he would take one look at me and completely dismiss me. Did you think it'd be humorous to witness a sheep stumbling to their own slaughter... Willingly?" 

Picking at the small cuts in the varnish, she tried to soothe her rage by taking deep breaths. She blotted her tears and allowed her reddened emerald orbs to wander around the now-emptied tavern. Without its hodgepodge of patrons, it resembled an old, haggard woman. Worn out. Exhausted. On the cusp of death. The thick coating of dust and grime completely covered the floors, the walls, and every item on the second floor. The chair, where once the knight sat, and its table shrunk in size after its company left. Each vacant seat reminded her of the vacancy in her own heart after so many people left. Returning her sights to Krug, she lifted the tankard into the air to signal she wanted another round. Pushing the mug down the bar, she hoped her aim would prove true. She did not need any further evidence of her lack of skill.

As Krug began filling up her mug, she let her mind wander as her sight did earlier. His venomous insults boomeranged around her mind. *...As a joke...*, *...Looking for someone, like, amazing...* If he the spider, then the insults were his web. She was positively tapped. The image of the dainty fae laughing at her, the sound of his annoying chortling, these caused her blood to simmer and her nails to absentmindedly claw at the bar's counter leaving small marks in it. Speaking once more to Krug, she continued her previous conversation, "Y'all don't know me. Like truly know me. I hate that I've been dismissed as this damsel in distress based solely on my size and stature. So I'm not tall like you but neither is he! He's my height! Is it because of my sex? Are we really going the misogynistic route on this one?"

Exasperated, she waited impatiently for not only her drink but for his response. She ignored the fae as he descended down the stairs.
Marian
The orc's earthly-toned eyes followed Kaly as she drained the stein in one fell swoop, a look of guilt flashing over his expression as she let off her steam. Krugorim would let her rage - allowing her the time to admonish them both. Still though, her leading comments *Tickled* The orc, and a short, deep chuckle would escape his throat. When he finally stood from that antiquated stool - the behemoth-sized man would respond to the next-round call with a clean mug, nodding in silent respect to her fine sliding skills.

As he went to pour the next round in angled care, his deep voice would echo the fleeting walls of the old hag once more. A smile softly approaches his once-hardened expression.
*"Sorry to laugh - I, You... You just sound like him, that's all."*
With a swift flip of the metal nozzle, the orc would finish his pour and wipe off the lip of the stein with his new, locally-crafted rag. Then, Krug would set the stein in front of Kaly, and sit back down, two arms crossing comfortably over his chest after tucking the rag safely away into his waistband.

*"It **Does** Make him feel important, you know."
Those muscular shoulders would shrug,
*"Do you have time for a story? It's a short one, I promise. Not one I've read, either. Home-brewed just for the occasion."* 

As Krugorim spoke, he'd fold his large, green-hued hands on the counter, in a calm clasp. Despite the excitement from the other party, he gave off calm, knowing warmth. Eyes that were soft rested toward the counter as he recounted;
*"When we were younger - much younger - the street kids used to give my brother absolute hell,"* He managed a low chuckle and a shake of his head, a strand of loose black hair falling to his shoulder from the furled bun as he mused, *"Our grandfather used to swear drinks off of some of their parents, it was so bad. They would pluck his wings, boss him and push him around - he was always the first to test out the mud when it was raining, not by any choice of his, I'm certain of that. He always pretended it never bothered him when our granddad would ask, but I watched him secretly move barrels for months in the dead of night, hoping it would build his muscles. We shared the same room - if he even coughed, I knew it."* 

A tight frown flash over his expression during his recall, before it quickly brightened again. *"One time, it got so bad, and I was there - right? Well, he was getting picked on, and I decided that we'd had enough. They always pick. They pick, and pick, and pick. They wait for him to break, and assume the reaction would be hilarious because he's such a tiny guy."*
The orc had to hold some of his emotion back by putting a hand to his face, clenched at his mouth to hide a break in his expression.
*"So, I dealt with it. I threw a meaty right hook at the main culprit and then another one to one of his friends. They reacted accordingly."* Krugorim would move a stray hair behind his ear, *"There aren't many places to fight when you're that young and that dumb, so we got caught brawling it out in broad daylight, in the street."*

At the very top of the steps, Naros stood there, silently taking the story - and the newly charged memories - in. The orc began to animate in his story, using more hand gestures to give a broader view to his tale. 

