Dawn in a Merchant Town

**Lyo the Shadow Whistle** · Subject: Re: Dawn in a Merchant Town Fri Jun 26, 2009 6:10 pm

The city was much like most others. But somehow it struck his road weary eyes as far more beautiful then normal. The simple thatched roofs stood out against the backwash of greenery, but it only added to the picture not detracted. Most of the cities homes were simple one-floor residents with walls growing mold lightly, and billowing white smoke from their chimneys. Only three structures broke from this norm. The high steeple of the local temple, its bright ivory parapet standing high into the sun light cresting over the ridge behind it. A lone Inn sitting up, away slightly from all the other residences. And the very place he was walking towards the Tavern.

He had been with out the comforts of a city for many weeks as he had walked through the woods. Sure, he bathed in the streams and lakes he came across. Nevertheless, his inner nature prohibited the use of the harsh lye so he had not seen soap in a good time. In contrast to that, fact however, he did not smell of stink and sweat for his kind almost never perspired. Which when traveling in a suede leather doublet and thick silk shirt was a bonus. On his feet he wore dust laden soft soled boots that cleaved tightly up his calves to just under his knees. However, the mythril case greaves her wore caught the eye far better then his mud-stained boots. Somehow, traversing both bog and fen had not placed any damper on their shine.

On his forearms he wore matching vambraces, from wrist to elbow they offered their sparkling protection. Yet this warrior bore no other armor. In truth he didn’t believe in wearing any more then that, for he trusted his skill with the blades he carried immensely. Those twin swords were both born on his left side. One cresting over his shoulder holding back his cape slightly, the other on the hip. From a distance, these were just any other blade. But once examined closely it was reveled both held an S shaped curve to them. His right hip held two locking leather pouches, and a strange metallic looking bullwhip that jingled with his motions.

As he drew nearer to the city, the bone hilts of the daggers in his boots came into view. Likewise the handles of the flintlock pistols on his back, though they were not fully hidden they were more difficult to see because of the black doublet, and cloak. This warrior was growing far more ‘ready for war’ looking the nearer he came. Yet with all the threats, he showed openly, his face was not to be held by any passerby’s eye. The hood of his cape was up and drawn low over his face so that even while walking into the morning’s sun he held one mystery. But his height gave away one fact that his slender size agreed to. He was young

However, that was one of the most mistaken things about him. Sure, he was small and little looking for a human. Nevertheless, this man was no more human then the braying mule he just passed. With a gentle breeze stirring his hood, it threatened at any moment to fall back and reveal the mystery of his face, but through some force of will, the hood never dropped at the order of the breeze. Though one new feature would be seen on his face now. There was a long tribal tattoo that ran from presumably his left cheek all the way down his neck to be concealed again under that deep crimson shirt.

His steps still not slowing from his trip of untold distances, and he moved into the freshly waking town with a grace not kept in the mortal realm. He moved out of the way of a group of men carrying barrels after offering a very small nod of respect. But once they passed him by he began his trudge anew. His goal was however not clear as twice his gaze shifted to the overly large hill, yet his feet continued towards the tavern. Maybe breakfast was his goal.

Once all of the laborers were past him, he raised his fingers up and tapped the edge of his hood in a pseudo salute to them as he began moving again. Weaving his way through the city with care as some shop keepers were readying for the day and others shirking till a more reasonable hour. But he had moved true to his original intention and eventually made his way to the Tavern.

The inside of the establishment was dark, most of the shutters were still closed from last night, and there was no reason for expensive candles. The opening and closing of the door rang a bell twice softly, and caused a gentle stirring from places unseen behind the bar. He took this as his chance to simply seat himself at the bar and await for the old keep to make his way out towards him. Assuming that the tender would not mind he leaned over and grabbed a glass and fairly random bottle of dark liquor. Pouring himself a glass, he grinned.

Sure enough a few moments later the keep came into view and just smiled saying “that’ll be two silvers.” And then moved over to actually see who it was at their place so early on. Yet the only motions made by the mystery man was to leave to silver coins on the bar before the shops owner. Both of which quickly vanished. But before the keeper could ask the mystery man finally broke the ever resonating silence around him with soft words.

“A plate of eggs, salted pork, and preferably an orange if any are around.” Then a smile crept onto his lips as he continued.” With a large mug of what apples were intended by the God's for. Hot Cider is preferable, but any Cider will do.”

His voice held a soft lilt form lands unknown. And the hidden wanderer stop talking as the keep nodded and went about making his third coin of the day. While left alone the concealed man pulled an impossible trick. He reached into a pouch that was only four inches deep and pulled out a nine-inch long pipe. And a small leather bag of fine sweet leaf. With no spoken word he pinched and filled his pipe and then returned the bag of leaf to his pouch and relocked its clasp.

No flame was pulled, but on the first draw the pip smoked and soon the very fine smell of cherry and vanilla filled the air wherever the smoke drifted. It was potent yes, but not over powering. Indeed a very fine smoking leaf. In the kitchen the keepers assistant went about making eggs as the keep poured him a Cider, hot, and handed him an orange. With Elvish pipe in lip, he started to gently peel the orange with a small throwing dagger now used as an eating knife.

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