"Okay, so you get to a town," their Sergeant's words ring in all thier ears as they ride into town, "an' it will no doubt be dark or gettin' there. So half a' you will find the nearest stables and put the horses to bed. Stabling fees is covered by the Sheriff mind, since they ain't technic'ly yers. The others, they go and find shelter at an inn for the night. Go to the busiest inn in town, or the popular tavern preferably, as while this is kinda like a night to relax, it's also tradition that the Sheriff's Men announce that they will be ready to hear complaints and disputes the following morning. Drinks, food, and lodging come outta yer wage mind, but you can put ‘em on the Constable's Account at most places and we’ll just take it out of yer pay. Don't take no gifts, or freebies, now. Counts as bribery and we gotta keep our noses clean. Anyway, drink your fill, eat up, and get yerself a good nights sleep cause the next day is usually gonna be a busy one."
The sun has set by the time the constables reach the edge of the village of Threshold. It is a rather large community that acts as a way-point for travelers on The Furrough, the road from which this shire derives it's name, entering or leaving the relative wilds of Midwood, which borders the town to the north. It once had a wall in ancient times, but what remains of it acts solely as a reminder of the peace that has taken hold in the twin Human kingdoms. All around the ruins of this wall are the homes and small workshops of the residents of the city, people who's great-great-great-great-great grandparents took over this land from it's previous Halfling owners as part of the Great Welcome now so many years distant. It is at this point that the constables dismount and split up. Grakul and Yuri leave their now tired mounts in the charge of Eryna and Loraethal, and head to the center of town in search of the night's lodgings.
After investigating the downtown area, however, there doesn't appear to be an Inn with a common area that stays open past dinner. So the Constables settle on an Inn near the center of town that looks to be both tidy and cheap. 'The Road-Weary's Rest' is a simple little wooden building with what appear to be two stories of moderately sized rooms. The lobby is clean with well-oiled and stained wooden floors. A small area, which appears to be where meals are served, is to the right as the four constables enter, and the modest front desk is to the left. No one is currently present, but there is a small brass bell on the desk. Directly ahead of the constables is a large wooden staircase, which no doubt leads to the rooms above.
The smell of the oiled floors is something entirely foreign to Yuri, and he takes due notice as he moves into the room and leans against the desk. His body may be laconic, but his eyes are alive. He furtively scans the desk and is appalled by the cluttered mess. With a widening sardonic grimace on his face he slowly shifts his weight from the desk to the doorframe. Ever the caved-in shouldered slacker, he leans hard on his shoulders against the wall, staring up the staircase with a glazed-over look. "Hello?" he chimes meekly. He is answered by silence. He leans back and closes his eyes with a shrug.
After a short silence following Yuri's meek greeting, Grakul reaches his long arm out, rings the bell, and flies back to his statuesque position. His movements are whispers beneath the dying ring of the bell.
Seconds later a balding man in a tattered old suit appears from a corner of the dining area wiping his hands on a greasy towel. "I'm coming! Hold ye — " he says, stopping short after he spots his guests and does a double take. "Young Constables!" he toadies up to the desk bowing and scraping. "Am I to understand you would like a room at my humble hospitality house?" He gulps, "That is: I hope that this is the reason for your call. I do hope there is not any unpleasantness that brings you to my door."
The constables quickly size him up, collectively wondering why he would immediately jump to the conclusion that they were there for a purpose other than to get a room.
"Problems with the dishes, mate?" Yuri sarcastically jibes from his sullen perch.
The Balding Man looks down at his hands examining his wrinkled fingertips. He looks up at Yuri, "Perceptive one, you. And no, no trouble with the dishes. I actually enjoy greatly the act of washing. There are a lot tonight, though. Roast Lamb tonight, my specialty." The man dons a self-important air the way one would put on a shirt; "I always have a big turnout on Lamb night." He shrugs and steps behind the front desk producing a book and quill. "Rooms then is it?" he asks, touching tongue to quill. "They're only 3 silvers per, and you can go as high as two to a room. Breakfast is bright and early," the man explains, "but I'll make you a meal whenever you'd like as long as I'm not too busy and you haven't already had three that day. Dinner is at dusk. If your looking for a drink, which I assume you are, try The Crooked Furrough around the corner." With that, he begins writing down the names to charge to account, handing out the room keys, and then heading back to the kitchen to finish his work, leaving the party to settle themselves in. "My name is Garridy, by the way, Garridy Drigg," he says with a parting wave.
