As Daena d'Ardeneta rode over the hilly plains on her most recent steed, a palomino mare, she sighed with quiet relief to see a tavern in her immediate vicinity. After dismounting from the horse, she released it to rejoin its brethren just over the previous hill, where an enormous herd of horses was grazing under the late afternoon sun.

The little town that lay before the female mercenary was not the prettiest of the bunch. A few rows of houses were separated by roads of ugly cobblestone. The largest building in the entire city, which was called "Teria" according to a rotting wooden sign nearby, was the aforementioned pub, which had two floors and a connecting inn, which looked as if it could house four or five people. The wind rustled past a swinging sign that called the place the "Meat an Greet Tavern". Despite herself, Daena chuckled quietly and wondered how drunk the owner was when he had hung that particular sign.

Slinging her cloth satchel over her shoulder and walking toward the pub, she thought about how much she wanted a drink at that particular moment. She had been traveling for days, trying to find a suitable place to begin her work once more. Sometimes, mercenaries brought home the bacon. In prosperous times, that was not the case...

As she opened the creaky door and flung her long brown hair over her shoulders, and straightened her grubby tan tunic, Daena pulled out three gold coins and sat at the barstool, ignoring her fellow inhabitants. Tossing them nonchalantly to the counter, she said in a strong voice, "I want the strongest mug of ale that you have."

Hushed whispers and curious glances were directed at the strange elf seated stubbornly at the corner of the bar. None of the other patrons had seen a high elf of such... stature before. At first all the men were in awe at the grace and fluidity of the female elf's movements, at her exotic beauty, at her curvaceous form. Several of the smitten had summoned their bravery and strode up to her to profess their interest, and when she spoke her voice was as melodious as a violin concerto.

Unfortunately, what she said was less than melodic.

"Get the f*ck away from me, you fairy fudge packers!"

Indeed. Quite unbecoming.

When one of the gentlemen, who was truly quite insensed at being bespoken to like that by a woman, attempted to physically teach the elf miscreant a lesson... she actually had the gaul to defend herself!

Faster than the space between breaths, the elf drew a strange metal weapon from her hip scabbard and aimed its end towards the surprised man's face. Then, there was a sudden loud roar as the weapon roared to life, spitting fire and brimstone about like a demon's maw! When the smoke cleared, the poor fellow was lying at the elf demoness's feet, his face no longer upon his head.

The elf then, acting as if nothing was amiss, sat at the corner stool of the bar and ordered a pint. A pint!

There she sat for over an hour, drowning whatever sorrows a cold-hearted bitch fiend like her might have. She was quiet for quite a time, except for one particular moment some twenty minutes passed when she first sat, when she remarked to no one in particular the strangest retort:

"One more thing. I am NOT a woman. Stupid mortals."

Truly. Quite a strange elf, indeed.

(XD)

Daena, who was not expecting such an eventful occurrence just minutes after arriving in town, stared in great amusement as the elf of undeterminate sex killed off a suitor. Nodding her approval, Daena turned back to the glass of ale that she had been given, which was some of the worst alcohol that she had ever tasted. She confined herself to a single mug, then opened the cloth satchel strung from her shoulderblades and began perusing a strange wooden puzzle, ignoring the fact that the elf sat next to her to enjoy a pint as well.

After about twenty minutes of this, her interest was piqued once more when the blonde elf muttered aloud, "One more thing. I am NOT a woman. Stupid mortals."

She put away the puzzle, reexamining the elf. With his fair skin, hair, and eyes, Daena could see the signs of masculinity beneath his initial appearance, but it was easy to see why someone would mistake the elf for a female.

She smirked as she brushed back her hair once more. "No offense, but I was uncertain for a little while there." Few would be able to tell, but the female mercenary was joking. In a highly sarcastic manner. "Good job, by the way. I'm impressed by your fighting skills. One would almost presume that to be your profession. A mercenary, perhaps?" Truly, the elf impressed her... just a bit.

The high elf's eyes flicked over to Daena when she spoke, the blue orbs flaring in hate at her joke.

Nope. This one obviously had no sense of humor.

"Good job, by the way. I'm impressed by your fighting skills. One would almost presume that to be your profession. A mercenary, perhaps?"