*"Well, the guards came in, got our guardians involved, it was a whole ordeal. Especially for me - their parents definitely pointed out the obvious, there.*" The orc would gesture to himself with a tight smile. *"Usually, when we get in trouble like this, Naros and I kind of laugh it off and move on. But this time - when we went back to our rooms, after our granddad gave us the verbal lashing of a lifetime - Naros got **Angry** At me."* 

Krugorim met Kaly's eyes now, *"He said, 'The little guy always loses.' It was a strange statement at the time, right? I didn't know what he meant,"* The man shook his head, *"But he was deadly serious. And do you know how I knew?"* With an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, he confessed, *"He started crying. It was one of the first times I had seen that 'Grade A asshole' do so. And it filled the room with sadness that is only comparable to when our grandfather died. It really did."* 

The orc made a wearisome pause before continuing, a behemoth hand moving down to grasp the oak counter, nails digging into the counter before catching themselves in the moment. His grassy eyes twinkled now, as he recalled; *"Before, I didn't understand, but now I clearly do."*

With a smile, he'd state cleanly; *"I didn't send you up there as a joke."*
Standing with a knowing look, the orc would place his round spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose, and pull his keepsake rag out. He'd begin his routine of cleaning an empty stein while he spoke, *"Frankly, I think you probably terrify him. I sent you up there because I know that you can get the job done, and likely very well. I think he knows it, too."* He'd set a cleaned mug to the side, *"Additionally, I think you can give him something he'd never ask for but very clearly needs."*
Without a second thought, the next washed dish would be set the side, before he'd approach Kaly, drying his hands with that dirtied rag,

*"**Inspiration.**"* 

Naros would make his entrance quietly now down the steps of the late inn, a swift swoop being used to pull on his cotton, bottle-green cloak. With one hand buttoning his fasten, another would flick its wrist outward - from his pocket appearing a small bustle of coins. They would float from his pocket onto the barkeep, his hand making a sliding gesture to slide the bustle towards Kaly. As the fae approached, his expression appeared more restrained than annoyed. Then, he'd announce; 

"If I could have afforded a whore or a knight-in-shining-armor, then don't you think I would have by now?" 

Naros would glance up to Krugorim, who returned him a foul look, before Naros would cross his arms, and lean to his side on the bar's bannister. 
"Between Krugorim and I's personal savings, and a tad off-the-top of *The Eye* Like *Dear Old Gramps* Would have done, it's almost a gold's worth." He gestured to the nicely bound bag, "It's yours. *If* You can do this. Maybe if you do that dagger thing enough..." His sarcastic comment faded into thin air with another disapproving glance from his brother, and the fae would instead pull out a map, spreading it thin on the countertop to show the world from a view. It contained a stained, written-on cut-out piece of map from a news article of some sort.

Naros explains with a finger to point out specifics, "This is why I want you to know what you're doing. I don't know about you, but this is a pretty daunting map to me. We need to go east in a reasonable amount of time to deliver five kegs to Miller Dale. I'm not as worried about the Steep Woods as I am, the Southern Mountains... I just need this done, and I need this done well." There is fire in those ocher eyes, as he gazed back up to Kaly, "*The Needle's Eye* Counts on us." 

His eyes stayed there for a moment, wings fluttering under that cloaked cape in intrusion, before he broke the silence; "Can I show you something?"

With that, he'd flick a hand upwards - a door unlocking somewhere throughout the halls of the tavern. From their left, a door's handle twisted before it flew open - five weathered kegs stacked orderly stood patiently inside an old broom closet. His other hand retrieved five rolled parchments, which he threw out atop the clipping-of-a-map. They rolled, but caught themselves, on the edge of its furled edges. They present themselves with a red ribbon tying each one - and a small wax seal of a needle on each page's overlay. With that, Naros would shrug his shoulders, and look at Kaly for a reaction,
"You don't need to peek to know that this is for more than just a keg delivery."
A small, restrained smirk formed under his expression as he watched the woman for a reaction - trying to remain very still. He wouldn't express his nervousness outwardly, but he was quite riddled with anxiety at this very moment. She could walk out at any moment and he knew that - but with a glance towards his brother, and then a glance back at Kaly - he had to hold out hope that his idea wouldn't fail.
John
As Kaly sat and listened to Krug's tale of Naros' childhood with empathy and remorse, those feelings quickly turned to apathy. She sipped and nodded where appropriate. When he had finished, she leveled her eyes at Krug and began her response.

"Look, everyone has their sob story. Your's truly has one. And yet, I don't go around treating people like dirt. Hurt people hurt people. His hurt, his trauma, isn't mine to bear and it's not an excuse for personal responsibility. I appreciate your brotherly love for him and that you did not send me up there as a joke. The treatment I was shown... The pure disrespect... No tale would rectify this situation. Perhaps an apology. But I'm not holding my breath."

As she gulped down the mead, Naros approached. She gritted her teeth as he reminded her of her *Whore or knight-in-shining armor* Commentary. Her teeth almost broke with the amount of pressure when he brought up the *Dagger* Moment. She couldn't hold her own commentary back any longer. "Would it *Kill* You to just apologize? To admit that you were a jerk? It isn't hard and doesn't require much! Believe you me..." She pulled the dagger out again and held it to the fan's neck, "This mission requires trust and companionship. Neither of us have either." She sheathed the dagger and looked at the kegs as well as the parchment rolls. Though she felt a wave of confusion, she kept her facial features as blank as she could.

"I don't need nor *Want* To know what's in them. I will help you deliver them... But on two conditions. One, I can get a flask of this." She held up her tankard. "And second, an apology prior to setting off." She plopped down again in her stool, took another gulp from her mug, and waited with an expectant look at the fae for the apology. This stalemate could last an eternity but both of them knew that *He* Did not have that long. *She* Did.