Snippet #2774015

located in World of Oarth, a part of Mortal Tales, one of the many universes on RPG.

World of Oarth



Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bellemere Character Portrait: Alyania Desina Character Portrait: Hilda Vaulke
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After days of travel on the open road, the humble tavern was always a welcome sight. This was a fact that Hilda knew quite well. The wandering warrior opened the door of the Hallow's Inn and was greeted by a reassuringly comfy atmosphere. The place was still quiet at this time of day, but certainly not deserted. The perfect time to relax and get one's bearings before heading out to explore the fair in town.

“Half a dwarven ale,” Hilda said to the bartender when she could get his attention, handing a few coins over the counter as he set the half-pint mug down on the bar. She thanked him and left the bar with her drink, searching for a table.

There may not have been many people in the pub at the moment, but the swordswoman knew better than to take a seat near the middle. The festivities would doubtless continue long into the night, and things would be getting pretty rowdy by then. And in any case, she preferred being somewhere quiet so she could enjoy her ale in peace.

Skirting around the edge of the room, Hilda spotted a table with a curious, hooded figure seated there. While she liked the quiet, some company wouldn't have gone amiss after travelling on her lonesome, and so she approached the stranger. While maintaining a respectful distance, of course.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken? I've a mind for some peace and quiet, but having someone to talk to for the first time in days would be a refreshing change, methinks.”

It was then that the warrior spotted the note left lying on the table. “Urgent business only.” She nodded in understanding.

“Ah, my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

An awkward pause lingered, whether she could have it any other way or not. Bellemere had spotted the woman dressed for battle and dully noted the question with a hasty look towards the rest of the inn.

She couldn't fault the want for some peace, and by the looks of it some the tables that were empty had been a bit too close to the dwarven howling. Others occupied by strangers she also couldn't fault the lady-knight for avoiding out of sheer habit. In particular the elven woman (who Bellemere had given a cold stare in acknowledgement).

“Let strangers be, who strangers be.” Perhaps one of the few less poetic phrases, but Bellemere thought apt to describe that situation. She paid the elf no more mind than she would an anxious child. Hypocrisy was one of her least favourite traits, anyway.

Instead she looked back to the woman, sizing her up perhaps; a soundless sigh making way for a weak smile as a hand grabbed the note and flipped it around.

A piece of charcoal made quick work of covering the note in a greeting: “Forgive the brash note, ma'am. Merely a means to discourage would-be traders, swindlers and other such folk here to waste a young woman's time.”

She jutted a finger at the stool opposite of hers. Talking was, perhaps, a welcome change indeed.