[IMVU Logs] Wandering Inn

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Biird: The summer heat was tempered by a soft, slow moving wind, but this part of town, this waypoint of sorts, was a shady little dell with plenty of tall trees creating canopies over the road. The midday sun was starting to drift toward evening but it would be a few hours still before twilight created colors in the sky that no artist of the region had yet to capture. The road was mildly busy with all the hoopla going on in King's Landing. Cart after cart bumbled along the roads. Caravan after caravan stopped in for a drink. The usually quiet little INN and whorehouse hadn't seen this much business in years and was loving it. The tavern girls were friendly than usual and you could clock the usuals trying to take advantage of their newly chipper nature and getting turned down as they turned their attentions to the other, higher tipping strangers that were passing through. The good mood in light of the coming harvest festival was almost infectious and just enough to have the poorer folks forgetting just how terrible and mad their king was becoming. Truth be told, to hear the people of King's Landing tell it, he was mad long before he took the throne. There had always been a tension and dread in the Crownlands building the closer Alexander got to the throne. So, once he'd taken it, the smarter folks had braced, as well as they could for the coming storm, but for the time being this little masquerade of good faith was a welcome release.

Brute: From where he’d come from this summer heat was very manageable, the tall trees stood guard against the sun’s rays and the cool winds left a breeze always cooling off the skin. Like almost all the other traders on the road so far, he was heading to King’s Landing, for there was profit to be made from the sale of goods and veggies with the upcoming Harvest Festival almost here. The loud hustle and bustle of the other traders with their farm carts, be it dragged by man or horse, were still being moved at a similar pace, mostly due to the large line that most folks were following, that was until they hit the Tavern where the masses would stop off. The short male pulled his cart and edged it around to the fence, pressing the grips up against the wood and securing it in place before making sure the cloth that covered the goods was tightly secured, after all his lively hood was in this cart, and he wasn’t about to watch it roll away from him. Standing at 5’6 and weighing no more than 120 pounds the man was of average height where he was from, some were taller yet most were shorter, even though he had already seen more than his fair share of name-days. The grey cloak sat around his shoulders and draped over his form, it clear he was no rich Lord, far from it, but everything he had he owned and he owed no man for nothing, so spending a few coins in the local inn wasn’t that far off his budget. The tavern was rather packed, even as he just entered the noise from conversation after conversation attacked his ears, as did the sights the tavern had to offer, be it wine or woman related. Pulling out the closest spot to the bar he could find he soon got himself comfortable with the settings of the inn and waited for his order to come through, though even with the promise of thirst quenching wine and warm food coming into his possession soon he still found his mind wandering to the goods he had left outside, though he had assumed that the guards stationed at points close to the tavern where there for that particular reason.


Bruut: He'd been down stairs before everyone else this morning, pestering the inn keeper for a hot breakfast. Torven was running low on coin, and even with all the new traffic heading south he was struggling to find work. The late night fights had slowed too, everyone was in high spirits and had their attentions turned to politics lately. Torven didn't understand why everyone got so over excited every time one of the lords in King's Landing took a shit. It didn't matter how high up that Lord was, because shit always rolls down hill, and at the bottom of the hill were the people, all covered in that royal pong. Nothing ever changed for the better, things only got worse. Torven saw it worst in summer, where all the weak and the lost managed to survive longer in the warmth. He hoped winter came again soon, to cleanse the streets with its bitter winds. He sighed, winter meant even less coin, less work too. A whore walked past him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders; he grunted and shifted out of her touch. An eyebrow rose in reply to him, but she moved on to someone else quickly. Torven was still nursing a sore heart from the last working girl he'd fallen for. The promise of new coin made him feel better. It was the quiet before the storm for men like him; he could smell the blood in the air. Something big was coming, pieces were being moved by the fingers of the powerful. Torven always saw the signs... Good harvests, plentiful gold, and happiness of the people. The shadows lapped at the ankles of the people, sending whispers high up into the castles and the keeps, telling their masters and mistresses it was time for action. Death howled in the distance, but the noise of the city muffled it. The loud hum of voices around him sent him into his thoughts and memories; images of blood, bone and ripped flesh made him turn to check his axe. It sat clean and shiny on his hip, he gently ran his fingers over the keen edge, each chip in the honed steel came with the image of the shattering bone that had caused it. Torven sipped his ale again, and stared blankly ahead towards the Inn's entrance, watching each man that came in. He was waiting for one that had the look in his eye.


