The Nexus

Hrafn had not been in this strange land for very long, but he had found that most people would pay to listen to a bard, same as they would back home. He had traveled through a few towns, collecting coin at local taverns for his singing. It was lonely, and he found himself missing his mountain home more and more with each passing day.

Tonight he found himself in a small tavern that was simply labeled "Meeting Place." Hrafn found the title odd, but of course he hadn't said that to the owner. The man was kind enough to let him sleep in the stables with his horse, as long as Hrafn gave him a small cut of what he made singing. Currently Hrafn was sitting by the fire, strumming on his lute while trying to think of a song that he had yet to sing. He knew he would likely be needing to move on soon, as he was receiving less money each night.

The bard was wearing his typical clothing, and he had no weapons visible on his person. His clothing was a dull blue, as he had been wearing it for awhile. When he'd gotten to this odd place, he hadn't had much on him. He hummed along quietly with the strumming, and kept glancing over at the bar. He was hoping to earn enough to buy himself a glass of the thick ale the inn keep often served, being drunk helped him to sleep, and helped him to forget.

The door to the inn burst open rather loudly and someone sauntered in, mid laugh. The figure was dirty, dressed in a sleeveless sort of doublet with belt tied off around the waist and thick breeches. His boots were threadbare and on his shoulders rested a plume of fur and a strap for his wooden crossbow. Slung under the fur was a string full of small furry bodies...

Closing the door behind him and fixing the room with a hard glare, the man loped to the bar counter. His wide head of red hair parted around his face and he gave the concerned looking barkeep a wide grin. "I'll take a pint o' your best ale, tubby." He slapped the coin on the bar and sniffed.

Hrafn wrinkled his nose when the man walked in. He was godtouched, but he didn't look particularly lucky to the bard. In fact, he looked rather like a smelly hunter. His eyes narrowed when the man called the innkeep tubby, but he didn't start anything. He forced his gaze down to his lute, and he began to play a song, something soft and soothing.

The Innkeep glared at Darrell, but he took the coin and bit into it to make sure it was real. "My name ain't tubby. Do you well to remember that boy." He got the ale and set it down on the counter in front of Darrell, some of the ale sloshing off the sides with how hard it had been set down. "Drink your ale and be gone with you." For whatever reason, the man had taken a disliking to Darrell. Hrafn could feel the tension in the air, but the best he could do was to play his song, and hope that no blood would be shed tonight.

"You're name's whatever I want it to be so long as you wanna be paid, Tubs. Ain't that the point of this here establishment?" He mockingly nodded his head in thanks and sauntered away from the barkeep, ale in hand. He clearly was not one to give two hoots about what people thought of him.

His eyes settled on Hrafn something like a predator on prey and the man made his way over to the player. "You fancy yourself a minstrel, eh?" Darrell flopped into a seat near Hrafn and put his feet up. Grinning, he chucked a bag of coins onto the table.

"Play me a tune, music man."

The innkeep glared at Darrell, but as he was moving away from the bar, the man said nothing. Hrafn ignored him and continued to play, until he was spoken to. His fingers stopped and he set his hand over the strings to stop the sound.

"What sort of song would you have?" He had been playing a song, but there was no use in pointing that out to Darrell. Hrafn gave a cold smile, "I have a particularly fascinating one about a man that was too full of hubris and what happened to him." Maybe it was meant to be a jab at Darrell, maybe not. It was Hrafn's own story, after all.

"Did he become a traveling minstrel?" He raised a brow and gave a lopsided grin. "I'll hear it, then." Darrell settled comfortably in his seat and gulped his ale, smacking his lips loudly when he swallowed. Although he seemed very comfortable with his spot next to Hrafn, he'd managed to sit himself facing the door.

Every so often he would glance over as if waiting for someone to join them. His expression never slipped out of the cocky lopsided grin, though.

"Mayhaps." He didn't rise to Darrell's goading him, and he began to play his song. It was his own story, and he knew it well. The song wasn't half bad, even catchy in parts, and Hrafn had a good voice. The tale started with him leaving his mountain home, and recounted all the adventures he'd had since, before finally having the gods strike him down so that he ended up wandering in an unknown land.

Hrafn finished the song with a flourish, and he looked over at Darrell, who he had noticed kept looking at the door. It was making him suspicious and he frowned, "Expecting someone? Was my song not enough to entertain you?"

The man sniffed. "Was a fine enough song, I guess. Sounds like the fool was a bit misguided to me. He glanced at the door again, having finished his ale. Hrafn asked why and his mask slipped for the slightest moment before it was replaced with that coy grin. Darrell got to his feet with a swagger and shrugged.

