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[Aithne Breagh]

Calm.
Quiet.

The warmth of the fire seeped slowly into Elysillien's bones, chasing away the chill that had been present within her for far too long. Long, pale fingers curled absently around the mug of ale that she had ordered. Her attentions had wandered to memories of days since past, causing her to neglect the drink. It had not escaped her thoughts on just how lucky she had been. The run-in with that blasted ice creature had nearly cost her everything. A shiver ran the length of her spine despite the heat radiating from the fireplace.

Her salvation had come at the hands of not one, but two, complete strangers. That was a concept that Ely was not familiar with in the least. The duo had been kind, however, and she had given them a few coins for their trouble. They had even offered to escort her back to civilization. It had been a charming proposition, but she had turned them down in the end. It was for the best that they all go their separate ways. In her experience most people did their best to avoid her anyway.

Most, but not all.

Ely had spent her lifetime honing a particular set of skills...skills that required a great deal of finesse. These abilities were not something that she advertised to others, but the success with which she used them had garnered her enough of a reputation that it kept her fed and her needs taken care of. When someone required something done on the sly, they sought out the pale ghost who frequented Tamasha's taverns. No one ever sat at her table unless they desired to engage her for business. After the past couple of weeks one would have thought Ely would have given up on such endeavors, but the little thief wasn't such a pushover. Sure the encounter had frightened her. It just simply wasn't enough to make her give up her life of adventuring.

And so, she sat...and waited.

[Murdoch]

Rule Number 12. Never play cards against a human; they cheat. Never play against an Elf; they never pay their debts. And never play against a Dwarf; they’ll try to kill you if they lose.
It might seem an odd thing to think, when confronted with the possibility of a card game in a tavern, so imagine how odd it must be to be thinking this thought when you are actually in a card game in a tavern. It may seem like too little too late, and Fenris is certainly regretting breaking such an early rule in his code, but it was necessary; some people won't talk to you unless you're doing something with them, and unfortunately sometimes that means playing a game.

His "opponents" and him are all seated around a circular table in the corner of the tavern, on the far side of the room from the door. The table itself is a simple wooden one, cracked and stained from years of use, and was probably made locally, if the reputation of this city is anything to go by; why import anything when your own craftsmen can get it made for half the price and double the quality? And it has to be said, this table is very good quality, old as it is. It may be a little wobbly- they had to put a piece of card or two beneath one of the legs to stop the rather violent wobble that occurred whenever a new hand was played- but it serves its purpose. The players are all seated on various seats; The Dwarf to Fenris's left is seated on a barstool- coincidentally bringing him up to the same level as the rest of the players- with three legs, looking rather uncomfortable on the tall wooden perch in his simple red tunic and brown breeches. At least, Fenris is pretty sure that he's looking uncomfortable...the Dwarf has a massive amount of black bushy hair that is neither hair nor moustache nor beard, but somehow all three and more, so that only his eyes are showing...it's a wonder how he can even eat anything without getting half of it getting stuck in the beard. Although, if anything did get stuck in the beard, nobody would notice with how unkempt, tangled and dirty the beard is. Hell, Fenris isn't even sure if the dwarf is a man or not...it's never been explicitly stated, but he drinks a lot, farts a lot and the few words that Fenris can understand when he does speak in his part-accented, part-drunken slur are curse words that would make a Vetian sailor blush.

Seated on the dwarves left is an elf, markedly taller than the waist-high-warrior but brought to the same height by a combination of the dwarves barstool and the Elves simple wooden chair that was probably made for dwarves. It's far too small for him, and he has to sit huddled over slightly, but he can see the top of the table, and that's enough for their purposes. Fenris suspects there was another reason for him being seated there, and opposite to Fenris as well other than he just got unlucky; the Elf looks relatively harmless and humiliated there, but he could easily draw a miniature crossbow without anybody noticing, and then he has a clear line to shoot at Fenris...and, despite the tankard of ale that sits in front of him, he has barely touched any alcohol, so is likely extremely sober. It's this that has led him to believe that, despite the messy blonde hair, the dirty face and the stained and torn clothes, he is the leader of this group. He seems far quieter, far more in control and far more sensible than the other two, and has an air about him that seems to scream 'Leadership'. The Dwarf is so far in his cups they might have to mount a rescue mission, and the human seated to Fenris's right is far too blustery, arrogant and richly dressed to actually be the real leader. That he has power, Fenris doesn't doubt, but the fact that he displays it so openly in a place like this? No gangleader worth his salt would do that, not in this city. Rule 20: Things aren't always what they seem.