"Humph," the elf sneered, taking a drag from his pint. "Gee, you're a smart one. How'd you figure that? Was it the outfit? The weaponry? My 'winning' personality?' Please. I reckon just 'bout everyone in here's a merc." He glanced around the pub, looking from one patron to another; sure enough, most all of them were armed, rough-looking, and desperate. "Yep. Sorriest bunch of low-lifes I've ever seen."

It was obvious he included Daena in that assessment.

The elf turned back to his brew of alcoholic bliss and gave the mug his full attention. A dwarf warrior, just stumbling into the pub, almost tripped over the corpse of the poor schmuck who'd accosted the gunslinger earlier.

"Och, now why's there a dead ooman just lying 'ere? Don'cha pigs got any sense t'all? Why don'cha get rid of it, 'stead of leavin' the thing lying 'ere all night ta attract bugs? Oh, now looka that! All that blood an' brain is all over me cloak! Damn it all ta 'ell!"

The elf chuckled into his drink.

Makor stepped into the tavern already looking at the floor, as a rivulet of blood was flowing out into the street. That's not usually good for buisness.
"Hey, barkeep! For free food and drink I'll get rid of this for you."

The bartender a large man with large muscles and a large beer gut said, "One drink, one plate of food."

"Deal."

He grabbed the body with two hands and, being careful not to get any gore on him, dragged the body out of the tavern and over to a garbage heap that he'd noticed already had one foot sticking out of it.

Such a quaint town.

Walking back into the tavern he immedietly knew who did it. The wound was rather unique and the Elf was dressed in the fashion of those in a land so far west if you whent any further you were in the east were they used a style of weapons refered to as "fire arms" or "guns". Perhaps it was all the gold out there but all sorts of alchemal and mechanical advances had come out of there.

He sat down one chair over from the elf and asked, "So what'd he do to piss you off?"

Aiden had been on the land for a while. His ship was in dire need of repairs and it would take a few weeks for his ship to be ride able again. So he had decided to get himself familiar with the surrounding towns, and maybe make a few coins in any way he could. He had arrived in town and noticed a man dragging out what looked like a body of a man. Aiden scratched his head and looked at the building they had both came out of this tavern.

"The Meat an Greet? Who in their right mind would name a tavern that?" He said as he walked closer to the entrance and walked in like a man of importance. He loved to walk in like he was the most important person anyone had seen. He kept one hand on the hilt of his rapier and the other across his back. He looked towards the barkeep and kept his suave smile and asked the price of his best stuff. After hearing the outrageous price and mumbling, he pulled the coins and paid for his drink. He took a quick swig and soon learned that the drink matched the place, rundown and not fun to drink. He looked around and looked for a target for his next endeavor and his eyes met two women, one dressed extravagantly, and a burly man all sitting together.

"Well, what are such sophisticated and beautiful women like yourselves doing in a rundown place like this? There are amazing places along the vast ocean that would suit your beauty much more." Aiden announced as he reached the table and bowed lowly, not even giving the male any attention.

"Here's your payment. 10,000. Now get out of my sight!" ordered the Eladrin crime lord. He'd hired Lagault to arrange an accident to kill one of his competitors. Lagault got the job done, but the battle-scarred Drow was not happy.

"This isn't the amount I charged. You owe me 35,000, not 10. Where's the rest?" demanded the Drow in his intimidating Ashland voice. Lagault hailed from the desolate plains of the Ashland to the southeast. There, one would find several tribes of Drow known collectively as Ashlanders. The Ashland was notorious for its brutal dust storms, resulting in its people having significantly scratchier sounding voices than other elves (from growing up inhaling the dusty air of the Ashlands).

"10 is what you get, Ashlander! Be lucky I do not end your savage life now!" the Eladrin retorted. His eyes made a signaling motion, and two of his bodyguards pointed crossbows at Lagault's back. He shouldn't have done this. Not only was Lagault furious at this sniveling boss's attempt to shirk his payment, but he was also enraged at being called a savage. Although his ties to the Ashlander Tribes had long been severed, he was still proud to count himself as one, and anyone fool enough to speak lowly of that heritage would always meet an untimely end.

In a blur of motion, Lagault quickly twisted around, shoving one of the crossbow's to aim at the other bodyguard as the bolt was fired. In a seemless transition, Lagault spun around again, this time wrestling the crossbow way from its owner and immediately sinking one of his daggers into the man's gut. He spun back around to face the boss, pulling the dagger out of its victim and resheathing it while preparing to shoot an arrow.