"More like, looking for the right time to leave. See y'all later, singer." He tipped his head to him and walked to the door. He got there in just enough time to open it for two gentlemen. He waved them in with another nod of hello and a flourish of his hand that may or may not have covertly pointed toward Hrafn. "Gentlemen," and then he slipped out.

The guards were finely dressed and carrying swords at their sides, hands clutching the hilts. They scanned the room and their eyes fell on the yellow sack of coins Darrell had conveniently left on the table for Hrafn. They seemed to stiffen and marched their way to the minstrel.

"You there, how did you come across this purse?"

Hrafn gave Darrell an odd look, "Well...see you later then..." He was confused more than upset, and he hadn't quite noticed the sack of coins that had been left for him. He was back to tuning his lute, and so he was surprised when two men that looked like guards started to question him. "That man left them for me, as payment for my singing..." He reached for the bag, that was more than enough coin to get him some ale!

The Innkeep wrung his hands together and approached the guards, "We don't want no trouble here. Is this bard bothering you? I'll have him removed." Hrafn just stared at the man open mouthed. How could the innkeep sell him out like that? He hadn't even done anything wrong! Hrafn stood with a frown, "If that's how it's going to be old man, I can see myself out!" Unfortunately, this all likely looked terrible to the guards, who might assume it was all part of some act and that they'd be splitting the money later.

One of the guards grabbed Hrafn by the arm and tugged on him, not allowing him to leave. "That purse was just stolen from a theocrat of local renown. He's not very pleased to be missing it, if you catch my drift." He didn't seem like he'd bought Hrafn's story of someone just leaving it there. The man looked a drifter and the guards were there to protect their own.

"You'll have to come with us and answer to the theft, minstrel." He pulled on Hrafn again, loosening his sword in it's scabbard to warn the man not to try anything stupid.

Hrafn just stared at the man as if he were stupid, "How could I have stolen it? I've been here singing the whole time, the innkeep will tell you!" He jerked on his arm, "It was the other redheaded man that you let go when you walked in!" He looked desperately at the innkeeper, "Tell them!"

The Innkeep shook his head, "I don't want no trouble here sonny. Just go with the men. If you're innocent the gods will see you're let go." Hrafn couldn't believe it. "Coward! Craven!" He was making a scene, and some of the other patrons were starting to watch. Hrafn saw his chance when he noticed a man sitting nearby, but not facing the action. While the innkeep was busy blabbering to the guards, the bard used his free hand to take the leftover mug of ale and throw it, hitting the man in the back of the head.

The man growled and turned, standing up and Hrafn gulped. This man was so huge he might have giants blood in him! "It was him!" He gestured to the guard that wasn't holding onto him, and the big man advanced on the guard, with a look on his face that said he was like to snap the man in half. The innkeeper squealed and went to hide behind the bar, while the big mans friends seemed ready to join in the fight. Hrafn was hoping he would be able to get away in the chaos. If he could just get to his horse...

After leaving the tavern, Darrell sauntered nonchalantly down the road and straight to the stables. He was quite pleased with himself and his luck of finding another red headed man to pin this on. Though, he chided himself fro being foolish enough to lift money off someone notable. He'd only been here for a few days, hunting on the outskirts of town, but he should have known just by his dress the man was high up. Perhaps that's what attracted him to want to take his money....

It didn't matter now. His luck was still flowing, because the boys at the stables rushed off to see what all the noise in the bar was about. Watching them skitter off, Darrell let himself in. If he could avail himself a horse, he would be done with this business faster and miles away before anyone might point their finger at the drifter.

"You're a fine thing, buddy..." He came up to the first horse he saw; the stable was barely occupied. The animal was a pretty piebald with a blue eye. He slipped into the stall and looked for tack.

The huge man didn't even ask questions and just swung the first punch. "Think you can pick on us because you're lord high and mighty's guards?" The second guard let Hrafn go and the man scurried under the table. The friends of the giant man soon joined in the fight and before long there was an all out bar fight going on. The innkeeper was hiding behind his bar, wringing his hands and looking quite frightened.

In the chaos Hrafn, scooted under some tables, and he barely avoided being hit in the head with a chair. He still had his lute gripped in one hand, and just before he left, he saw that the bag of coins had been kicked into a corner. He grabbed it and fled the tavern, heading straight for the stables.

He was heading right to his horse, only to find that a man was trying to steal him! The horse had shied away from Darrell, and it wasn't looking too friendly until Hrafn appeared. The horse made a soft noise and Hrafn growled, "What are you doing now??" He opened the stall door, "Out of the way fool, the bar fight will only last so long, and then they'll notice I'm gone." He didn't care what happened to Darrell, the man was a thief and annoying besides!

