• Closed • [Ye Olde Inn] People Troubles

[Franz Messer]

38th Trial of Ashan of the Arc 716, 18th Break, 20th bit.

If the Blacksmith Arms was the taste of danger, then Ye Olde Inn was the taste of home. Every once in a while, one needs the latter to keep sane and Franz Messer was no exception to that rule as he sat at a table in the Inn’s dining area. Of course he never spent the night since he had his own apartment in lowtown, but that was never home compared to here.

Here he spent a few breaks contemplating his lot in life, the good and the bad, as well as wonder how his parents were doing without him. A sudden look of realization hit him as he remembered that his mum’s birthday was drawing near

‘I’d have to see if they can spare me for a bit near the end of the season’ he mumbled, he wasn’t sure he’d be granted however, being a Knight demanded one be ready for the call at all times. One was never truly on break even when they were, that’s just how it went in the Iron Hand.

He sighed as he looked at his plate of Ribs, juicy and succulent, just waiting for his touch. To his right he saw the flagon of mead along with an already full mug, tempting him with its sweetness. He was tempted to drink it here and then, bu~uuuut there were was a protocol to follow and so he began to dig into his plate of ribs slowly, enjoying the taste of the meat as he bit into as well as the sauce that add flavor to it.

It was therapeutic as the air of welcome and relaxation began to seep in as he ate, while did find fighting therapeutic as well it had no place in a time such as this where simply the memory of home was needed. It also allowed him to think calmly off his troubles;

His thirst for battle, his own recently burgeoning fear of the consequences, his lack of real purpose…. Respect from his comrades. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t desire that to some extent, while their friendship would be nice their respect would be greater and more meaningful in the longrun…..

There was also the issue in that he felt so behind them all in terms of skill, oh sure he could punch out better than some…. But the rest? He paused a bite at that and looked forlornly, as if all his misadventures were simply a waste of time and damned miracles….

That mug was looking rather more tempting by the bit….

► Show Spoiler

Ribs -4 SN, Flagon of Meade -6 GN

[Tristan Venora]

Every once in a while Tristan Venora felt like visiting a different inn. The Blacksmith Arms was great, despite its stupid name (he still hadn’t found the blacksmith or the arms). Even the greatest inn occasionally got boring though because there were always the same people there, so that was why the noble currently stood in front of the bar of “Ye Olde Inn” (who came up with inn names in Andaris anyway – a five year old?) and waited for his drink, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface in front of him as he did so.

He was thirsty!

“Ah … finally”, he murmured as the bartender arrived with a mug of ale that was so full that it was nearly overflowing. It was a cheap drink, it was definitely not a noble’s drink, but right now cheap and ignoble were exactly what he needed. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a large gulp while the bartender turned to leave and do whatever it was that bartenders did when they were not serving drinks. As he saw this, Tristan frowned.

Had he told him that he could go? No …

He snapped his fingers, and the man looked at him again, obviously irritated. Tristan put on his sweetest, most charming smile as if he had not seen that look on his face and informed him, “I’d also like some of your roast. I haven’t eaten dinner yet, so I might as well do it now. I’ll be sitting …” He turned around and let his gaze drift across the room and the people that sat there. No … no, that man probably smelled, and that woman looked as if she poisoned people in her free time … no, he didn’t want to sit next to that person either. “… with the short guy with the scars and the questionable haircut.”

He pointed at Franz, grabbed his mug, walked over to him and sank into the chair opposite of him even though the man had not given him permission to join him, studying him for a moment while he drank some more. “So”, he said in a strangely lighthearted tone. “Do your family suck as much as mine? You wouldn’t believe some of the things that they do. I swear, they are the most dysfunctional family in all of Idalos.” He sighed theatrically before he wondered, “So, where did you get the scars? Are you some sort of fighter?”


OOC: 1 sn for a mug of ale, 8 cn for a roast

[Franz Messer]

As soon as Franz sunk his teeth for another bite into the ribs, he found his relaxing meal interrupted by the sudden appearance of some fop who sat down at his table with a drink in hand and without even decency to ask to join or even introduce his own name. Franz’s eye twitched at this, especially when the man started rambling in a high-class accent and with a tone that made the man and himself seem like old buddies.