Grimm: Days bled together when one was in a constant drunken haze of over intoxicated debauchery to the point where day and night cycles were completely overshadowed by a constantly burning fire before ones face. At least, for one individual the fire never seemed to go out but in reality it was daylight that illuminated the Inn and the fire only burned at night. After 4 days of little sleep and an influx of drink beyond normal mortals capacity, the dreadlocked wielding, eye patch wearing scruffy poocher that was only keeping his mug full by the winnings he was conning random folk out of that dared to bet against loaded dice, made numerous mentions to throw another log on the fire, in the middle of the day, when there was no fire. At the second request of said log, the tavern girls gave him a simple pat and another mug of ale. It didn't matter how drunk he was, he was paying, also didn't matter it was with others money, money was money and tavern girls were no saints, even the pure ones, they were the worst our lone one eyed 'hero' as he kept calling himself, came to realise. The latest ones to sit at the males table were sailors it seemed, dressed in their fine uniforms, fresh from the ports wanting out of the city to a quieter place to drink. It had gotten to the point that all they had left to gable with was their clothing, and it was something our 'hero' was very willing to accept. "Listen lads..." hiccups were a staple of every few words uttered. "...We can divide this out like gentle folk. One can give their boots, another their pants and the last their tunic. Sound good?" Another hiccup insured and at this point the normally stupid wager seemed all too fair to drunken sailors who were trying to match said 'hero' drink for drink. "you're on Eye-Patch" Then once more, the loaded dice rolled across the rather sticky table top.


Highlander: Jorsanna had never been south of the neck, and no wonder. The heat on the road, and even in the shade was stifling- at least for her, so used to the icy winds of the Bay. While most lords and ladies traveled with a large entourage, Jory had opted for a handful of guards and a single handmaiden and had made much better time traveling south than expected. She had folded her fur into a saddlebag several leagues back, loathe to wear anything thick this far south. Atticus sat atop the self-same saddle-bag like a guardian, bobbing gently with the sway of her horse as they pulled into the shade and she slid down. "Hobble them up Dalwin. I'll see if this place has anything even remotely cool to drink." She took her coin purse off her horse and tied it to her belt, patting her shoulder. The red-tailed hawk came with a flap of wings, settling on her shoulder. "We'll find you something too wont we?" she mused, stepping inside the dark inn, cooler inside despite the still air, before moving over to the bar and inquiring of the barkeep for ale and meat. The tavern girls were thick in the inn, swarming from potential patron to potential patron. She caught one beelining for her and held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. She would get no business here. A small chuckle left the She-bear's lips as she heard a man calling for a log on the fire in this weather, leaning to take the ale and meat and feeding a bit of the raw, uncooked stuff to Atticus, whose eyes were taking in everything in a inquisitive fashion.


Brute: He’d only been present in the tavern for all of a few minutes when the loud noises from sailors and their dice friends filled the air, right now however the man was more concerned with getting some food and wine in his belly, than gambling his savings away. As the woman behind the bar approached with both his wine and food he nodded a pleasing thanks to her and paid the price of both, though she stayed behind and slowly chatted to the male that was clearly older than almost everyone else in the tavern. “The name is Bonzoo Pippenpaddlopsolcopolis. The third! Proprietor of all things round and green…But you can call me Mr Pipp, young lady.” The waitress tilted her head to the side as she listened to the somewhat eccentric old man speak, clearly at this age eager to speak to anyone who would listen and almost about anything.


Bruut: A woman entered, one that stood out from the others he'd seen lately. It wasn't just her looks that were better than most of the low born whores and serving girls in the tavern; it was the way she held herself and the clothes she wore. The sound of coins dropping into his pocket echoed in his mind. A hawk flew in and perched itself on her shoulder. This caused him pause for only a moment as he caught the image of the bird taking out one of his eyes. 'Gotta take this one slow, Torven'. Standing from his table, he polished off the rest of his ale and strode towards the woman. About half way across the floor his footsteps faultered and he caught a nail in one of the floor boards and skipped along a couple steps, the pieces of his confidence shattering on the floor like glass though he hadn't fallen. 'Nice footwork, you proper cunt.' He swore at himself as he slowed his stride, almost turning away. He could do it right now, just disappear into the crowd with a quick right turn and go drown his sorrows in ale... But ale cost gold, god damn it, and he was almost out of that. The gold, it called to him. Torven's stride quickened again and he eventually made it all the way up to the woman. In his haste, and with the little trip he'd taken, he'd forgotten to think of anything to say. Audio of proper greetings all played at the same time in his head; he was running out of time, these high born ladies would wave you off if you didn't think quick. "Fuckin' mean looking bird you have there!" He bolstered out as if he'd been holding his breath slightly, his back straightening up a bit too much as his entire body went tense.


