|All I wanted was a drink|
|Summary:||After a hard morning's work executing smallfolk infront of the castle, Nares gets an earful from Eyrian. Things go downhill rapidly.|
|Related Logs:||Follows Unable to Defend Their People|
|Rockcliff Inn, Terrick's Roost|
|The Rockcliff Inn is one of the better inns within the town and it shows with the well-lit interior and the relative cleanliness to the other locations in Terrick's Roost. The tables are polished with oils and the floor regularly swept. A set of booths towards a darker rear of the Inn's bottom floor, just beneath the staircase, are where whores generally socialize and eye prospects from when not waiting tables. Signs over the undersized bar area advertise prices for ales and wines as well as several different choices of food to be served at the small eating area by the bar or in the main open area in its comfortable seating. A door behind the bar leads to the kitchen and cellar while another near the staircase leads to a private room that would appear to be off-limits to the 'wait staff' except for food and drink service|
|Fri Jan 06, 289|
With the loss of thirty lives the other day, many of the peasants have gone even more quiet and submissive to their newly reigning leaders. The crowd at the Rockcliff is of course loud, many and far too filled with blondes than any of the wenches that have survived to care for. Amongst them is Eyrian, grasping for her mugs, three or four to a hand as she edges her way through the crowd, dipping her hip here and there to get past the rowdy groups. She sets the drinks down without hesitation, slamming them into place and spilling some of the foam. She serves with only a passing smile for a few and than turns to start to make her way back to the bar, only partially paying attention to that going on about her.
Well, butchering innocents first thing in the morning after interrupted sleep can really take it out of a man and so Nares has figured that there really is nothing to do but retire to the inn. Stepping inside he's still smiling broadly at a job well done and makes his way over to the bar itself. He'd take a table, but they seem to be full off Orkwoods. He would order a drink, but that’s not really how it's done these days, so he demands one instead, tone still very much light and jovial after the morning's exertions.
The jovial nature of the new man at the bar as she arrives at it gets a long dark look from Eyrian. She hesitates, looking to him as one of the women presses a mug at him as quickly as she can and moves on to continue pouring. Ironborn are endless pits ready to soak up everything in sight. She grits her teeth a moment and comes about the bar to help fill more mugs. "Enjoy yourself today?" She asks him starkly, not seeming at all inclined to be nice.
Ironborn have hollow legs, this allows them to be filled with alcohol, it why they can drink so much of it. As for Nares, well, his legs are right near empty right now, but never mind, it's a long day ahead so there's plenty of time. Taking a long slow drink he then sets the mug down again on the bar service and eyes Eyrian for a moment. Turning to fully face her, while leaning on the bar, he nods, still smiling, "Yes actually. Not as good as that Septon mind, he struggled for ages, but then this one, I'm sorry, I didn't catch his name, at least had the decency to beg for his life from the Terricks who just stood there and watched." Needless to say, it didn't help, but then that much is probably obvious. Still looking directly at the lass on the other side of the bar, he reaches to his left for the remains of a cloth he'd spotted earlier and drops it down in front of himself before reaching behind his back for his saxe.
She is ruffled, and Eyrian shows it took as how much she is irked glints in her eyes. "I am not a religious woman….but making any priest of any religion suffer is not a good thing. I hope you die slowly for your enjoyment of his death." The wench says between her teeth and is lifting a new mug to set at the bartop for others to take. She shifts and takes up another, though most are not being cleaned after being cleared. Ironborn are all the same, they can just enjoy each other's spit for all she cares. Thunk, another filled and she flexes her fingers, jaw tight.
Nares slams his palm down on the bar top and laughs, loudly. Whatever the joke was, it was damn funny that’s for sure. Taking another swig of his drink he then starts to use the cloth to wipe what remains of the blood from his blade while still watching the barmaid. "I was merely offering him the same opportunity we give to all our Priests," he replies as he cleans, amusement very plain in his eyes, "turns out he wasn't holy enough for it though." He then drops his voice a little to a stage whisper and adds, "probably something to do with following false Gods."
"All Gods are false Gods…," Eyrian retorts and eyes him with a raised brow, is amusement ruffling her all the same. Her dark eyes search his face and she than says plainly, "What of the others, that were not priests, who could not fight that you killed? Were they just as amusing and what right did you offer them?" Her voice is thick with anger and disgust as she shakes her head and shoves another pint at him. Might as well get him drunk and foggy - she might have a chance then.