The party enters The Crooked Furrough through an open door at the side of the building. They can't help but notice that it is a pretty big place for such a small town. The main room has seven tables and a small raised platform that serves as a stage (although no one is currently performing). Behind that is the taproom that has more tables and long burled oak bar. It's impossible not to notice that the place is packed. Nearly every table is full, and most tables have a few patrons standing for lack of chairs. Cutting boards of cheese and bread rest on every table and the smell of baking bread fills the main room.
As soon as the party of constables walks in, the bar takes notice. Everyone who makes eye contact with them nods amiably, and a noticeable change in the volume of conversations occurs as whispers begin moving from table to table. Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a bubbly (and quite buxom) waitress bustles up and bows slightly. "Greetings Sirs, and Madame," she trills in a particularly cloying voice, "May I show you to a table, or would you just like to belly up to the bar so's to be closer to the tap?" She giggles at her own joke, one she's no doubt told thousands of times, and waits for their response.
"Well, with exception to your wanton licentiousness, I suppose you could call that hosting. Show me a table, wench," Yuri boldly avers, feeling certain that he must show that The Law is in town through strong words and brusque manners. "And a wheel of cheese for the table, nice and stinky; not to mention the wine. Red, white, port, sherry, whatever, just bring me something dry," he continues pompously, flipping a gold piece in her general direction, uncaring as to whether she actually catches it. He turns his gaze from the hostess, and scans the room for an empty, inconspicuous table. He has his choice, one in the corner of the taproom near the fireplace, the other by the wall to his right in the main room.
The gold piece lands on the floor with an audible ring and bounces away. The room goes silent for a moment. "Uh, um, okay sir," The girl scampers off a little puffy eyed, but not forgetting to scoop up the gold piece.
Entirely oblivious to the scene he has caused, Yuri is seemingly lost in deep thought. He slowly lumbers over to the table in the corner of the taproom to get a seat by the hearth. Once he arrives, Yuri settles into his seat awaiting the services of the barmaid. Scowling, Yuri listens to the nearest conversation, in an attempt to eavesdrop, while lithely resting his somewhat asymmetrical head in his right hand. He nearly immediately becomes the quintessential portrait of brooding, abject boredom. He muses internally, Such petty social graces all abound. What a sham!! Half of these people don't even have the intellect to dig a ditch, but sure enough, give them a couple pints and the courage is up. Just a bunch of hot, smelly fumes if you ask me, drinking such rot. Give me my wine, any day. I wonder if they have a brothel in this little village? He waits and strains his ears to the test of the vocal cacophony around him. Within his breast pocket, as he focuses on the myriad sounds, a nigh-perceptible hum accompanies a faint green glow as Yuri's fractious psyche begins it’s aural analysis.
Grakul also follows after the young waitress to the bar, and takes a seat there. He, however, waits a few moments for the young lady to return from the back. When she arrives, he stands and bows his head, "Milady, my most humble apologies for the behavior of my companion." His voice is quiet and rumbles with bass tones. "If there is anything that I might do to make up for his display… I would be glad to have him apologize to you, here, publicly. But only if you wish it. I do not desire to create any more of a scene here nor embarrassment to you."
The girl is clearly taken a back by Grakul's appearance, but tries to hide it as she stares at the floor. "I've had to put up with worse shame than your rude little friend over there can dish out. I just wasn't expecting it is all. I mean, he’s a constable!" She looks genuinely bewildered before bustling past him and toward the table. Grakul follows, the busy tavern beginning to get quieter as the scene develops.
When she arrives with Yuri's order. She drops the cutting board of cheese and bread onto the table directly in front of Yuri loudly. Slamming down some bottles at the end of the table, she slaps the gold coin down, glaring at him. The room falls silent and everyone in the tavern has now turned to watch.
"I believe you dropped that,” she snaps, her face reddening. "This is all on me, by the way. I've been making good tips tonight and they'll be even better now that you were such an asshole to me." With that she shifts her weight to turn and leave.
Observing the waitress' actions at the table, Grakul decides that perhaps she has taken care of this matter well enough on her own. As he arrives at the table he turns to her, "May your tips be bountiful for a better reason tomorrow milady." To which he receives a stalwart little nod from the young woman before he turns his attention to Yuri.
"I would like to join you if you would apologize to the lady for that display," the large pale man says, towering over the table and drawing more attention to the goings on there.