Grimm: It was over pretty quickly, like the dicing of a well ripened cabbage for a stew, the sailors lost one article of clothing each and our 'hero' walked away in rather well tailored attire. But, do you think he went away to change? Three days of constant drinking says differently as he stripped down to nothing at all and adorned his new outfit. A few whistles and geering was cast his way, not from anyone else, but he whistled at himself, going so far as to turn and flick his hand at his imaginary fan fare. "Oh behave yourselves." but only received an odd look for a rather large lumber jack that was sitting at the edge of the bar who simply grunted and went back to his mug of ale and leg of mutton. The only moment of clarity the dreadlocked fool attained in a single day was filled with a name longer than the wall was tall. Walking over to the tiny male, well, not tiny but shorter than our 'hero' and leaned in so close their noses almost touched. "I dare you to say that name 3 times fast matey. I bet you can't." Personal space really wasn't his forty as was clear when he did not retreat and remained mere millimeters from the mans face, one red eye looking directly at his targets, waiting for him to try and say that tongue twisted he chose to sputter moments before.

Highlander: Jory had noticed the tripping man, but had paid it no mind, feeding Atticus intently when the bird suddenly stopped paying attention to the food in her hand, head bobbing to look around Jorsanna's head. A matter of seconds later and the very same patron of the bar had rather loudly announced himself. She turned, an amused look spreading across her face as she glanced at Atticus and the...strangely awkward male standing in front of her. Maybe he was a virgin and didn't know how to approach a woman? But with all these whores around? Right. Broke Virgin. "He can be. His name is Atticus. And you are?" she smiled, deeply amused by this whole situation, though her brows rose to her hairline as she saw the pirate over the man's shoulder, stripping without a care and making a show of it. She shook the image out of her head as best she could, focusing her green gaze on the man beside her. "What can I do for you, Sir?" She asked, pulling her dark brown braid over her shoulder to keep it out of Atticus' way as the bird moved to her other shoulder to give the man a closer look, blinking stoicly at him.

Brute: It had only been a few minutes after he had started speaking to the female behind the bar, after his introduction they had gotten into the conversation of veggies and the like, all things that grew from the ground basically. While in the midst of their conversation he was interrupted by a face that was now so close to his own his eyes were crossing over and looked very unnatural in that moment. His green orbs tried adjusting to the situation as the stranger continued talking on, some kind of bet had been wagered to do with his name but instead of shy away from the occasion the old man straightened his back, gathered his shoulders comfortably with a small shrug and opened his mouth, clear as day the worlds flowed almost effortlessly from him. “Bonzoo Pippenpaddlopsolcopolis, Bonzoo Pippenpaddlopsolcopolis, Bonzoo Pippenpaddlopsolcopolis…” The old man’s face covered in a smile that was masking a smirk, clearly this was unexpected since most people couldn’t say his name properly once, yet here he had repeated it in a timely fashion over and over again. Bringing his hand forward he gripped the empty mug from the bar and slid it closer to the man who had just bet against the odds. “I believe you owe me a drink, young man. People have been making that wager with me since I was a tiny lad younger than yourself, and they’ve been losing it for about the same length of time. Time to pay the piper laddie.” The old man laughed as he waited for his mug to be filled at the behest of the man who’d lost the bet, after all it was only polite since a specific wager wasn’t placed.