Which brings him onto the human. Make no mistake, he isn't dressed like a bedecked in jewels, or a lord with embroidery coming out of his ears and a rapier by his side, nor a dignitary with one of those ridiculous sheets wrapped around him that seem to be the rage amongst politicians nowadays, but the differences are noticeable in comparison to the other two; Whereas the other two are wearing fairly simple, faded, stained and torn clothing, with unkempt hair and messy faces- well, he can't really tell if the dwarfs face is dirty or not, on account of all that hair- the human is wearing clothes that, although of the same basic style as the other two, is not messy or torn or ripped; rather, his tunic and breeches are clean, neat and rather presentable, which sticks out a little in this tavern, where most of the people look like they would at least punch you over a mug of ale. His face is also clean, and his hair has obviously been washed recently and slicked back with something sticky. He looks like a moron, especially with that smile plastered on his face as he offers Fenris yet another compromise on his price.

"No," Fenris says simply, revealing his hand- much to the muttered annoyance of the elf, and the slurred cursing of the dwarf- and scooping up his winnings. The fools hired him to catch a burglar a couple of days ago, and Fenris has delivered. Now they want him to come down from his price of seven golden Dragons to four, and Fenris is having none of it. The agreed to the price, and now they need to pay it. In contrast to the other three players, Fenris is wearing his full suit of clothing-armour, along with his weapon slung across his back. A mug of water sits half-empty by him on the table, along with his glasses; no reason to wear them in here, and maybe the inhuman colour of his eyes will intimidate them a little.
"Come on, my friend," the human says, still smiling, "be reasonable! It wasn't that hard to catch him, from what I've heard, and we haven't got the money at the moment!"
"That's your problem," Fenris states coldly, "I have moved from my original price. You're just too stubborn to accept it."
The human looks confused. "You haven't moved," he protests. He goes to say more, but Fenris cuts him off.
"Yes I have. I moved down to Five Dragons," the human looks like he's about to nod happily, but Fenris isn't done; "But you owe me two Golden Dragons for the numerous hands you've been rigging throughout the game. Don't deny it, you know it's true. This deck has, thus far, turned up six Laughing Men when it should only have three, two Snapdragons when it should only have one and a massive eighteen Meatshields where it should only have fourteen...and all of the extras have been from your hands. The Two dragons are a split cost; one dragon for trying to cheat me, and one dragon for being bad at it."
That wipes the smile off of the humans face. His grin turns into a frown, then a scowl as he straightens up indignantly. "For that insult, I don't think we shall be paying you at all!" He says angrily, standing up. The elf follows him languidly, almost smoothly, with a faint look of annoyance- yes, definitely the leader- and the dwarf just burps and falls onto the floor when he tries to move. He climbs to his feet, sways dangerously, then manages to straighten and stay on his feet. Fenris doesn't move, simply cutting the cards again and again, removing the extra cards as he finds them.
"I would suggest that you do not leave this tavern without working out some way of paying for my services," Fenris says quietly. Despite the low, quiet tone of voice, his words seem to cut through the background noise with a deathly efficiency. The three companions pause for a moment. Fenris looks up at them, fixing them with his golden gaze. "Rule Number Nine," he says, "Always pay my debts. And I do." The unspoken threat lingers in the air.

[Aithne Breagh]

It wasn't usually in Elysillien's nature to take particular notice of others' business habits. Still, she could not help but keep an eye on the card game that had been taking place. Gambling was definitely not one of her vices; her finances were of too much importance to her to risk them on a simple game of chance. There were other things to consider as well, such as the cheating antics of the three looking to out-maneuver their opponent. Pale, icy blue eyes moved over the man still seated as she gauged his actions. He seemed a formidable foe to have, yet by the motions of the trio they were too lacking in intelligence to realize the mess they had gotten themselves into. Ely's curiosity piqued even further when the stranger refused to back down. A silvery white brow raised slightly as she waited to see what would happen. Beside her the tavern wench stopped, checking the level of the ghostly woman's ale. Ely turned to glance up at the woman and spoke in a whispery voice.