"Come on, she can take a joke can't she?" Yuri bursts. "Besides, it's her job to hostess, not go on babbling like a stuck sow with her fake, lilting, doe-eyed country girl thing. I was just critiquing her poor performance in a subjective manner. Thirdly, what you witnessed is called banter, it's part of her job, and if she can't handle what I'm throwing out, maybe she should consider a new profession," Yuri snidely and condescendingly explains, as though the very words exasperate the life right out of him. "And, if I'm correct, doesn't gold merit, if not respect, then servitude, not to mention the fact that we're constables of the law? I was merely demonstrating my opinion of this establishment's perpetuation of this disgusting social nightmare, this orgy of filth. Sure, they all smile and nod at us when we come in, that way we don't see the knives coming out after we turn our back. She wants to make a scene, fine. That's fine by me, I'll choke on my own gold piece before anyone of this lot hears me apologize." Yuri scowls gesturing to the room full of staring patrons with a wide sweeping motion.
A few scatterings of people around the bar begin jeering. "I'll help you choke on that thing mate," someone offers. "How's this for behind your back?" asks a man waving a bread knife. A few scattered laughs break though the tavern.
Turning his incredulous gaze from Grakul, with a cocked eye and hooked, knobby nose, he addresses the now parting waitress, "and no, miss, your breasts giving you the means to buy all of this for me does not impress me in the slightest. Please, take the gold, if not for anything else, then for a new dress, one in which you can keep those things from popping out." he gestures with the coin. Yuri is obviously bored with the situation but seems quite surprised, amused even, that his previous actions elicited such a dynamic response.
The young woman turns stepping away from the table, trying desperately to keep her composure and maintain the appearance of strength, though it is clear to all in the bar with any common sense that she is deeply hurt.
Yuri slaps the coin back on the table. He hisses, clearly loving every minute of all of this unexpected and free face time, "Thanks, but no thanks, I fully intend to pay for my meal, because that's what the law dictates.” He takes a large bite of cheese. “Now if you don't mind, I have cheese and wine to attend to, and I'm starving," he muddles with the right side of his face already full of stinking cheese, and twisting out the cork from the nearest bottle.
Digging into his food, and abandoning his previous attempt at listening for any hot tips Yuri does not care in the slightest that he is the object of much consternation. With the room still looking on and Grakul looming at the end of the table, the thin man is miles away in his mind. I've been on the road all day, busting my hump to protect people like her, and this is the thanks I get? Now I could really use that brothel. He swills another mouthful of wine right off the bottle, dribbling a fair amount down his chin, beard, and shirtfront.
Grakul is stunned by his companion’s complete lack of manners and what's more, the apparent joy he has taken in hurting the young lady. After a moment’s pause at the table, without a word he reaches down to grab Yuri and take him outside.
As soon as Grakul lunges, Yuri’s left breast pocket, aglow, vibrates fiercely, shaking Yuri out of his absent-mindedness. Completely flabbergasted by, what appears in his opinion to be, an act of unprovoked violence against him, he instinctively flops around in his seat like a dead fish, his favored defensive tactic against dear old dad. As soon as the ashy, hulking constable misses entrapping him in his arms, a panic-riddled Yuri loses control of his composure and his secret slips out. A barely audible bass frequency hums in a ten foot proximity to the table. The bottles of wine rattle and shake as if someone were pounding on the table with both hands. All the while Yuri's expression turns from confused cowardice, to icily determined concentration. He levels his eyes back into Grakul, staring right into his face.
Grakul inhales sharply between clenched teeth in pain as his face goes red and the smell of burning flesh begins to fill the room. Some of the patrons nearby, now edging away, look at Yuri in absolute horror. A priest who was sitting at a table nearby can't help but stare, "What manner of Magic is that?" he gasps.
"You really shouldn't have done that.", Yuri dreadfully whispers, more in sympathy with Grakul than in enmity. He relaxes back into his chair still locking eyes with Grakul, but no longer appearing concerned with his looming presence.
"Oy, you two. Stop that," The hulking, albeit aged Half-Orc barkeeper shouts. He leaps over the bar sending a few tankards crashing to the ground. "You may be the Law outside these walls here," he runs over to the table, "but in here I'll have no fighting!"
Except for the squeaking of tables and chairs scooting across the floor as they are vacated, the tavern falls deadly quiet. The tables nearest the constables are abandoned, their occupants either fleeing the taproom, or the tavern all together. A group of hefty commoners is assembling at the doorway to the main room. They seem to watch the barkeeper, waiting for him to give them the go-ahead.