In that time, the Eladrin had hurried to his cart and it was speeding away, but not before the Drow managed to sink an arrow into the seating area and stuck onto the ceiling, "Haha! You missed! You made your last mistake, turning on me!" taunted the boss back at Lagault as the cart put distance between them.

The Drow, surprisingly enough, didn't bother giving chase. He calmly turned around, shouldering his bow and dusting himself off as he walked toward the nearest tavern (The Meat an Greet). Ten seconds later, just before entering the tavern, Lagault held up a hand, and snapped his fingers. As if perfectly timed, the arrow that had struck the speeding cart exploded, producing an ear-ringing bang as the cart went up in flames, the boss and the driver both killed instantly. The arrow was a specially enchanted one, meant to explode exactly ten seconds after hitting a target, to ensure a kill.

"Hm. Never call an Ashlander a savage. And never try to shirk a merc's pay." said Lagault casually after hearing the bang as he entered the tavern.

The barkeep slid him a plate before the elf could answer, as well a pint of mead. The chicken leg was blackened and the potato shrivled and dry, but it was better than what he'd been eating on the road so he didn't complain.

He almost choked on his drink when a stranger came up and began flirting with both of the women at the bar, one of which was a guy.
"The elf's a man." he hissed out of the side of his mouth, suddenly realizing what had gotten the mans face blown off.

Before anything happened though, a Drow entered. Perhaps this would provide a distraction and prevent another death due to gender confusion.

The door to the tavern burst open with an unexpected violence, slamming against the wall and threatening to come straight off its hinges. Into the dimly lit room stepped the biggest, meanest Gnome any of the assembled low-lives had ever seen. Of course, that wasn't saying much, as far as Gnomes go. Various weapons rattled and clinked together as the scruffy warrior purposefully made his way to the other side of the tavern.

The small man had to literally climb up one of the stools before the bar in order to sit upon it, but once he was comfortably situated between two female elves and a couple of men, he produced two objects: a small, letter-sized parcel, and a tiny buckskin pouch filled with various coins.

The barkeep, wearing an expression that indicated something between pleased at the influx of customers and annoyed at the ruckus they were causing, sauntered up to the new patron and leaned on the old wooden counter.

"A stoin o' yer foinest Dwarven stoot," demanded Lando Magnifico in his strange, Gnomish accent. The voice was deep as far as Gnomish voices go, but still a bit mischievously high for one as bulky as Lando. Miraculously, the man behind the counter understood the order and nodded before moving off to fetch the beverage.

Lando looked around at the various faces whose gazes had been unintentionally drawn to his presence. "Wha're ye all lookin' at?" said the Gnome rather loudly. Most of the faces turned back to their own business.

A large mug was placed before Lando, and he drank heavily from it, downing nearly the entire thing in one go.

***

About thirty minutes and six pints later, Lando had become rather talkative, though he spoke to nobody in particular. He switched his eyes erratically from person to person, explaining this and that. Eventually, he picked up the parcel he had laid on the counter when he'd first walked in.

"So, Oi was grumblin' aboot dis ol'... shanty of a ber," he said to Daena, "when one fella come up ta me an' say, 'Ay! You look loik de sort 'ose go' a strong erm an' a taste fer... mayonnaise...'" Lando trailed off for a moment. "No, i' was meyhem. 'You 'as a taste fer meyhem,' 'e says, 'an' Oi got a job fer ye.'"

Lando took another swig of the sweet brew, then opened the parcel and pulled out a worn vellum map and a tiny silver key. He turned to Mel next.

"'E gives me dis map, an' dis key, an' 'e says it go to a box dem Raiders stole from 'is 'ouse. 'E says, 'Get back wha's in dat box, an' dere's tree gol' slobberins innit fer ya.'" Lando looked confused for a moment, then turned his gaze to Lagault. "No, i' was tree gol' sovereigns. Da's it."

Aiden was the next to be addressed by the Gnomish barbarian. "Oi tells 'im Oi'll do it, an' 'e says Oi oughtta bring a few friens along, 'cause dat camp got fifty Raiders to it. Fifty! Hah! Oi tells 'im Oi'll do it boy meself, an' 'e shrugs an' gives me de key, anna map, an' sens me on me way."