Nares rests the blade point on the bar and twists it slowly around to ensure he's thoroughly cleaned the blade. Hmmm, nearly, but not quite it seems, so he spits onto the cloth and gives a small section near the hilt a good scrub. He's careful though near the cutting edge, having had years of experience to learn that one. Satisfied eventually he slides it back into his scabbard and takes up the initial tankard once more. "Your gods maybe. My God, he fucking loves me, and these lads here," he says, sweeping his free arm round to encompass most of the rest of the bar. He pauses though and smirks, calling over for one of the others to hear, "Well, apart from maybe Ulf over there, but then he's a tosser!" An empty tankard gets thrown good-naturedly at his head in response, which he casually ducks out of the way off before offering said Ulf a rather obscene gesture. Guess it's just one of those days. Turning back to the bar he spots the second tankard and raises an amused eyebrow. "You trying to get me drunk," he jokes, downing the remains of his first, "or is it just my natural charm you can't resist?"
"Not much one can't resist about you…," Eyrian's gaze follows his introductions though and she is busy filling more mugs though she has considered tossed one in his face. But each mug is set on the bar without incident. "Charm?" Her lips quirk a little in a mocking grin. "I don't like salty stunted men…" She murmurs as she leans a little towards him. She looks down as if she could see his crotch through the bartop. "Compensating with drink, loud voices and long swords. Your God is not here and you will not stand for much longer. Your pathetic barren isles will rot and your meagre numbers will be run back to that pitiful shore. Then you can pray to your God and see if he hears you."
Nares doesn't let Eyrian's attitude get in the way of his high spirits as he wraps his hand around the second drink. He doesn't actually take any for now, but it’s definitely been claimed as his. "You think you've seen long swords do you eh?" he responds, still grinning, "been comparing lengths have we? Well, I'm sure there are some mighty fine weapons arrayed in this room, as well as some… half-blades, but if you're looking for a truly magnificent weapon then you don't want to be hanging with the Orkwoods. I'll tell you that for sure." He nudges the guy next to him at the bar, who seems to be well tanked already, "don't you agree?" Predictably, all he gets in response is a slur that really could be anything, but he takes it as agreement and turns back to the barmaid, "see."
There is a sardonic smirk at his parting of 'precious' information in her direction. "I will keep that in mind, but you are all the same to me…lengths or not." She growls a little at this and Eyrian straightens as another man waddles up to the bar and slams his own fist down, drunkenly as he sways. The mugs jump in place and slosh about as they settle. He starts to grab at those she has lined up and she leans, reaching over the bar to begin to slap his hands back. "Get the fuck off…damn it. Take one or two but we are runnin' low…this happens when you put a town under siege!" She yells at him boldly, her dark eyes sparking as he just stares at her and then laughs, still scooping up the mugs as she stares at him and she again tries to grab a few back
Ooo, sport. Nares settles back a little to watch the developing dispute. He starts to sip his new drink, but then sets it down to offer advice, "You know, I'd just let him take 'em if I were you, cos if you try not to, or they spill to much, he's just going to bring his mates over, and I don't think you'd enjoy that." The rest of the tavern might, but she probably wouldn't. Still, he does nothing to intervene on either side, content to merely spectate. And drink.
Settling back, Eyrian darts her gaze over to Nares and just glowers at him. "So when we have nothing to drink…how are you fish going to react?" She asks him, but has lost the fight for the mugs and is reaching for a ragged towel to clean her arms and neck with. When the servers come up to get their mugs, all she can do is shrug as she tries to pour as fast as she can. "Orkwoods….so then what are you?" She asks Nares as if they hadn't been rudely interrupted.
Nares laughs again and shakes his head, "We'll drink the keep's supply!" Silly question really. He watches one of the servers for a moment but isn't really in the mood right now, besides, there's still entertainment to be had at the bar. "Me?" he asks, although it's obvious that it is indeed him that is being referred to. "I'm a Harlaw." He belches’ at that, loudly too. "you know, that big fucking Island closest to you lot. These guys," he says, indication the majority of the tavern again, "they're from next door."
