OOC:
Users approved so far:
Sharku
Eruraina
Kestrel
Phoenix Invictus
Child of Oinn
Leaha
Malrid

------- IC----------

Ciarel glanced up as somebody slid neatly into the seat beside her. Her brow lifted- ever so slightly- as she scrutinized the stranger coolly. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, with an impeccably groomed beard and a garish doublet which hinted not-too-subtly at a high-born lineage. Yet, for all it was worth, this cad might have been born of a union between man and troll, for all Ciarel cared.

The stranger noticed her sidelong glance and shifted his body to face her, a honeyed smile touching the corners of his lips in a way that, somehow, made Ciarel shudder involuntarily.

"My lady." The voice was cordial, and yet something flashed in those scheming eyes, as the man lifted Ciarel's hand to his lips. "I was watching you from across the room, and it seemed as if you might be gladdened by company. Pleasure meeting your acquaintance. "

Instinctively, Ciarel jerked her hand back towards herself. "The pleasure is all mine, lord," she responded coolly, every syllable dripping with subdued sarcasm.

The man looked mildly surprised, but continued. "I couldn't help but notice- ah- what a lady of fine standing you look...and I was wondering..."

"If I would be as honoured as to offer you my services?" A corner of the lady's mouth curled into a smirk. "Aye. That is...if my lord would not be opposed to consorting a gypsy."

Eyes glowing in triumphant mirth, Ciarel watched in silence as the man gave a start- began stammering incoherently- and finally succceeded in excusing himself.

High-born lordlings, Ciarel mused not unfondly, as she traced the outline of wooded carvings on the bartable. It always worked. Everytime. Grinning to herself, she cast a glance over her shoulder...then paused as she caught the lilting strains of music.

Music? In The Dead Marquessa's Inn..home to half the thugs and drunkards in Milvier? The fellow must either be bored out of his wits, or else incredibly drunk.

Ciarel surveyed her surroundings, and finally caught sight of the source of the music-- a dark-haired, green-eyed man. Ciarel chuckled quietly to herself, then shook her head in helpless mirth.

If only simply music could rouse the majority of repulsive drunkards here from their tipsy stupors.

Almar looked around slightly bored and walked up to the counter.

"I am going to bed..."

He informed giving the owner his mug and walked towards the stairs, he `accidentally` hit his left shoulder into a passing customer and snatched his small money bag from the man`s belt. He disappeared into the stairs and threw the bag in his hands with a smile as he entered his room.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Arkain finished his wine goblet.
"The right price?" He thrust a hand inside his cloak and pulled out a small bag of gold coins.
"I will pay you this, for a small task."

_________________

"Rock N' Roll is the only relgion that never lets you down!" ~ Lemmy Kilmister

[!*#_:]

Morvenn eyed the pouch and weighed it in her hand and smiled approvingly. "So...this task. What exactly is it you want me to do?"[/i]

_________________

A grin shone upon his face at the question. He leaned in closer and whipsered to her.
"I want you to find me a young girl and bring her to me. Someone beautiful and innocent. Just bring her to me and you shall recieve your payment."
He pushed the bag closer toward her.

_________________

"Rock N' Roll is the only relgion that never lets you down!" ~ Lemmy Kilmister

[!*#_:]

Morvenn tilted her head to the side "A young girl? That's it? There has to catch." her suspicion of the man grew.
"I'm pretty sure you could find your own young lady if you so chose to. Why pay me to do a job you can do on your own, with no expense?"

_________________

"Because, my good woman, I wish for a slight change in taste. I grow bored of doing everything my self, it's so difficult and tedious."
He covered the bag with a long thin finger.
"Well if you don't want this money for such a simple task."

_________________

"Rock N' Roll is the only relgion that never lets you down!" ~ Lemmy Kilmister

[!*#_:]

Morvenn put her hand on the pouch firmly, never taking her eyes off him. "Now, I didn't say I didn't want to do it. I just wanted to know why. Now I know, I'll do it. Always in need of some extra money and for such a simple task..." she trailed off smirking.