‘who the shite did something like that? I mean, by the Seven who the in their right mind would just sit down and disrupt a man’s meal?! I mean sure he has nice hair but that didn’t excuse this! I mean, I’m eating the Divine Seven’s gift to man!’ When the man was done with his brief ramble Franz’s brow flattened to a deadpan expression as he turned to the fop with his teeth still sunk into the beef of the ribs.

He took a bite, chewed it methodically, set the rack of meat down, grabbed his mug of mead and promptly drained down his own gullet before slamming it down on the table and wiping away the droplets with the sleeve of his shirt. For what seemed like an agonizing bit, which might have been awkward or intimidating to the fop before him whom seemed to be the

sort who got his way, before he began to open his mouth and speak.

“Well actually I have quite the fantastic relationship to my family, in fact I aim to visit my mother come the end of Ashan. Perhaps see if I could ease their troubles come my next pay considering they’re getting on in years. Considering I don’t know who your family is I’ll simply have to take your word for it although if you don’t me saying most people seem to feel that away about their own families and their eccentricities. As for the scar I received it from a bear, bloody close affair that was and definitely not the lovey dovey kind, and yes I am indeed a fighter, bread and butter of my that it is” He answered the questions with his own deadpan tone that was marred somewhat by the amused twinkle in his eyes.

He then turned back to his ribs, picked it up to take another bite and then lowered it back down to the plate. He then picked up the flagon and refilled his mug back up with sweet-tasting mead and then extended the Flagon back to the fop and asked quite politely;

“Would you care for some, Sir……”

[Tristan Venora]

Tristan just grinned as he noticed the look in the other man’s eyes, shrugged his shoulders, as if he was not aware that he had done anything wrong and wondered whether he should drink some more. He found himself distracted by the way that Franz grabbed the rack of meat and sank his teeth into it though. Aunt Willow would probably have complained that the man was a barbarian and had no manners, but Tristan found himself wonderfully entertained. Commoners could be so fascinating sometimes!

He actually wondered whether he should try to imitate the man’s behavior, get in touch with the general populace and so on. He looked at his very fine and expensive black silk shirt for a moment, but no, he wouldn’t go quite that far. He’d rather have a real napkin. He did take his mug of ale, took a gulp and slammed it down on the table though.

“It’s great that you get along with your family”, he remarked. “They sound normal. Mine though … I don’t even know where to start. I visited them recently, and I’m still surprised that we didn’t just end up killing each other. My aunt is the worst of the whole bunch.”

It was just then that the food he had ordered arrived. He took a knife and a fork and started eating. The young noble possessed a certain fascination for the darker elements of society, but he still considered good table manners to be essential. And thus he also swallowed and wiped the corners of his mouth with the napkin that had fortunately been provided before he spoke again.

“Did you kill the bear?” he wanted to know. His curiosity was obvious. He rather loved adventure stories. “And who do you fight for? Are you a mercenary? I sponsored one of the mercenaries that fight in the arena once, but he was unfortunately killed – his opponent severed his head - and I have been unable to find a new one so far.”

As Franz extended the flagon to him, Tristan looked at it for a moment, wondering whether he should or not, and then he drained his mug and put it on the table so that Franz could refill it. He was never one to say no to a free drink.

“Yes, please”, he replied before he introduced himself. “Venora. Tristan Venora of House Venora which is part of the problem. I’m surprised that the Gazette hasn’t published any articles about us so far. And who are you?”

[Franz Messer]

‘This fop certainly likes to talk’ Franz noted as he poured the man a drink out of courtesy, then froze for a brief second once the man got around to introducing himself ‘ Venora? House Venora? This certainly explains much’ Before the mug would overflow he straightened the Flagon and placed it back on the table, then took a sip of his own mug as he processed the fact that he was sharing a table with a noble.

