Scott
**Melkaire Amarth
Small Tavern in the City of Erillia, Araedia**

Amongst those gathered within the tavern walls, watching the activity occur on the other end of the establishment, was Melkaire. The brooding, burly warrior stood still and silent. First studying the woman being accosted by some desperate miscreant. In all his years, during his time with other mercenaries, he could never understand what would compel a man to behave as such, doubting that such tactic was ever received with much success, if any. Narrowing gaze settled upon the shorter female, who seemed to be both annoyed and almost eager for the man to try and escalate the situation. She most certainly did not present the impression of a damsel in distress. 

Next, his attention came to the one who sought to intervene. Switching his gaze to the man, he studied the almost regal raiment he adorned, especially when compared to the layers of furs that clothed himself. What became the focus of his gaze, whoever, was the badge adorned on the man's arm, same as the one imprinted upon the parchment. "Hmm." Melkaire mused quietly to himself, content for the time being to observe what transpired. 

The bravado of the man whom intervened was noted. It became suggested to him that the man's deeds were not rooted with ill intent. There was a measure of kindness behind them. Lips pursed in thought, the ever subtle sight of a slight nod displayed in some measure of approval. Not that the man needed it from Melkaire. 

"Oi! That's my friend!" Called out a rough, balding man that reeked of alcohol. A stained, green tunic barely covering the man's portly figure, well-worn tan trousers bore other stains that likely contributed to the putrid smell. Melkaire's eyes turned to their corners, glancing at the individual as he turned to face the table, making his way into the direction of others.

.
With a quick movement, Melkaire's arm ascended, bending at the elbow, and was sent thrusting back, striking the chubby drunkard in the face. The blow struck fierce, sending the man reeling back, colliding against the bar before toppling down, crashing to the ground. Casually, Melkaire turned his head, looking downward to the man. 

"Whoops." Melkaire grunted with indifference. Lifting his head, he glanced over to the tender on the other side of the bar, and lifted his other hand, raising only a finger in the air to signal the tender's attention. "Mead please." He requested, taking the opportunity to send his booted foot colliding into the fallen drunkard's face just one more time for good measure.
Douglas
Lady Vivian Agate
Tavern in the City of Erillia 

The fair maiden watched as the men caused a scene, her eyes boring into the man that dared the other, challenging him. She wasn't a lady in distress, she could make him regret his actions, as if on cue, another man yelled. His cry was cut short by another man, burly and broad, she watched with an unpleasant gaze as both of them 'handled' her situation. She let out a forced puff of air, a slight sigh escaping her lips, Vivian lifted herself out from the rickety table and strutted over to the men. She didn't need them fighting in such a public place, she let a gentle hand caress her 'saviour', her Emerald eyes staring into his own, pupils sharp and small," Don't." Was her only word to him, a warning of some sort. Her voice was cold and hard as she spoke, turning her head to the man that previously harassed her, giving him a seductive smile." Now now, you don't need to fight to show off," She said, her tone was low.

She made her way to the man, his scruffy light hair and scrappy beard made him look rusty. He was much taller than her but she lifted up her head, hands placing themselves on his chest. The man gave a smirk to the other, his ego burning holes into the man," Well look who came back, and I didn't even need to fight this dullard," He boasted. She let her smile get stiff, her hands running up and down the dirty man's arms," Well I didn't want him to get hurt, you Obviously would have torn him apart~" She soothed, her voice was of silk and needles, her hands finding the edge of his shit. Vivian slipped her hands up his tattered and stained shit, running them along his back, she hummed as she layed her head on his chest. 
.

The man's face contorted with shock and distress, Vivians small frame trying to keep him from squirming too much." Now, I would suggest you leave~" She hissed, her eyes staring into his wide ones. He was sweating, a permanent cringe was apparent upon his features, she tilted her head," I'm no damsel, am I?" She cooded, the man struggled to get out of her grasp, he shouted," Let go of me Witch!" He cried. Vivian's hands slipped out from his clothing with a smirk, the man darted through the crowd, hitting the man on the shoulder while doing so.

Vivian moved her gaze to the man before looking at her hands, they had a red tint. She sighed and walked back to the table that held her gloves, making sure she touched them instead of the table while slipping them on. Many people had given her stares, many were confused and many terrified. She made a small sound and sat back down, covering her face with a petite covered hand.
James
'The Raven' Anguri,
Tavern in the City of Erillia

The one word of dismissal was all he needed. He shuffled away from the situation as quietly and as politely as he had entered it, slipping between tables up to the wall he was previously leaning upon. As he walked, however, he felt his shoulder sway as it was knocked into with the force of someone desperately trying to run. Surprisingly he gave it no further attention and simply continued to walk towards his claimed spot against the wall. 

Only when he was comfortable did he bother to return his focus to the rest of the tavern. His eyes shifted to the *Massive* Man dealing with the drunkard, one behemoth stomping on another, that force could be useful. Same with the reserved danger of the woman. There was quite a lot going on, wasn't there? He was ashamed to admit such behaviors were pretty normal for this godforsaken tavern. Things would slow down and things would become an almost eerie level of quiet as everyone at the tavern reveled in the events earlier today. Anguri walked up to the barkeep. He wasn't one for drinking but he might as well to kill some time. He beckoned the woman behind the bar and spoke in a tone that not only was naturally quite bold, but hinted with an elegant and dark accent. "One bottle of ale, please. Honeydrought if you have it." 

*An hour or so slowly crept. On.*

Anguri had moved from the wall to stand close to the fireplace and was talking in a cordial chatter. They weren't saying a whole lot— the conversation circulating between himself, a bold woman wearing the clothes of a sea-whipped sailor and a man who he also assumed worked on the docks for his clothes and a white beard that looked like the pigment had been sucked out by the waves. The man with the white beard was speaking and Anguri listened intently. 

"Oh yes! I have been listening to whatever I can learn about the pirates and raiders of this place for as long as I possibly could— and let me tell you, they change like the seasons do. Every now and again a clan dies and you would assume that's the last of them. But you assume wrong! They are neverending and I swear on my life, if I was as young as I used to be, I would go after them myself!" The man said with a laugh. The woman he was with leaned close and murmured to him before the bearded fellow grunted. "Ah. It is quite late for me— I need to get going. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, young man. Your name?"

Anguri hummed. His smile was contagious and he bowed in a polite, somewhat sarcastic way. "The Raven, sir. But you may call me Ang." Without much further thought, the woman and accompanying man stood up and left the tavern. How ironic of a conversation to have for what he had came here for. Outside, the midday was passing and the sky was colored a very pleasant baby blue with streaks of milky white clouds dashing it. Sun poured in through the windows and the winds were calm.

Compared to earlier, the tavern was now relatively empty. A few games of Rook going on and some people talking and laughing over drinks. After a few more minutes of contemplative deliberation, he strode to the midst of the tavern and announced in not too loudly of a tone to seem attentive but more just like he was speaking to the whole of a tavern like a friend in conversation, he announced, "For those looking to go to Crireton Fortress or generally just the eastern corner of the Hasso region, I own a small caravan and am taking up to thirty willing souls there. Is anyone interested?" 

Upon speaking, a few men and women stood and walked to where he stood. There was maybe nine people standing around him and conversing to him with quietly voiced questions, to which he answered back in respective calm. It wasn't a large affair and people weren't crawling to him like they were with fliers. He was a quiet and thoughtful man and the procedures reflected as such.