"Who is that man there?"

Her head nodded in Fenris' general direction. The maid followed the motion and took in the situation that was unfolding across the room. She arched her back slightly as she lowered her head closer to Ely's location, her own voice lowering so that only the paler one could hear her. "The one who is seated...I do not know. The other three are trouble." Elysillien smirked softly as she nodded to the wench, then went back to her observations. It really wasn't any of her business. The three troublemakers owed the fourth something. By the looks of it, he would get what was coming to him one way or another. Carefully she drew her attentions away from it all, turning once more to look into the fire. It was best not to get involved. Try as she might, though, she could not keep from listening in.

After several more minutes, the confrontation turned even more serious. All around them, the bar had fallen nearly silent as everyone awaited the outcome. Ely contemplated taking her leave, she wasn't much one for bar brawling. Her mug of ale was lifted as she thought to finish it off, but as the stranger spoke his final words she paused in mid drink. He always pays his debts. It was an unspoken threat, but Elysillien could also hear the sincerity in his voice. He meant what he said, he believed in this rule. Maybe it was in her best interests after all to get on this man's good side. Wouldn't he feel a little 'indebted' to her for watching his back? Sure, sure. She put her ale back down on the table and lowered her hands to the twin daggers secured at her waist, her palms resting casually on the hilts of each weapon. Her full attentions turned on the three ruffians, waiting to see what they would choose to do. If any one of them made a move, Ely planned to counter attack to give the more honorable man a better chance.

[Murdoch]

Two of the companions pause uncertainly; the human and the elf share a doubtful look, but the dwarf just hiccups happily. He's either very drunk, or very good at acting drunk. Fenris can smell the alcohol on his breath, so the chances are that he's had at least a little help from the alcohol...which means that he isn't as dangerous as the other two. His centre of balance will be off, as will his reflexes. Besides, he has no visible weapons, and concealed weapons are harder to get at; not many people know it, but it takes a full five seconds for a trained human soldier to draw a crossbow, line it up and fire. You could try the quick-draw, which takes three seconds, but even with Fenris's advantages, it's more luck than skill whether or not the bolt actually hits the target. As it is, Fenris takes three seconds to draw, line up and shoot- his reflexes and senses being considerably better than a normal humans- but that's the same as a trained elf. The elf doesn't appear to be trained, but nothing is ever as it appears to be. It always pays to plan for the worst.

Fenris is acutely aware of the bar watching them. Obviously they were being more noticeable than they thought, or these three are known for starting trouble; probably a mix of both. Not many people know who he is, after all- he was surprised when these three tracked him down and hired him by name, though he didn't show it at the time- and these three have been getting looks all night, although Fenris originally surmised that it was due to their unusual appearance in a bar like this. No matter. Whether or not the patrons are watching, it will not change the outcome. Should any of them attempt to intervene, Fenris has some tricks up his sleeve for a quick escape...and he made sure to make a note of where these three spend their nights.
The human clears his throat nervously, but Fenris can tell from his bearing that he is about to argue. "Seven Dragons is extortionate, sir," he says, glancing at the elf briefly, "They were simple burglars, nothing more!"
"You agreed to the price," Fenris states calmly, "Now you must pay it."
The human shakes his head, and his forehead crinkles in slight anger. "Sir, I must insist-"
"No, you 'must' not. You want to; there is a difference." The cold calm in his voice is a sharp contrast to the hot-blooded anger that is slowly becoming evident in the humans voice. The humans face twitches slightly.
"We have tried to be fair-"
"Oh have you? I must have missed it," Fenris states dryly, which only serves to stoke the anger. Fenris must admit; it is fun to provoke morons. This was going to happen eventually, so it's better it happens now, when he has some of his evening left. He needs this to close, and quickly. Seven Dragons isn't much- not by his standards, anyway- but it's the principle. Waver in the face of 'intimidation' once, and it will be harder to say no next time. Fenris reaches down, as if to take a sip from his water.
The human doesn't say anything, but the twitch in the muscles in his arm are tell enough. As soon as the humans arm darts up to his chest, towards the opening in his coat, Fenris moves. Fast as lightning, the mug of water is flying through the air as Fenris flips it towards the human, spinning around and out of his chair, reaching for his crossbow, onto his feet. One. The bolt from the crossbow that the human had been reaching for is thrown high by the startled man, and ricochets off of the mug, skittering to the floor along with the jagged shards of said mug. The elf goes to draw his crossbow, but Fenris comes out of the spin, having reached into his own holster to draw his small, stylised one. Two.
Three seconds. One of those was drawing it. Two was lining it up, which was afforded him as the bolt from the crossbow- whether fired intentionally or from surprise is irrelevant- went clattering away and the elf scrabbled for his crossbow- the drawing of which would have been three seconds as well, but Fenris started first- and Three for the shot.
Which doesn't come.