To the common there were stereotypes of the nobility and well…. Venoras being pansies was one of the top ones. The other stereotype that certainly reigned on the top was that all of them were eccentrics that made being of the common rabble an undisguised blessing and from…. Tristan was it? Tristan’s ramblings that was certainly the case.

“Well um…. I’m Franz Messer of the Krom regions” He responded, not forgetting the courtesy especially Tristan had asked. He was tempted to take another bite of his ribs but deigned to wait a bit before doing so, might as well answer the questions asked to him.

“Um, no Lordship. The bear walked alive whilst I fled, bit off more than I could chew at the time I must admit” And whilst Franz was a lover of fights, he did have something akin to a survival instinct in him, he wasn’t stupid…much “And I fight for Rynmere as both Knight and Mercenary, m’lord. You could say my hobby is tossing myself into danger and see how lucky I get” Which might as well be the eventual epitaph to his future grave.

He had winced at the knowledge of the mercenary he’d sponsored at the Arena having been beheaded, poor sod, and part of Franz’s wiser instincts hoped the foppish noble didn’t think to sponsor Franz for the next one. The Arena offered the winner great prestige and typically each fighter was of fine skill and physique and despite Franz qualifying as a pretty decent fighter he knew he was far from ready from such exploits no matter how much it got his blood pumping.

Taking that promised bite out of his rib and chewing thoughtfully, Franz looked to the noble sap and quirked a brow. He supposed he couldn’t have asked for worse company, if this were the arms he’d probably be mocking the sap.

“So Lordship, if you don’t mind my asking why does your relationship with your family sound…strain?”

[Tristan Venora]

„Krom?“ the noble asked. His blue eyes were wide with surprise and he actually leaned a bit closer to Franz to take a better look at him, to see how many of the typical Krom traits he had. “I am familiar with House Krom.” What he was most familiar with was the rumor he had invented in order to slander poor, young King Cassander. He claimed that he had an affair with one of Lord Krom’s grandchildren. But he knew better than to say that out loud. Instead he remarked, “They are said to be fearsome warriors, but not much to look at. I met Duke Andre once. Do you work for him and his family?”

“There’s no need to call me ‘Lordship’ by the way”, he added and grinned before he took another gulp. The mead that Franz had given him didn’t taste too bad either. But everything started tasting good once you had ingested a certain amount of alcohol. “Just call me ’Sir’. It’s a shame that the bear fled though. It would have been a better story if you had killed it. You should tell people that you made the beast pay the next time somebody asks you how you got your scars. They’ll admire you.”

In Tristan’s opinion being admired was one of the most important things in life. That was why he worked so hard to cultivate his image, that of the elegant, if somewhat rebellious young gentleman and actually made an effort to learn things every once in a while.

“If you like tossing yourself into danger …” he murmured as something occurred to him. “… how about you become my new fighter? There’s nothing more dangerous than fighting to the death in the arena. I’d even pay you a few golden nels and feed you. Think about it.” He took another large gulp and ate some more of his meat.

"Why?” Tristan laughed as Franz further inquired about his family. “How much time do you have, Messer? To explain it all would take the better part of a trial. I already mentioned my aunt, Willow Venora. ‘Oh my dear Alistair, you are so tall, and Tristan why can’t you be taller, and you are so awesome Alistair. And did you know what Lord Andaris just did? The nerve of the man!’’” He tried to imitate the tone of voice of his aunt. “She talks all the time, and she complains so much that you inevitably get the urge to commit a murder after five minutes in her company.”

“Don’t get me started on Zvezdana. That woman looks like she swallowed a stick. Andráska is the only tolerable one, even though he looks like some sort of vagrant most of the time.” The tone of his voice made it obvious what he thought of that. Tristan rather enjoyed wearing expensive clothes and he took great care of his appearance. “Do you have anybody like Aunt Willow in your family? Or are they really all just nice and well-adjusted members of society?”