Bruut: It was too loud i the tavern for Torven to notice much else going on around him, and he'd missed the naked pritate show because he'd beenf acing the wrong way. This high born woman in front of him was holding his attnetion for the most part. At any moment he was expecting a guard to come and shove him away, or her hand to fly up and silence him before waving him off like the low born peasant he was. He looked down to her gaze, but only slightly, and the cramped standing room of the busy tavern meant he was a little closer for conversation than he'd have liked, especially with that hawks sharp claws and beak so close. The look on her face was one of amusement, and he felt his heckles turning up on the back of his neck. She was about to laugh at him, and that wouldn't be good for business. His grey eyes went cold and hard and the muscles of his jaw set into place, his gaze flicking to her hawk and back as she introduced it by name. "Atticus is a fine looking hunter. You've good taste when it comes to picking your pets, but how about your men? I'm Torvan.. Snow." He added a little reluctantly. "I've been sat in this blasted inn for 3 days without work and as I saw you come in I noticed you haven't nearly enough men to protect you around these parts. A lady like yourself," He looked her up and down slightly. "You can't be walking around King's Landing with only a handful of soldiers. One of them's still wearing his fur boots, he's about to drop from the heat. I was born in the North but I've spent my fair share of time here in the South. Take me into your employ, even if just for your stay here in King's Landing. You need the extra men. Lady...?" He relaxed a littrle now as he awaited her reply, though he was still tense. He was always tense. Torven knew she'd likely wave him away. Mentally he kicked himself for asking her as soon as she came to the inn. She was tired from her journy anyone would be.

Grimm: The wager was set, met, matched and won in favor of the short stout male and his ridiculously long name. After the second time, to be perfectly honest, the dreadlocked male had stopped listening, hearing arguments in the back where he had just left and glancing towards the ruckus. It seemed he had forgotten to pick up the dice he was using and the sailors had figured out his little scam. Quickly he shot his gaze to the lumberjack was the avidly avoiding eye contact with anyone else for the remainder of the night if possible. Pointing at him and and shouting over the noise, he hollered. "See, I told you he could say it 3 times fast, buy the man a round you big oaf." Awkwardness, confusing and a slight irritation caused the rather large male to stand up, knock his seat back, an action that caused one of the approaching sailors to trip over the chair, giving his 2 comrades a moment of pause. Mr Eye Patch quickly patted Mr Pipp on the chest and winked with his one visible eye. "Mr Big will take care of that wager for you matey, looks like I gotta jolt." As he turned away, another name hit his ears, spotting the male beside the woman with a, bird? Maybe he had been drinking too much, but still as he passed the one called Snow he patted him on the shoulder. "Don't melt Mr. Snow, get's kinda hot down here, poor Olaf, he was so young." And again, Eye Patch was gone, darting between the other patrons before he got to the door. From the door however, one of the sailors tripped, clipped Eye Patches ankles causing him to fall forward and collide with one of the farm carts, knocking it over onto it's side and tumbling over the top. The outpouring of cabbages was like a river, a few of which were crushed, but as the male stood up and tried to drunkenly dance between the sea of green, he ended up standing on more than he avoided. Pausing for a second, he reached up to his face, lifted the eye patch, revealing that he actually had two and the need for the patch was completely pointless, blinking a couple times before lowering it back over his eye again, and tip toeing at a quick pace away from the scene of malicious, albeit accidental, destruction of vegetation, though the crash of the card was indeed rather loud. once clear of the debris, he bolted into the surrounding forward and headed towards Kings Landing.


Highlander: Ah, turns out the man wasn't an awkward virgin after all but a mercenary. She noticed his back straighten up as he locked his jaw, clearly not as amused as she was with the situation or his clumsiness. "I thank you for the compliment, though it was my mother who picked him out for me not myself. She had good taste in birds, yes." She paused as he mentioned having good taste in men, a brow raising as a wry smile settled onto her features, giving him a not-so-subtle once over before the grin widened. "You've well a point. I haven't need for many men, but an extra one couldn't hurt and you seem like you could use the coin, and a good northman besides. A snow you said? You'll have to tell me that story sometime." she paused as he inquired her name, reaching up to pet the hawk that had now idly started to preen his feathers on her shoulder, no longer interested in the man before her. "Lady Jorsanna Mormont. Its a pleasure, Torvan." She leaned her hip against the bar as she lifted her stein and sipped the ale, looking at him over the rim of the mug. "And how much would you name for your price Mister Snow?" she asked, glancing to her men settling in at the bar counter and the poor out of sorts handmaiden, much too green for the company of this many whores.