As fast as it began, it's already over. Just three, maybe four seconds after it began- sloppy, Fenris, sloppy- it's over. The Elf has his crossbow halfway out of his holster, the human is still looking bewildered, and Fenris is pointing a loaded crossbow across the table, looking for any sudden move. "Put your weapons away," Fenris says coldly, his golden eyes glinting like ice in the noonday sun. He gestures briefly towards the crossbow. "This crossbow is customised. It has a three-bolt magazine for rapid fire. You can see that, can't you?" The crossbow he's holding is small, true, and has smaller bolts, but it has three of them lined up; one in the 'barrel' and the other two lined up to the right of it, ready to slide in at a moments notice. The spring on the string should allow the momentum of the string forward to spring back into position twice, before it loses its elasticity and has to be rewound. "I could kill all three of you and not need to reload, and take my fee from your corpses." He leans forwards slightly suddenly, and the elf and the human both flinch a little. "But that is not how I do business. You hand me my seven Dragons, and walk away."

[Arynea]

Arynea slipped into the tavern. During her days in the temple, she was told to avoid places like this, but she could not afford to lose her opportunity to find a teacher. Her custom morningstar at her side. A longsword was stretched across her back, the guard displaying the symbol of the goddess Ikini, an eye with two curved edges protruding from the top and bottom. The same symbol appeared on her armor and shield.

Apparently, she had walked in at the wrong time. A blond headed man seemed to have just pulled a crossbow on a very unlikely group, an elf, a dwarf and a human. There didn't seem to be any fighting quite yet, but if anything started, she would be the first to even the odds. She wasn't sure of this man's innocence, but he could be a formidable ally. She needed someone who could fight. She could NOT lose this opportunity. She was going to become a warrior like in the legends. She would never give up.

[Aithne Breagh]

It was an interesting four seconds.

Ely watched as the human sought to take the first shot. The very instant that Fenris threw his mug of water, the ghostly thief was on her feet with both daggers drawn. As the bolt flew wide of its mark and collided with that same mug, Elysillien watched the stranger draw his custom crossbow. Her pale eyes turned upon the elf as his own weapon discharged, the bolt skittering away without ever coming near it's intended victim. It irked her that the elf thought he would have enough time to reload before Fenris could blow him away. In the blink of an eye she sent one of her daggers flying. It slammed into the wood of the Elf's crossbow, just inches from where his fingers were fumbling. It had the effect she was hoping for, because the woodland creature's eyes widened in surprise and he stopped what he was doing immediately.

The two bumbling idiots had no time to look around to see who might have been coming to Fenris' aid, though. The man before them spoke in his reserved voice, giving them fair warning of what he could do to them. As everyone stood there during a very tense moment, another woman moved forward and stood her ground...apparently on Fenris' side. The three hooligans would be complete fools to think they would get out of this alive if they continued to try and swindle the more honorable stranger. Ely couldn't help but grin and flicked her eyes in Arynea's direction. She gave the woman a single nod, letting her know she was also on their side.

It felt like an eternity was passing as they all waited to see what would happen next.