Lando looked at Makor then. "So Oi taught Oi'd come have a point er two 'fore Oi get sterted on dem Raiders. Camp's not fer from 'ere, 'ccordin' a dis map. Come ta tink of it, whoi'd 'e 'ave a map inna firs' place? Bah, Oi don' give a bloody shit, long as Oi get me coins in dee end, eh?"

With that, Lando downed the last of his most recent mug and slammed it forcefully down on the counter, expelling a mighty "Aaah!"

The gnome that had entered was loud and barbaric, a far cry from the cold and calculating Ashlander Drow. For the most part, Lagault simply ignored the Gnome's ramblings, especially after he had gotten drunker. After all, they were mostly drunken rants. All except for the bit about a map and key.

Lagault knew of the Raiders the Gnome mentioned. In fact, he'd even fulfilled a contract for them some ten days ago. The fact that they seemed to hold something of great value intrigued him. How valuable was the contents of the supposed box? And how much was the Gnome's client truly willing to pay for it? The Gnome was not a very good mercenary. He took a job without knowing what he was getting into, plus he let the client dictate the price. A good merc never lets the client decide on the price. After all, without the merc, the client is left with a job not getting done, so the merc rightfully holds the monopoly of setting the price.

Still, Lagault made no attempt to approach or address the Gnome. First rule of mercenary work: let the job come to you. If you look for clients, you appear desperate for work, and become easier to manipulate as a result. So Lagault remained quiet, sipping the drink slid to him by the barkeep. Obviously, the Drow was a regular around here, because he hadn't said a word since coming in (hence the drink was his "usual").

"I heard that big bang of yours a minute ago. Want me to set up a meeting with Cort to have another arrow enchanted?" asked the barkeep. Cort was the local magic shop owner. He could teach spells, sell scrolls, our even enchant items, for the right price.

"Maybe later." replied Lagault, taking another sip, and then in a quieter tone said, "I think I may have found my next contract..." he said subtly referring to the drunk Gnome.

"So what'd he do to piss you off?"

Melisarious gave the man a cold look, his ice blue eyes peeking out from behind the mug of ale he was sipping. "He talked to me."

The air in the pub seemed to turn a few degrees cooler upon his statement. This elf truly was very intimidating.

... Oh wait, never mind. It got cooler because some pirate came in through the front door. Ha ha.

A suicidal pirate it seems, as he suddenly began to flirt with the perceived females in the bar, one of whom was a homicidal homophobic gun-toting elf. Mel gritted his teeth and gripped his mug as rage threatened to spew forth, but he managed to calm himself enough to just ignore the oaf. It wasn't his concience that got him to settle down though, but his financial sense. If he went around shooting every idiot who came onto him, he'd soon run out of bullets. And since he was all but broke at the moment, he couldn't really afford to blow away everyone who offended him, much as he would like to.

So he just sat at his stool and stewed, an aura of black rage rising from his short form. Of course, because of his appearance, he looked more like he was having a cute pout than a dark brooding.

It was then that the hulking gnome entered (well, "hulking" for a gnome, anyway) and began to drunkenly blather on about Raiders and a map and priceless treasure. This spiked Mel's interest up tremendously. True, fifty raiders seemed a bit... much, even for an elf of his skills, but if the gnome and any other adventurer could take those ruffians out, then Mel could sneak in, take out said adventurers and gnome, then keep all the loot for himself.

An evil smile appeared on his pretty face, and even his cute features could not hide the malevolence of it.

Yes... this stupid gnome could be my ticket out of my current financial crisis, the gunhand thought. Drunk up, short stuff. It'll be the last pint you'll ever get to take...

The elf was obviously not interested in anything other than his drink, which didn't bother Makor, he just wanted to avoid getting shot. The pirate however seemed stunned as he didn't say anything for awhile.

A rowdy gnome came in soon after the Drow though, which more than made up for the lack of entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, he just might have to hit on the slim girl at the other end of the bar. He hadn't noticed her at first, but she was starting to grow on him.
------
Once the gnome had gotten too drunk for his own good, he became very interesting. Rambling on about a job to retrieve a box for three gold sovereigns, worth a thousand standard peices, was a fair price for a simple retrieval job. Though, fifty raiders did make it more than a simple job. The gnome should have asked for more... unless he was planning to keep whatever was in the box. Though considering his fondness for the drink he was probably drunk at the time.

The image of a drunk gnome fighting bandits came to him and he chuckled softly.
The liitle guy was gonna die.

