Gulping down his fourth glass of beer, he put it down and ordered for another one from the bar keep. His voice was loosening and it was evident that the alcohol was taking over him. But Elruadar kept to himself for the later of the evening without causing any suspicions. He looked around the tavern and started observing people. He was looking for a face that seemed new, and ready to kill. He had done enough of waiting. He was just hoping that someone wold at least be ready to hire to clean up their basements of infestations or help some farmer to rid of the orcs in his farm. The wait almost seemed to be coming to an end. He saw another man walk in. The moment Elruadar set his eyes on him, he knew he was an half-elf. But he did not show any signs of emergency. He kept his position and watched and the new man, walked about, looking for a place to sit. Elruadar then returned to his thoughts, quietly sipping his ale.
After drinking some of that brew he looks beneath the table to see what is under there. Besides someone's bread crumbs he finds an old boot. He calls one of the wenches over to complain about the cleanliness of the tavern.
Oliron realizes that it's his boot, "Oh I got it."
"Sorry about that.", he says scooping it up.
Oliron lets out a huge belch as he stands.
He makes way to a table I'm the back near a window. He is a familiar sight in these parts. More than half drunk sword for hire with one boot on. Jobs were either suicide missions or some goose chase with goblins not worthy of his blades.
Oliron slumps down in his chair and looks out the window.
"At least I have Jonas.", he says quietly to himself.
Edited: Oliron on 14th Jul, 2012 - 7:19am
Oliron puts down his bottle and walks outside. He sees all the dark clouds overhead and grins, brandishing his two bastard swords.
Oliron becomes stiff in a trained stance for a moment. He then bursts into a fury of sword display. His show of sword skills lacks grandeur or a sense of flow. Something a more experienced swordsman would quickly take advantage of. However Oliron's blades snap into form with such force that one could hear the wind being ripped apart by it.
A minute into his exercise the clouds overhead become restless. Almost in protest of Oliron's will of might they let loose rain to stop him. The warrior welcomes the wind and rain continuing to practice his moves.
After some time the winds die down and the sudden downpour becomes a drizzle. Not soon after Oliron returns to the tavern.
Oliron stares at the wall and wonders if anyone saw his awesome sword skills. He looks down at the table for awhile then sighs.
"AHHOOOO !", Oliron yells out suddenly for no reason.
"AHHOOOOO !", that felt good he thinks.
Oliron draws strange glances from those in the tavern, he shrugs.
Not wanting to associate with what he thinks is the mentally challenged, he pretends to not see or hear the guy with the sword skills. He wonders if he is under some kind of spell or possibly experiencing a dilemma.
Oliron laughs, "I'm not crazy, but sometimes I see my thoughts and actions in type."
You here Jonas's muffled neigh from outside.
"Yes Jonas!", Oliron hops on top the table exclaiming loudly.
"Mine blades doth hunger for the blood of thine enemies!"
"We shall seek the monsters out wherever they dwell!"
"Be it the tops of mountains or the.." *BAM*
Oliron is hit by a flying boot to the back of the head.
"QUITE YOU!", the barmaid yells.
Oliron gets down and retrieves his lost boot , "Ohh."
Edited: Oliron on 27th Jul, 2012 - 6:36am
*Enters the tavern, walks purposefully over to the bar, and hails the bartender*
Well met barkeep, I'll have a two goblets of mulled wine and a something hearty to quench my hunger and nourish my strength. Smiting evil creates quite the appetite. Have your wench bring my food to the table in the far corner by the entrance.
*Slides a few copper pieces over the counter top, and casually scans the rest of the tavern, picks up one goblet and drains it in seconds, grabs the second goblet and walks slowly over to the corner table, sits in a position that faces the entrance of the tavern with a clear view of its patrons, begins to reflect upon the events of the day*