[Franz Messer]

At the moment, Franz sympathized with Tristan about overbearing people, unfortunately for the fop Franz considered him to be the overbearing type just like the fop’s dear old auntie. Perhaps unconsciously he found himself refilling his mug with more cider, some vain hope that getting drunk will perhaps ease the trouble he was currently going through.

He could barely restrain the urge to twitch his eyes for a number of reasons. First was him being disappointed that his survival against the bear didn’t result in the bears death! ‘Does this brat even know how scary a full grown bear is and how fast they can run?! It was a divine miracle of the Seven that allowed me to escape in the first place and with only the scar on my face’ And true, while it was one of the most fun things he ever did, facing one now could only end in misery….

…and while he did find the offer of being a sponsored fighter, typically those were life and death situations….situations that appeal mostly to the desperate and those very confident in their skills, Franz while confident in his skills was not desperate. ‘Sides…. Whats fun about fighting slaves? Rather kill bandits and mercs than sods fighting for their freedom, leaves much less of a bad taste in his mouth to fight those who aren’t forced to fight”

After taking a heavy swig from his mug and taking a generous bite of his ribs, with the sweet effects of the mead somehow making the taste all the better!, Franz noted with irony that for someone who complains about his talkative aunt he was doing much of the same! That fop….

“Now….” He answered somewhat unsteadily “…I can’t say I’m familiar with the…. Whatchamacall it….greater Messer clan, widespread lot we are you see? You find one you’re bind to find…another popping up on the opposite side” He said as he leaned forward a bit to Tristan “ Still, me da said he met a relative somewhere in Warrick. Called him a loon he did…” He chuckled as he remembered his dear ol’ pa’s exasperation “Said the man was the type to wake up at irregular hours doing who know’s what at irregular places, once he saw him waking up from the rooftop of somebody elses house like there was nothing wrong…”

He then paused for moment, then shrugged “There was something funny there…I don’t know what it was, but I think it was funny”

Oh well, ended up taking another swig and offering to refill Tristan’s mugh “Care for more, Sir?”

[Tristan Venora]

Tristan had expected that Franz would be overjoyed at the suggestion that he fight (and die!) for him in the arena and start treating him like the savior of Idalos or some other sort of hero. Much to his chagrin the Krom underling did no such thing though, but seemed to be rather irritated instead. That did not deter the noble of course. He had made the suggestion half in jest, but now that Franz had refused he really wanted to hire him!

“There aren’t just slaves in the arena”, he informed him - which wasn’t even a complete lie! “A lot of the fighters are other mercenaries that are sponsored by other nobles. And there are of course the prisoners … murderers, thieves and rapists. You’d be doing your king a favor by ridding Idalos of them. That’s just as important as fighting bandits that are sitting behind a bush and waiting for an unsuspecting traveler to come their way. It might even be more exciting. You could fight bad guys all trial long!”

He grinned and drank some more, realizing that his mug was half empty again. They should really make bigger mugs. Maybe he’d talk to the proprietor. Drunkards all over Rynmere would thank him! For now though he decided to listen to what Franz had to say about his own family.

“I like loons”, he remarked, secretly thinking that he’d really like to meet that particular relative of Franz’. He sounded like he could possibly become a good friend that he could do weird and dangerous things with. The other nobles bored him to death sometimes. “I’m a bit of a loon myself every once in a while. What was the man doing on the roof though? I mean, I climb onto roofs occasionally because I rather like the view and the solitude, but it doesn’t sound like that’s what he was doing. What’s his name by the way?”

“Always”, he remarked as Franz asked him if he wanted more and held his mug out to him. Why had the man even felt the need to ask? “I’ll pay for the next bottle, if we are still thirsty and not completely drunk by then. For now though tell me, have you ever killed a man? Being a knight and a mercenary you must surely have seen a lot of action, apart from running away from bears.” He grinned as he said that. When he drank alcohol, the noble was always especially talkative.