Though, he could go after him, sneak in while he was causing a ruckus, and take the box. He didn't know what it looked though. He could just join the gnome and negotiate a higher price...
Eh. Maybe he'd just ignore it. He wasn't short on funds at the moment, and whenever he helped someone he usually eneded up saddled with them for at least a week.

The elfs had stopped pouting, no elf could sulk without pouting, except maybe the Drow, and now had evil looking grin on his face.

He sighed to himself, he was probably going to end up helping the gnome or the liitle guy was going to get killed.

The pub was clearly quite the violent location. Daena, as she fixed her plain-looking rough tunic and cotton breeches, didn't even bother to catalogue the bloodshed that had gone on so far.

The elf that Daena had attempted to strike up a conversation with was clearly uninterested in flirtations. Well, so be it, then. Men would come and go, as would she. She was not a foolish woman; she would wait for no one, pine for no one...

Speaking of 'no one', a few men sauntered over to the elf and tried to converse or flirt with him. Daena snorted with derision into her mug, continually sipping at its contents. If the men wanted to be rejected or die, that was their choice. As for her, she preferred to survive. And that would probably involve... money.

And speaking of money, a pirate with thick brown hair walked into the bar and attempted to flirt with both Daena and the elf. She smirked as the man with lighter brown hair, who tried to talk with the elf, hinted quietly that he was not a female. But Daena was, and so she smirked at his low bow and said, "Sophistocated? There must not be many women on the high seas." Of course there weren't. Daena didn't deny or accept his statement that she was 'beautiful', since that was personal opinion. She didn't care either, since her existance relied on her efficiency in combat, not... elsewhere.

Many species had entered the Meat an Greet Tavern. A Drow, with his aqua skin, ended up blasting a cheating liar to smithereens. Good; one less job for her to do. A gnome, looking ridiculous with his overlarge muscles and tiny body, entered and began drinking heavily, rambling onward about almost anything. So by the time that he revealed information about the box, Daena was ignoring anything that came out of his mouth, including the information about the job involving the raiders. She did, however, notice that the elf that, despite his early words of wisdom, began to smirk malevolently at the comments. She shook her head in disapproval. If he wanted to act oddly, that was his business, and she wouldn't associate.

What he really wanted was to spend easy night in a reasonably soft and clean bed. Preferably with that girl, but she seemed to be enjoying the attention from the pirate.

He briefly reflect on the time he'd spent as part of a crew. He would probably still be there if it hadn't sank in that freak storm, not that that would have been a bad thing, his life would just be completely different.

Eh, he needed something to take his mind off the past, he was starting to get mopey.

"Hey, gnome. You want some help with those raiders, I'm your man. I'll even work cheap, a third of what he pays you."

Others might be surprised at his low offer, but he wasn't doing it for the money, and he planned on making the client pay ten times what he offered, or he'd keep the box.

It was ones of the perks of retrieval jobs.

"Hey, gnome. You want some help with those raiders, I'm your man. I'll even work cheap, a third of what he pays you."

Mel's eyes flicked over to the man who had spoken up, the blue orbs dark and calculating. He eyed the man's weapons and figured if it came down to it he could be taken out easily, just so long as Mel shot him from a distance.

The elf soon downed the last of his ale, and upon finishing it slammed the mug hard onto the tabletop. He tossed the barkeep a few coppers for the drink, then stood up from his stool and began making his way out of the pub. Mel figured that if the foolish gnome was recruiting some help from the locals, then he would be wise to get ready for the incoming threat to his purse strings. He needed to make some more ammunition and traps in order to take care of whomever managed to survive the upcoming assault against the raiders.

"Hey, watch it!" snarled a rough looking barbarian when Mel bumped into his back.

"Sorry," the elf shambled away from the large man only to stumble into a group of halflings seated around a low table.

"Hey, lady! Look out will ya?!"

"My bad," Mel straightened up and attempted to reach the exit with dignity, but unfortunately his balance was less than perfect at the moment and he bumped into another patron. "S-sorry."

"Damn these low elven alcohol resistance stats!" Mel cursed silently. He finally reached the door of the pub and after fumbling with the knob, he threw open the wooden obstacle and shambled outside.

"Will my humiliation never end?" he asked no one in particular as he trudged down the empty street.

Careful lad, it isn't to polite to laugh at someone based on appearance. Besides, I look rather fetching or so I've been told.