[Murdoch]

Fenris can't fail to notice the dagger sticking out of the elves crossbow, and makes a mental note to investigate that later. It probably came from one of the people to leapt to their feet, but seeing as how it's embedded in the elves weapon and not Fenris's probably means that, for now at least, he has backup. Not that he needs it.
His unwavering, baleful glare doesn't shift an inch, not even as he senses movement to his side. A girl, newly entered, has moved in as if to intervene. He'll keep an eye on her...if she's one of them, she'll need quick disposal. That sword strapped to her back could be dangerous if drawn, and although there are two people who have fancy, flashy swords- fools and masters- she looks too poor, and stands too proudly and assuredly to be a fool. A fool stands how they think a warrior should stand, large and aggressive, but a warrior- a true warrior- stands with a quiet grace, like a prowling panther or a coiled spring, ready to release. She isn't quite there yet, but she does exude a certain confidence.

The human and the elf look at each other uncertainly, and then a new voice speaks up, one that has Fenris look around in slight surprise.
"By the beard of the ancestors," it curses colourfully, "just give him the damned money!" The speaker is the dwarf that Fenris wrote off as drunk, now standing perfectly straight with a look of annoyance on his bearded face, now very much sober. Although Fenris is surprised, he doesn't allow it to show; The dwarf is obviously the leader, and obviously the most dangerous...and not just in a drinking game. he supposes he should have known; Rules 20 and 21. Things aren't always what they seem and don't jump to conclusions, respectively.

The elf grumbles a little, but the human nods quickly, defeated and resigned. He reaches into his pocket, draws out a bag and throws it to the table. They start to turn around, the dwarf muttering blistering curses at the other two, when Fenris says coldly, "Wait."
He reaches down slowly, opening the pouch quickly and with deft movements, revealing a pile of seven gold coins. Fenris takes each one in turn, bites it to test its authenticity, and reties the strings. "You can go now," he says, gesturing, and the three almost trip over themselves in their haste.

He places the pouch of coins in one of his pockets- he'll move it to a hidden pocket later on- and turns around, searching. He keeps and eye on the girl with the sword, but also looks for the person who threw that knife. Whoever it is, he needs to find them. He needs to memorise them as a possible threat...and he's a little curious. Besides, she did act to help him, so he owes them a thanks at least. He doesn't sheathe his crossbow, though. Call it a precaution.
His eyes alight on a girl, standing near the corner, although she can hardly be called a girl; she is a young lady, and holds herself in a far more proud and assured way than the rest of the patrons. She also has a dagger in her left hand, almost identical to the one that was thrown at the crossbow, which is now lying on the floor. He raises an eyebrow as he retrieves his glasses.
"And you are?" He asks, regarding her coolly. He will get to the other girl in a second. For now, one thing at a time.

[Arynea]

The cleric watched as the group backed down. She was happy she didn't have to resort to violence. The most important rule in the temple was to not cause violence whenever possible. Ikini was the goddess of peace. She could not afford voilence in her court.

Arynea sat down at an empty table, getting stares from many, and started a prayer of thanks to her goddess. This was custom after a conflict was settled without wounds.

[Aithne Breagh]

Ely watched as the human and the elf contemplated their options, then lifted a brow quizzically when the dwarf ended up being the ringleader after all. That he went from being blitheringly drunk to sober in the blink of an eye seemed almost comical; the stout little man was a rather good actor, it would seem. When they paid the stranger the dragons they owed him and shuffled out, Elysillien felt a tension leave her body. She had been coiled, every muscle singing on the edge of action. The thief allowed her form to loosen slightly as she turned her attentions back upon the man she had chosen to stand behind in the conflict. She could tell with ease that he was a highly trained, deeply skilled man by the way that he took in every single detail and shuffled it into the recesses of his mind for later use.

If ever she admitted it, she would have had to say she was impressed.

This wasn't normally a place that she came just to watch people. Still, in all the times that she had visited in the past, she had never run across someone so...sure of himself. It intrigued her in a way that she had never experienced before. As a side effect, it made her a little edgy. When his eyes met with hers, something in that gaze told her that their shared time was far from coming to an end. Ely had the urge to walk over, pick up her dagger and leave the establishment behind without a second look back. Her heart picked up the pace just slightly as she sought to calm her inner unease. Icy pale blue eyes flitted back to Fenris at his question.

