Pulling into the stableyard, Myrist pointed to the back wall of the Red Crown, motioning his two drivers to line the wagons and carriage up over there. He Â stepped down and walked over to the stable boy, who was blushing vividly and staring at the inn door, mouth hanging open. After the boy failed to notice him for several seconds, Myrist decided to cough; he didnâ€™t remember the ladâ€™s name.<br/><br/>Turning to face him with a start, the boy flushed all the harder for being caught doing...whatever heâ€™d been doing. â€œOh, Master Myrist. Youâ€™re back in town. Are your horses well?â€ The embarrassment faded as the lad turned to look at the wagons; Myrist remembered the boy always having something to say about one horse or another, and Myristâ€™s were some of the best. Heâ€™d trained them himself, with Paâ€™s help, or course.<br/><br/>â€œThey are well, indeed. Had an easy trip here, spoiled by empty wagons.â€ The laugh was forced through gritted teeth. More money had been lost than made on this trip. Though the boy didnâ€™t seem to notice the bad mood. He was still watching the horses, waiting to be dismissed to tend them.<br/><br/>â€œAlright, alright. You know what to do.â€ The caravan leader said, dropping a few coppers into the boyâ€™s shirt pocket before he could dash away. That<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>make Myrist laugh before he shook his head and turned for the inn door. The noise of the place hit him like a rock when he walked in. It was quiet on the road and and the dramatic shift always struck him like that when he found civilization again. The smell of stale wine and sweat did much the same; though the merchant guards he sometimes hired could bring that with them.<br/><br/>Taking off his hat and running his hand through curly hair, he scanned the room taking in every detail with what seemed like a most casual glance. Someone was playing with a dead bird; probably best not to make assumptions there; plenty of drink was flowing. Someone was trying to nurse a tankard of ale with one hand while nursing an aching groin with another hand and fend off his laughing friendsâ€™ jabs with yet another hand; he only only seemed to be succeeding with the ale. His friends, when not pretending to knee him or pull his arm over his head, were throwing quick, furtive glances at a man in impressive armor; probably a well-off merchantâ€™s guard or more likely, a mercenary and certainly the cause or the drunkardâ€™s bad evening. A serving maid was shaking a tray at a man who had surely pinched her bottom or flipped up her skirt. And a cat hissed at a man who, by the wine on his tunic, had just tripped over it. None of this was unusual at. The elf in the corner was a might unusual, though. Myrist suppressed a grimace when his gaze slid past him. As far as the caravan leader cared, elves had earned their bad name. They killed merchants on the road.<br/><br/>His hand reached the back of his head and he pressed his hat back on. The one thing he didnâ€™t see was the owner. The greedy little halfling that owned this place always had a job. So, he strode up to the bar with a good humored grin and called, â€œBarkeep, my good man. Show me the boss man and I might just buy some of that wine/horse wash mix youâ€™re selling everyone. Oh, and two rooms for tonight; the one with more mites you can give to my two men.â€<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFFBF">"Myrist? That you lad?" The barkeep exclaimed. "Good to see you got all yer limbs still. I'll go get the boss, Shouldn't be long, get comfortable." And with that he left the bar and down the back hall.</span><br/><br/>â€œNobody's taken them yet.â€ Myrist laughed as he dropped into one of the stools to wait. The scene around him wasn't changing, so he propped his head on one hand and chuckled at the injured drunk for a bit.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFFBF">It wasn't long before the fit half-ling came into view through the throng of people. "Myrist my boy, good to see you back in one peace. I need you rested up, we got a hell of an offer waiting so I'm afraid you wont get too much rest."</span><br/><br/>Movement in the corner of his eye made Myrist spin back around. The halfling owner of this joint had returned. By the look of him, not five minutes could have passed since Myrist last rode out of this town. The midget never changed in look or attitude; which was good, because he looked to have deep pockets and had an attitude to share. Affecting a yawn, the caravan leader put a hand to his mouth and replayed, â€œI rest on my feet. You know that. What cha got for me this time? Gold? Diamonds? Maybe a beautiful damsel in distress? Maybe she has diamonds, too?â€ It always helped to seem friendly. Made even the most untrustworthy sorts trust you a bit more.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFFBF">"If it's diamonds you want you can get it with the gold you rake in with the bounty. Ya got one damsel to worry about, but don't call her such, she looks more apt a warrior than most of the drunks in here. Defer to her with the cargo, you just need to get it into Shoven. Do that, and you'll have another 500 coins coming your way. Speaking of." He tossed a heavy coin-purse towards Myrist in hopes of him catching it." Your pay for the latest trip. 200 coins as promised."</span><br/><br/>Myrist's hand left the counter and the purse disappeared into his coat in one smooth movement. His hands were quick. He touched brim of his hat and nodded a thanks before speaking again. â€œA female warrior, you say? I could enjoy this trip more than most. That or hate it more than any.â€ he made a conflicted face and laughed at his own joke. â€œ500's a hefty sum, in any case. What kind of cargo is she hauling? Something like my last trip to the Lorril estate, maybe?â€ That was in a casual tone, as if it meant nothing, but his last trip to the Lorril estate had been a highly illegal sale of cultural items for the Lord's private collection. Myrist new the halfling would understand his unspoken question. How illegal would this trip be?<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFFBF">"Something of that nature to be sure, but expect the cargo to be a bit more lively than antiques. Same room as always my friend." He patted him on the back. "See you in about a month. With the return shipment I hope intact."</span><br/><br/>That made Myrist pause. 'a bit more lively'? Was he smuggling animals? Did he have to feed them? And what about a destination? Shoven was huge! â€œYou didn't even tell me who this feisty lass is, ya little runt.â€ he muttered, signaling the barman to pour him some spiced wine. â€œJust walking off on a man like that...â€ And what kind of animal is worth that kind of gold, anyways?<span style="font-style: italic">I bet it's big. And loud. And stinks. Ugh.</span><br/><br/>He sighed and gulped his wine, then spun back towards the common room just in time to see the dead bird catch fire on a table. â€œThe fuck?...This place is changing....â€