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Sage walked over to the man who called himself The Hanged Man. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she was close enough to hear his name, or names. Nobody? Did people really call him that? She heard about one of them wanting a brandy, she got up and walked over to the bar, Danny was already on it, she took the drink from him and set it on the table in front of them, then walked away. She didn't feel like conversing with people, though she was interested in talking to the scarred faced man, she was curious about him. She'd seen him training new and rich kids to join the militia, but she'd never conversed or made eye contact with him before.

"No name..." he whispered, eyes gleaming. "And drinking for breakfast. Are you a hero, sir? Like, a tragic hero, who, uh, saved the day but lost his true love in the process? Or... No, you're a long-forgotten legend, an immortaling spirit, like, wandering the earth to spread the moral of your story? Wait- Are you a vanquished villain, living in an-anonymymity after escaping the hero's clutches by the skin of your teeth? Did you witness something to terrible to speak of? Or were you the victim of a curse long ago? Have you forgotten everything about your life up until now, or do you wish you had? Have you ever seen a dragon? Are you magic? Do you have a message from a mysterious god?" he rambled, barely pausing for breath. He was recycling the plots of made-up stories his brother had told him, obviously fascinated by his newly-appointed interviewee.

The boy the man came in with, she'd seen him before, even talked with him a few times. She couldn't remember his name, Wylie maybe? She heard Wylie asking the man a bunch of questions, she walked over to them "Wylie, you should let the man rest for a bit, ask him these questions when he's refreshed, okay?" She said with a soft smile, hoping she wouldn't get yelled at, though she was used to it.

The Hanged Man fished out a few copper coins to pay for his drink. They were mixed in their minting, but all looked to be true copper. As he sipped the brandy, he weathered Wylie's tirade of questions with the unflappable demeanor of an old oak. "Aye," he answered simply once the boy had fizzled out. "Ah, well, nay to the last one. No gods speak through me." The wanderer gave Sage a lopsided smile for her intervention, but he shook his head and said, "I appreciate your concern, mistress, but I don't mind. It has been a wh-while since I've had someone to talk to."

"Well, if he's bothering you, let me know, you do look like you need rest though." She said and ruffled Wylie's hair with a smile and walked back to behind the bar and watched the people inside, making sure they didn't summon her in case they needed something, she took another sip of her coffee with a sigh.

Wylie reached up to touch his hair protectively, disgruntled. It wasn't as though it wasn't already a mess, though. He'd intended to buy some bread for he and his brother, but by now of course, he'd entirely forgotten.
"I guess you probably should sleep, mister Scars. But I do wanna know your story, at some point."

"Wylie!" She yelled before he left "if you and you're brother are hungry, I'm more than happy to make you guys some dessert." She offered with a gentle smile. She loved Wylie and his brother, she saw them as little brothers. She wanted to adopt them, but she couldn't afford to take care of children if she could barely get by alone. Plus, she didn't know if they had parents or not, otherwise she totally would.

He looked at the strange man, frowning as he continued to drink. He chuckled to himself at Wylie's rambling before returning to his drink.

Vincent, having been left by the young lad and the wanderer, decided to get back to his rounds. He'd walked a fair ways towards the outskirts of the village before turning northwards, towards the forest that Lantern Wood was named after, he'd enjoyed being alone there but he still had a job to do.

Passing the wood cutters lodge and trekking down towards the inner part of the forest, Vincent found himself in a picturesque glade; and small pond that was fed into by a small babbling brook. Vincent decided to take a small break on the shore line of the pond, he'd been working since the early hours of the morning and beasts seldom came close during the middle hours of the day. Laying down, he took off his helm and sword and placed it down beside him as he placed he head on the soft grass, slowly drifting into a light nap.

"My story is long, young master. I fear you'd be old and grey by the time I finished telling it. But I'll pick the best bits and regale you with those sometime, mmm?" The Hanged Man was most of the way through his brandy now. It was still morning, but weariness pulled at his eyelids. Wylie was right--a nap might do him good. "How much is it to stay?" he asked Sage. Briefly, the wanderer caught Henrik's eyes, and nodded a silent hello.

Now at a table in a corner, Terrien was shocked at the amount of people that had shown up, he must been lost in a daydream to not notice, but no matter, they seemed a friendly lot, he began to lean back in his chair slightly, stretching out his bones in relaxation, "Lively place." He said to himself quietly.

He stood up, stretched, and put on his helmet before heading out of the inn. He walked to the courtyard and grabbed a wooden training sword.

Wylie nodded enthusiastically at the promise of the Hanged Man's tale, even the abridged version. Then, he heard Sage shout, and remembered his original purpose.
"Oh! Yeah, uh, just some bread rolls or something would do, thanks."
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a few copper coins (along with fluff, matchsticks, and fragments of greenish eggshell, which he hastily reclaimed) and dropped them onto the table. As Sage returned to their table, the Hanged Man asked her something about a room.

Wylie's youthful charm was somewhat deceptive - he was small, yes, naive, perhaps a little, and he couldn't really be called an adult, but seen closer up, his face was peppered with spots, and a few thin, fair hairs dared to tickle his upper lip. Wylie had just seen his sixteenth summer, and his brother, Wolfe, was two years his senior.

He walked into the inn, a lute strung over his back. He wore a green shirt, pants, a leather jerkin and an infectious grin. He walked up to the counter, digging around in his pockets.

Terrien checked his coin pouch, "Hm just enough to feed and house me for a couple days, well better get a room before they are booked." He stood up slowly and approached the bar counter and took a seat, he noticed the man he saw talking to a child a few seats down from him, he patiently waited for a free hand, he adjusted his belt and adjusted a few parts of his armor.

She got some rolls for Wylie, then handed him back his money "keep it." She said with a smile. Then she looked at the man who asked her how much it was for a room. "Normally it's about five coins, but we show mercy to people who look terrible, no offence. I'll let you sleep here for one night for free, then you pay three after that." She said.

The Hanged Man pressed a gloved fist over his mouth to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. "Much appreciated, mistress," he said. He spared a glance for the newcomer--some kind of minstrel, by the look of him--but was too tired to greet him. He swigged down the rest of his brandy, then trudged off to the sleeping room upstairs. He picked an unoccupied cot in the corner and began the slow process of crawling out of his armor.

Sage nodded at him, then looked over to the man that just came in, then made her way over to him. "Hi." She said with a soft smile and observed him. Another soldier, she guessed. There were a lot of those coming through here lately. Though she couldn't complain about it, the more protection the better.

Terrien greeted the red-headed woman with a friendly smile, "Hello how much for a week's stay, and breakfast?" His green eyes kept a lock on the kind looking woman as he awaited an answer, "Also is there a smithy in town or a place I could get my gear cleaned up?"

Wylie was happy to let Sage waive payment, though it didn't seem like a very wise business model. He thanked her, and left, clutching the bread to his chest.