Brute: It only took a few seconds after he’d won the bet that it seemed all hell broke loose, before even his cup was filled the sailor looking guy with the eyepatch was on his merry way, claiming someone else would pay for his drink, like that was ever going to happen. It only took a few seconds before Bonzo followed the trail of the pirate man, he was leaving the tavern faster than a low paid whore and right after him a few of the other sailors chased. When his eyes followed the group outside what came next caused the old man to jump from his seat and dash outside, he pushed passed people in the bar with more force than a man his age should have been able to put out, yet it happened. Reaching outside his eyes opened wide as he looked upon the battlefield of green, the graveyard of veggies, the afterlife of all things round and cabbage…” MY CABBAGES!” the man roared into the sky as he dropped to his knees and started picking up piece by piece of the broken cabbages, trying to place them back together again like some kind of veggie doctor. While his hands pressed the broken pieces together and he continually fought to make them whole again, his eyes narrowed down towards the sailor who was on the run down the road, and an oath of vengeance was sworn to the gods!


Bruut: Torven felt a pat on his shoulder and glanced just quickly enough to catch a glimpse of the drunk man darting off after his slurred comment. 'What in seven hells?' He thought to himself, before turning his attention back to the highborn woman. Outside the sound of cabbages being trampled filled the air; the stench of their bitter leaves being crushed underfoot filled his nostrils. Torven stiffened a little as the woman looked him over, feeling a little self conscious in his attire. Her reply was, to his surprise, a positive one. He'd landed himself a job, if he had the coin he would have celebrated. Still, he'd have to spin a yarn about being born to a Lord; it wasn't too far from the truth he knew. There was a time his father had been some sort of knight or something, the stories had faded quickly as he'd grown older and his father uglier and more drunk. 'Lady Jorsanna Mormont.' The words rung in his ears for a moment. A Mormont? Jackpot, he'd fuckin' won! He almost shouted in celebration but no more than a small glimmer sparkled in his eye. She asked his price now as she drank her brew in front of him, and he had to think quickly of what was fare. "Well, I think it would be fair to be paid the same as your men, but with an allowance for my services as a guide to you in King's Landing as well as what you think would be fair to pay my lodgings and meals during my service. After a month we can discuss raising or lowering my wage depending on what you deem to be fair according to the work I put in." Torven hadn't spoken like this in a long time, and it'd taken decades for him to learn the manner of speaking most Lords and Ladies took more seriously when it came to business dealings. He was no master like the trade merchants, but he found it landed him more jobs than the oafish men who jumbled their words like they'd been chewing marbles. Still, it did put strain on his mind.


Highlander: As he was speaking she began tallying up the expenses he was listing, doing the math for his total pay. She nodded a little to herself, absently petting her hawk as it moved down her arm to the counter-top, much to the barkeep's dismay. "That seems doable, yes- but you'll be my personal guard. So i can keep an eye on you, you understand. I don't know you at all." she held up a finger as she spoke, green eyes pinning him with her gaze as she spoke a bit more slowly now, emphasizing the point. "But you should know i am as well trained with a sword as any of my men here, so should you try to cross me or ransom me you will pay the consequences of such actions. Consider this a moment, and if you accept I will set up the stipend for you with my men." She glanced outside to the ruin of the cabbages and then back to the man. He seemed a reliable enough type, if a bit rough around the edges.

Bruut: Torven listened carefully to what Lady Mormont had to say, and held back a smirk as she mentioned she was as highly trained as any of the men around her. "I fully understand your meaning, Milady, and you have nothing to worry about. I'm not stupid enough to cross someone of your stature. As for your skill with a blade, Milady, I think we should discuss this in private as I may be able to provide you with further training to aid you here in King's Landing." He said this last part very quietly, so as not to have other's overhear and cause her offense. "I'd be glad to be in your employ if you'll still have me, I'm happy with those conditions. Although, please call me Torven if you'd be so kind, Milady Jorsanna." Not wanting to look as broke as he was, he held up a finger for the bartender and ordered himself another ale. Then he looked at the hawk as it wandered about the bar.

Highlander: The amusement on her face was back again as he leaned over and whispered about giving her further training in private, biting her lip to stifle any potential laughter. Did he really not realize the innuendo he was creating? Her green eyes twinkled in amusement as she nodded to this, rummaging in her pocket and setting some coin on the counter between them. " Well, Torven- only my mother and people i don't know call me Jorsanna. Jory, if you like." She motioned to the coin, sliding it to him with a finger. "Get yourself a room, we will be staying the night and then moving on in the morning- with or without you."