"Of course your will…how daft of me," Eyrian replies and continues to lift the mugs and steps back when another of the women moves to help. Her attention is given back to Nares and she gives him a sceptical look at the belch and than looks over the other men present. "Next door…which means another isle.." She says unpleasantly. "How many are there of you? Houses that is….Harlaw, Orkwood…" She trails off and wipes her her hands on her skirts, dappled and soaked through in some places from the ale.
Nares is not yet drunk enough to just keep answering questions and so he pulls back slightly to regard the woman in front of him more carefully. Setting his drink down, so he can lean both hands on the bar he. "And why the fuck does that matter to you?" he asks, tone more serious, but it still has an amused edge to it. "All, you need to know is that the Prince, he's a Greyjoy, son of King Greyjoy, that should be a bit of a hint there, in the name." He continues to watch for just a moment or two longer, before relaxing a little again and stating, "and talking of his Highness, he'll want a drink soon enough as well, I won't go trying to tell him you're running low. I doubt he'd take kindly."
His reaction earns him a wicked grin and Eyrian feels like she has scored a point. She returns that uncertain gaze and than shrugs her shoulders, "You are here now, why would I not have interest in who is running rampant in my homelands?" the woman poses right back to him. Though it is the comment of the Prince that changes her expression outwardly. Death. Stone cold hatred burns in her eyes as her voice lower to even disdain, "Tell him..please do. And tell him its my fault. He is no Prince, he is a dickless boy who is propped up by those around him…let him know how I feel…" She is wiping at the counter absently as she says this.
"As I said," Nares restates after another mouthful of beer, "all you need to know is that /Prince/ Greyjoy is in charge here unless or until his father /King/ Greyjoy says otherwise." As for telling Maron, he might, he's tempted certainly, but then he's also tempted to skewer her hand to the bar with his saxe. Oh decisions, decisions. In the end though it's a no brainer and a moment later his knife is quivering in the top of the bar. It is not however, impaling Eyrian's hand. He's not sure if she saw it coming and moved, or if the beer is dulling his accuracy. Either way it doesn't really matter and he pulls the blade out of the wooden surface before taking a grip of the hilt again and pointing it towards her. "I'd pay a little more respect if I were you."
Eyrian had seen it and standing back a little, there is a narrowing of her gaze on him. She lets out a breath, her heart racing in her chest as the ironborn gets a long look. "Respect?" She asks of him in some disdain before she laughs and spits at the thought. "Never. That is no man you call your /Prince/." She grits her teeth and stares at the blade in his hand, her hand reaches out to knock it away from her path and launches herself with fluid pull over the bar towards him. There are cheer as a few realize what is going on and turn to watch. She is unarmed, attempting to catch an armed wary man off-guard. This will not end well.
Maybe it wasn't the beer dulling Nares' senses after all for he sees the lunge clearly enough. Cementing the grip on his saxe as Eyrian tries to bat it aside he uses the moment's notice that he has to steady himself and drop his centre of gravity enough to control the impact. The easiest way to take is to simply roll with it and he does so, ending up kneeling astride her prone form, the tip and first inch or two of the blade embedded in her left shoulder. His free hand holds down her right and he takes a moment to slowly turn the blade in his hand. "I said," he repeats, slowly, and pointedly, not just for her benefit, but also for that of the crowd, "I'd pay a little, more, respect, if I were you." He looks down at her, trying to judge if she's got the message or if he's going to have to finish it here and now. "Repeat after me," he says, in a slightly friendlier tone, "I do hereby swear allegiance to /King/ Greyjoy and his cause."
There is a sharp scream in that sudden tussle as Eyrian is downed and the blade bites through her shoulder. She shifts, her shoulders blades flexing to the ground as she stares up at her opponent. She winces and catches her breath before she lifts her hand to try to press his arm with the blade away to relieve the pain and it's place in her. There is a surprised gasp as he turns the blade and she cries out again, moaned pain as her chemis begins to become red and slicken with blood. She shakes her and tries to focus as he speaks and she closes her eyes, spitting at him when he asks her to swear. "Go choke on your own cock…" She says in a pained voice. Using her hand to try to relieve that blade from the same shoulder is not working so well.