"What does it look like?" He didn't seemed phased that his patsy had shown up, annoyed. So long as the guards weren't tailing him---he looked to make sure---he was fine with other man's presence. Clearly this had been Hrafn's horse and Darrell had a laugh at the situation. "I would pick your horse." He sidled out of the way, but did not leave the stall. In fact, he hung back and leaned on the wall waiting for Hrafn to finish tacking the animal. He opened the latch so the horse was able to leave and pulled himself up before anyone could stop him.

"Nice knowing you, singer." He kicked the horse on the sides and sought to run out of the stables.

Hrafn quickly tacked up the horse, he didn't know how long the bar fight would last, or if the guards would notice he was missing before it ended. When Darrell pushed him out of the way and mounted the horse, Hrafn just stood there, with his arms crossed. "You're an idiot." The horse did not take off at a dead run, though it half reared.

Without wasting much time, he swung himself up behind Darrell an grabbed the reins. There was no time to throw Darrell off, "Yip yip!" The horse hadn't responded at all to the kick, but took off like a lightening bolt at the words, out of the barn and down the road. It wasn't long before the tavern was a light in the distance behind them, and that's when Hrafn slowed his horse to a walk, to let it relax.

"I think I lost them..." He wanted Darrell off his horse, but he wasn't quite sure how to go about that, "You smell." Because that was truly an effective insult.

Darrell nearly frowned when the horse did not move, but Hrafn didn't try to push him off or harm him... So why frown? Instead he let out a whoop and held onto the horse's mane gently as the thing took off. He really didn't care if the guards heard; he'd just tell them that Hrafn stole him and his horse anyway....


He looked over their shoulders to see if the man was right. There was no one pursuing, if there ever had been. "Lucky us," he quipped, looking back to where they were going. "Where are you taking me, singer?" He was content to go along for the ride for now.

But Hrafn was trying to insult him... "That would probably be the squirrels you're smellin'." He shifted his shoulders to show the string of dead animals he had looped over him. The man grinned and held one to Hrafn. "Hungry?" He was clearly not one to be bothered with insults or jabs but he wanted to see if Hrafn was.

"Away from the Inn." He didn't like being pressed so close to Darrell, it felt awkward and unnatural. "Seems I'm lucky Pie doesn't like you." He didn't much like having dead squirrel waved in his face and he wrinkled up his nose, "Get that away from me. You're disgusting."

Hrafn was angry with Darrell, and he stopped his horse and tried to push Darrell off, "You blamed me for your crimes and tried to steal my horse! I should have let the guards have you. You're lucky I even carried you this far." He was not pleased, and Darrell would be able to tell by the tone of his voice, not that he would even care.

Darrell laughed heartily by his words. "Is it disgusting to want to eat? I think not, you're too stuffy. Sorry I forced you out of your comfy inn, Singer. I would think a traveler wouldn't be so harsh."

He let himself be removed from the horse, but not before sliding his crossbow to the front and aiming it at the horse. "I wouldn't want to hang around the likes of you much longer anyway, fancy man." He spit on the ground. "But I think you have something that's mine."

"I wouldn't want to break bread with you if you were the last man in the world!" Hrafn was usually much nicer, but something about this man infuriated him. The threat to the horse was too much, and he sputtered "Do you know how much this horse is worth where I come from?" His voice was rising in pitch the longer he spoke, "Maybe I should offer you a motley cloak and have you play the fool while I sing."

He knew what Darrell wanted though, and the horse pranced uneasily under him while he pulled out the coins, "Here, take your ill gotten coinage." He flung the sack at Darrell's face, though he missed...because he threw like a girl. He was only a singer after all! The coins dropped somewhere near Darrell's feet.

"Gods kissed, and you're a criminal. Imagine the scandal." He shook his head, "Now let me go thief." The horse danced again, he really didn't like those coins, for whatever reason.

"Oh, so you're saying I should shoot you and sell the horse? I like this plan..." He waggled his brows and leveled the bow to show he was serious. Hrafn wasn't going to play games, thankfully and he tossed the coins... To Darrell's feet. The man raised his brows as if to say 'really?' because it looked as if the singer had tried to toss them much more brutally.

"Thank ya kindly," He stooped to grab the coins, eye contact never leaving Hrafn. The man was a singer, but you never know when someone could be dangerous. Feeling the weight of the coins in his hand he smiled pleasantly. The cross bow was slung back over his shoulder and he plunged a hand into the yellow purse, producing three coins. He held them to the singer with a cocky lopsided grin. "For the song."