[Franz Messer]

Franz furrowed at the thought, as enticing as it was to fight other mercenaries, fighters and even the scum already sentence to die, that fact was there were still slaves fighting…. And well, Franz cared where the blood spilt came from. He shook his head as he set away his own drink, his own thoughts bittering the taste as he looked at Tristan “Enticing offer as it is, Sir. Unless I’m exclusively just fighting the fighters, the mercenaries and the scum of Idalos and not the slaves then yeah…. I’d be tempted to fight, mind you that’s still not a yes as I’m not the best of the best, but yeah I’d be tempted” He took a final bite of his ribs and pushed the plate aside, wiping his hands and face with the cloth provided.

He smirked at Tristan as he leaned back on the chair, but it was a bemused one as he ran a finger across his scar “ I can’t quite recall the name of this relative…. Went by the name Kreig I think, word of mouth form me dad you understand” The relative was probably dead anyway if his roof climbing habits were as bad Franz’s desire to fight.

He then nodded somberly in answer to Tristan’s question about if he ever killed a man, he’d killed plenty of men and woman. He’d regrets with very few of the lives he’d taken with his own hands “I have killed many, yes, most deserving with some…. Leaving you only with questions” Suddenly he needed the mug again and so he grabbed it took a drink, he’d be hungover perhaps once this was over “And while they weren’t as scary as bears, the depravity of some can only leave you with nightmares”

A memory flashed before his eyes for a bit, of a flipped and burned carriage with the bodies of the dead tortured and violated extensively before death. His knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the mug.

If not for the satisfaction he felt when he battled such foes, he’d probably left life for something quieter…. Though he knew better that the satisfaction he felt was nothing more than his own bloodlust. “Sometimes facing a bear sounds like a better foe, it can’t help its nature after all…” He then turned to the noble with a faux-grin “If you are indeed covering the tab sir, then it seems like a good night of drinking would be in store. Jus’ hope you have a good remedy at hand for the next day…”

Franz, for certain, knew he’d need a good one.

[Tristan Venora]

„I’m sure that something could be arranged with the management of the arena“, Tristan replied even though he wasn’t sure why the man disliked fighting slaves. Slaves were just things. His family owned a few of them, and he’d never questioned whether that was right or wrong. “If you tell me how I can contact you, I’ll send you a letter if they agree.” He couldn’t keep himself from a smiling a triumphant little smile. He’d been thinking about replacing his old mercenary for a while. Who would have thought that he would find that replacement in a tavern, of all things?

“I understand”, he murmurred as Franz told him more about his relative. It was a shame, really, that the man didn’t have more information on him. He would have loved to get to know Kreig Messer or whatever his name was and climbed roofs together with him!

Since he couldn’t do that though, he decided to finish his meat before it was completely cold. He hadn’t expected much, but it had been quite delicious, despite its simplicity, and his stomach finally felt full. “So how many people did you kill?” he wanted to know and leaned back in his chair. All that food and that alcohol made him feel a little tired, but not in an unpleasant way. “Did you keep track? Personally, I haven’t killed anybody yet, although I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like. Did you feel bad afterwards?”

Despite his cheerful demeanour the young noble found himself fascinated by the darker things in life and couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to plunge his dagger into somebody’s heart. He didn’t think he would regret the deed, although the theory had of course not been tested yet.

“I don’t mind a little depravity, by the way”, he added, smirking a little as he thought about all the wonderfully depraved people he had met since he had come to Andaris and the things they had done, sometimes together. “Life would only be half as much fun without it. And some people can’t help their nature either, just like your bear couldn’t help its nature. Take a look around Andaris on any given day. Some people seem to be little better than animals, driven by their baser instincts and lacking a conscience.”

Despite those somewhat dark words, the tone of Tristan’s voice was strangely light hearted and his eyes twinkled, as if he were having fun. Tristan loved stories about murder and betrayal just as much as he loved a good joke, maybe even more so. If only he could get the opportunity to talk to one of those subjects without risking his life in the process!

“Let’s get drunk then”, he decided after he had finished his drink and given Franz ample time to answer his numerous questions and gestured for a waitress to come to them and bring them more. “And don’t worry about the remedy. I always have something for that purpose at home, just in case. This isn’t my first time in a tavern.”