"Now..when do you require this young maiden?"

_________________

He sat back and smirked to himself.
"Shall we say I would like one in the next hour. If you can get me a young female in that time I will give you another payment. I would not like to disapoint me..."

_________________

"Rock N' Roll is the only relgion that never lets you down!" ~ Lemmy Kilmister

[!*#_:]

"Very well. An hour it is. I shall bring her to your table?" Morvenn enquired
as she began to scan the inn, before smiling to herself.
found you

_________________

"Yes, I shall be waiting here."
He stood.
"Now if you'll excuse me I need another drink."
He walked over to the bar ordering another wine.

_________________

"Rock N' Roll is the only relgion that never lets you down!" ~ Lemmy Kilmister

[!*#_:]

Morvenn rolled her eyes as he got up, and walked over to the bar.
Men, they're all the same.
Leaning back into the wall, she watched the young girl that had caught her eye. Her hair was a beautiful blonde, her blue eyes sparkled yet had a hint of insecurity about them.
Yes, you will do nicely Morvenn thought with a devious smile.

_________________

Annalett sat in the corner by the fireplace. She was at a small table, facing away from the crowed, tward the fire. This way she could have her hood down, and no one could see her eyes. Her long red hair hung in a single braid.

Annalett drank red wine out of a small glass cup, thinking...

_________________

(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

Ciarel watched wordlessly as the aforementioned man who had been the source of the music rose to his feet and headed- apparently- towards his room, niftily retrieving an unsuspecting patron’s purse as he did so.
Ciarel’s gaze remained fixed on him as he finally disappeared around the stairway; the barest hint of a smile playing about her lips. Interesting, A rogue and a musician.

Cupping her chin in her hands with a girlish sigh, the gypsy’s coppery eyes traveled the length of the room…finally coming to rest on a pair of figures seated in a corner. The man had a strange, unearthly look about him; and something in his eyes vaguely unnerved her. The woman, meanwhile, had the hardened look of a mercenary about her, reflected in her disconcerting eyes.
The usual cut-throats and connivers, Ciarel decided, sweeping an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“Rum-guzzlers…beer-drinkers…assassins…conspirators,” Ciarel mused under her breath, letting her left hand fall to the table to drum out a fast-paced rhythm. “All considered ordinary people in Milvier.”

All except that dark-haired musician…

Rising from her seat, Ciarel leant over the bartable, beckoning to the barkeep. She frowned slightly as the man whispered something into her ear; then gave a small smile and nodded, slipping a coin over the counter.

“My thanks,” the gypsy whispered. Turning swiftly on her heel, she made her way from the inn’s commonroom and padded stealthily up the main stairway; where she arrived in a long corridor. Craning her neck slightly, she listened for the sound of music playing.

And there it was. Muffled, certainly, but music nonetheless.

Shrugging her cloak more comfortably around her shoulders, Ciarel strode down the corridor, stopping at the room which strains of music was emanating from. Lifting a hand to gingerly touch the rusted miniature doorknocker, Ciarel tapped lightly against the drab wooden door and awaited a reply from the mysterious green-eyed, goateed musician within the room.

The music stopped and there were no sounds, but the breathing of the two and the door quietly opened showing Almar sitting on a chair by the wndow with his light crossbow restinng on his knee. His leg was on a small wooden block and the crossbow pointed at the door ready to be shot.

"Yes?"

Almar asked as he turned to look at the stranger.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Ciarel arched a brow wryly.

"Eleven years of bad luck if you kill a gypsy," she remarked lightly, seemingly unperturbed. "I would put that away if I were you."

Ignoring the man's readied crossbow- which was aimed in her direction- Ciarel continued quietly. "Besides. You men shouldn't be afraid of us insignificant women." Her voice rang with dry indifference.

"I came here only to seek out the source of the music- and to, perhaps, be as bold as to ask how a traversing musician found his way into a sow's pit like The Dead Marquessa's Inn."