<strong>Name</strong>: Jehanne (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=328118.msg15693755#msg15693755)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Outside, then the Great Room<br/><strong>Action</strong>: Homecoming<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: Leather armor vest (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/dd/f6/7a/ddf67a56a0e7316a8ad438d06f7b42c0.jpg) and manica (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/70/aa/53/70aa53c439a5b67d9755e7c748bf2efe.jpg); leather pants and high boots; baldric and sword<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Spade/Open<br/><br/>And there was the wood door pull, polished smooth by the touch of countless grips, familiar under her hand. The comfortable aches of a well-fought scrap pulsed through her muscular body, though the arrow and hook wounds still tugged. Pain, she'd often said, is how you knew you were alive; in her case, it was also how she knew she'd fulfilled her<em>geas</em>for now. In case the reek of smoke and blood and death that clung to her and the heavy purse tapping against her thigh weren't clue enough- when she failed, she arrived clean as a chorister, but also poor as a monk.<br/><br/>Peace. For a little while.<br/><br/>Yanking the door open, she strode into the Lion, a handful of uncounted coin already flying from her hand to clatter on the bartop. "Ale!," she ordered, raising her voice even though the place was fairly quiet for the nonce. "And much of it. And bath water, hot. Scalding.  Spade, ye whoremaster!  Are ye here, then? Good.  If ye've sold my room out from under me, I'll gut you."  An idle threat- even were she not very wary of the proprietor's power here in his own realm, guesting laws and custom would have forbidden it.  To say nothing of the fact that she had absolutely<strong>no</strong>idea what would happen were she to get herself banned from her one and only refuge. Though there were days she was weary enough of the endless cycle to think darkly on making the attempt, just to see if it would free her.<br/><br/>However, as she always did, she slung her massive weapon down from her shoulder and rested it still sheathed against the bar next to her usual perch at the corner of the bar furthest from the door. No one would dare touch it, even if she left it there for a year, though that too, might be interesting to see happen, just for the side effects. The damned blade was...well. Different. Even now, it was singing quietly to itself, as if it, too, were glad to be home. Or maybe bored, eager to kill again.