Not quite the answer Nares was after, although it does cause a cheer from a few of the other Ironborn, looks like there might be something of a fight in it yet. Using his bodyweight to keep her pinned to the floor he rather roughly pulls his blade out of her shoulder, leans slightly to his left and, despite her attempts to resist, slams it into her right shoulder, almost a mirror image of the previous wound. "One last change, because I'm a generous man." He twists the blade again and keeps his tone flat and level. Needless to say it's now carrying throughout the entire room as all faces are trained their way. "I do hereby swear allegiance to /King/ Greyjoy and his cause. That’s all there is to it, but refuse again and my voice will be the last thing you here."
As he pulls the blade free, there is a shock of pain for it, opening Eyrian's gaze wide until she takes note of the blade rushing back in - barely. The piercing of her right shoulder causes her to scream again, many of the serving maids left to stare in horror and some making for their own hiding places with the room as invested in the scene as they are. She chokes back a sob for a moment, swallowing hard as she forces her dark eyes to look up at him. "I…" Her voice is strained and she shifts beneath him faintly as she finds the words, "I do hereby…swear…allegiance," swallow, gasp, "to …King..Greyjoy and his cause…" She growls the last out, half in pain, half in utter anger.
Nares locks eyes with Eyrian as she starts to speak, but he remains silent as she struggles through the proscribed words. Once she's done he remains motionless for a moment, pondering making her do it again until she sounds like she actually means it but he figures his point has been made, and besides, he has a beer half finished on the bar. Pulling his blade out again he uses his free hand to pat her on the cheek and says, a mite patronisingly, "There, see. That wasn't so hard now was it?" Rocking back onto his toes and then up onto his feet again he steps over her and back to the bar, reaching for the cloth again. He'll inspect the blade properly later, see if it has blunted at all, but for now he'll just take the blood off. Before he does so however, he turns back and says "and now we've got all that sorted, you can go back to doing your fucking job. Beer. For everyone. Now."
One of the more bold women moves to help Eyrian up and the woman leans into her a moment, staring at Nares as he cleans his blade. Something is whispered and she is led back behind the bar as the other woman runs off to get something. She is starting to fill mugs again, slowly and with some difficulty as her face looks somewhat paler. Breathing heavily, she glares over at Nares and has to have another woman lift the mugs before she is finally gathered and turned about, set down so that one of the women can bandage the wounds and clean them. A nod is given in response to something asked and the once minstrel shifts and reaches up to hold the soaking cloth over one of he wounds.
With his blade once more clear of blood, Nares once again sheaths it and picks up his tankard, taking a decent sized drink. He watches the women folk work from his regained place at the bar, meeting her glare with an amused, smug smile of his own. Once his tankard is empty he turns back to the Orkwood he'd so casually insulted earlier and calls, "Hey Ulf." He pauses but gets no immediate response so he tries again, "Oi. You deaf twat. Come over here." That seems to work though, and a moment or two later a rather agreeable, if you want to look at it like that, ironman arrives at the bar. Notioning to Eyrian, the Harlaw man states simply, "Once they've stopped the bleeding could you get a couple of you lads to keep an eye on her while I go let his Highness know his knight is going to have some company? I don't fucking trust her not to do something stupid."
The news does not hit deaf ears and Eyrian manages to let a faint smile curve her lips a moment before the entirety of the conversation hits home. Her smile fades and the other woman looks towards the injured Eyrian as she tries to clean up the wounds quickly. She catches her breath, hissing in pain as she lifts her gaze finally to look at Ulf and then to Nares before training her gaze forward. Wetting her lip, she keeps her hand curled around the cloth at one shoulder while the other is worked on. She presses it heavily to the wound to help staunch the blood, but there is little more she can do at the moment, though she doesn't look all together pleased by the notion of joining the knight.
With Ulf's agreement, all that it remains for Nares to do is square everything with the Prince. Not that he's expecting it to be an issue mind, but it's polite to at least mention that he's going to be using an extra person's worth of space in the cellar-come-prison. Just before he turns to head out, he takes a moment to lean over the bar towards Eyrain and say, in parting. "You know, all I fucking wanted was a drink."
Looking up at him, Eyrian says in turn, "You got two…count yourself lucky." She winces as the wounds are packed as best they can be and wound up. She faces to the woman that addresses her wounds and drawing the cloth away allows her the last one. Once they were wrapped, it was all downhill from there and the once minstrel says nothing else to the man or the men that are about to handle her the rest of the way.