Grakul speaks to the bartender but maintains eye contact with Yuri, "Apologies sir, I did not mean for this to escalate inside." After a pause to brace himself against the increasing pain in the entirety of his face, Grakul speaks with a complete calm in his voice, "I am sorry friend, but this will be discussed outside of this establishment. Will you come or shall I take you?" He quietly awaits a response.
Yuri grabs a bottle of red and takes a long pull off of it while putting both of his feet up on the table. Now in full relaxation pose, he lowers his gaze on Grakul, "You're crowdin' me, whitey. Now have a seat and take a bottle, drinks are on me tonight, this doesn't have to get ugly. Barkeep, here's four more gold, on top of the one for your girl, sorry about the fracas. You see, my friend here was just sitting down, and the damnedest thing happened…you know his face started to burn right off of 'em." He chuckles casually, while handing over the gold coins in a neat little pile. He raises his right eyebrow looking dead at Grakul, "Come on, friend, please have a seat, get drunk, forget about it, drop the whole thing. The flippant formality is a tiresome old song now, isn't it?" With a long exhalation, he continues staring at Grakul.
Grakul's jaw tenses. He grits his teeth and swallows hard as blisters begin to appear on his face and the smell of burnt hair permeates the room. His voice does not waver, "I cannot join you, and we will discuss this outside." Turning to the bartender, he nods, "Please accept my apologies sir. It was not my place to attempt to remove a patron from your tavern unless you wished me to do so. Should you choose to have him removed, I will be waiting just outside. Please place my meal on my account." Taking a step back from the table he nods to Yuri and exits the tavern.
The Barkeeper nods to the men that gathered to help and says, "Belly up to bar men, next rounds on me." As they begin to make thier way to the bar he looks to Yuri, "grab your bottle and move on friend, get a good nights sleep, have a chat with your friend about manners, and, if you promise to respect my place and my barmaids, you can come back tomorrow night. Are we gonna have a problem with that arrangement?" he speaks calmly, but his body is tensed and ready for anything.
"Meant no harm Landlord, just a long day's journey by horse. Thought I'd get the best out of your establishment in one night if I could, but if you're inviting me back, you'll have no trouble you can't handle off me, no sir," Yuri assents to the man in charge, loudly so anyone remaining in the bar can hear it, "and you should know, if you should ever have any need for the services witnessed tonight, please feel free to let us stout Solus-fearing constables know. And a good night to you Gov'." Yuri nods as he stands up, taking the two finest bottles off the table. "Sorry 'bout the mess," he sullenly relents, tapping the stack of five gold coins as a final notice of his unneeded, philanthropic goodwill toward the Pub-Meister.
Upon standing and taking his unceremonious leave from the Landlord, Yuri calmly and slowly walks towards the exit, following his two constable mates outside, for a chat and some fresh air, he thinks doubtfully. The green glow from his pocket agrees in kind. before he can leave, however, he feels a tug on his pant-leg. As he turns to look he sees a rather shabby looking halfling stands at his feet.
"Are you actually a Constable, sir," the halfling asks.
Glancing down, puzzled, Yuri states, "I am today, who's asking?", as he pauses just outside the tavern door to speak to the small person.
"Wow, but you were so cruel to that nice young lady! Ol' Graeys Boys have gotten a lot less soft since last I was in Furrough, I must remember to start watching my ass around these parts." He looks up at Yuri with big eyes. "Oh, but my point. I do have one. I'm a collector of fine jewelry, and I may be in a bit of trouble with a colleague of mine. I believe he's hired some men to hurt me. I need your help."
"Hurt you?", Yuri asks with a smirk of interest.
"Why would anyone want to do that? That would clearly go against the very laws of the land, and we can't have that." Yuri avers,"but perhaps all us constables should hear your story first?"
Yuri beckons for the Halfling to follow him to the rest of the Constables.
The Halfling looks outside, with eyes wide. "Uh, no. Thanks. it's too early yet, " he says shaking his head, "I'm afraid of being seen. What I mean is that if these people who might be looking for me are in town, they don't yet know that I'm actually here. What inn are you staying at? I could meet you and your associates there. after Last Bell?"
"Certainly", replies Yuri, "we are staying at the Road Weary's Rest. I will speak with my fellows, and the white guy, and meet you there." Yuri doesn't really seem too sure about whether or not he will actually be able to prove his last statement to be true, however.
With only a conspiratorial nod the halfing weaves his way through the crowd and darts into the back of the tavern