Hmm, to tell the truth or not?
Screw it.

"Just a patron, same as you. Don't like others trying to take advantage."

Not unless it was her. In all honesty, she didn't like people who reneged on their agreements. Call it...a thief's honor. She moved with slow and steady motions toward where her tossed dagger rested, at the same time sheathing the one in her left hand. Once she retrieved the lost one, it also was placed into a side sheath. She then moved a step closer (not more, mind you) toward Fenris and met his gaze.

"I am Elysillien. Passing through in search of work."

Her cool, blue gaze shifted to Arynea briefly. Though Ely, herself, was not a religious type, she understood those who chose such paths. Her own Nana had been such a woman of faith. She nodded to the cleric once and considered her options. It wasn't like her to get involved in others' business troubles. Why had she felt the need to intrude here? The fact that she couldn't answer that question is what made her stay...just to see how things turned out.

[Murdoch]

Fenris regards the mysterious girl quietly, weighing her up in his mind. The very thing that made her stand out from the rest of the patrons- not only her rather more striking appearance, but also her very manner and the way she holds herself- also makes her appear to be somebody to watch closely. She probably isn't a fighter, per say- the knives aren't weapons of anybody who goes to fight- but from the way she threw that knife, he highly doubts that many people could get the better of her in a fight...and he doesn't doubt that the throw was far more than just dumb luck.
He watches her carefully as she moves around the table- the way she moves is one of a predator; smooth, graceful and full of quiet confidence, not that much different to how Fenris himself moves. Of course, Fenris holds a dominating atmosphere, and this girl seems to be able to slip into the background despite her obvious differences (possibly a thief, then, if that knifework and her grace is anything to go by)- still watching her. Any move could turn into an attack. He still isn't sure who he's dealing with. But there is one thing he is pretty sure about; she is probably not a regular patron. Not only has he been here once or twice over the past week or so and not seen her, but she also doesn't seem the type. She doesn't quite blend here, and he can imagine that she can't like it.

He doesn't so much as relax as she sheathes her knife, still wary of any kind of deceit, and subtly places himself so that he has both the cleric-warrior and the thief (?) in his field of view. He has to admit, he is impressed; not many people would be willing to stick their neck out for a complete stranger- although she probably wants something; everybody does- and even fewer would keep their composure so perfectly in this situation. She is confronting an obviously dangerous, armed man and she has not so much as trembled or batted a distressed eyelid. She is able to meet his golden gaze, which most men avert their eyes from, with an equally assured gaze of her own, from almost equally unnerving, clear, icy eyes. He can imagine that more than a few men have been rendered powerless by that calm stare. He will need to be even more careful- if that's possible- around this girl. She is an unknown quantity, and he dislikes unknowns.
"And what exactly do you do for 'work'?" He asks, his eyes never even flickering. The patrons are trying hard to look like they're going back to their own business, but Fenris can practically see them straining towards them, see the red on their ears as they burn from the corner of his eyes. They're listening, and who can blame them? A confrontation between two very different, very unique strangers. What could be better gossip? Guaranteed that by next week, the story will have evolved into Fenris being an eight foot elven warrior, the girl into a beautiful Amazonian and the three men being wicked necromancers who attempted to summon a dragon. An exaggeration, perhaps, but it would certainly have evolved.

[Aithne Breagh]

In an odd way, Ely likes this...his sizing her up. It means that he is exactly the person she took him to be: a careful, well disciplined man. In all of her experiences, it was this specific type of person that always had the best jobs available. They were reliable, even to a fault. With both weapons now sheathed and Fenris' question out in the open, Elysillien turns to face him fully but avoids any sort of aggressive stance. Instead, she chooses a casual pose and gives him a nonchalant shrug of her shoulder.

"I give consultations."

Her brow lifted slightly as she tipped her chin up a little. If he were any good at subtleties, he might catch her meaning that she was using metaphors. Ely rarely ever came right out and admitted to what she was particularly good at.

"I've been told I'm rather handy to have along."

Especially when it came to such nasty things as trap detection and disarming. But she could see that he was a very cautious sort; perhaps he had not had the best experiences when it came to others. If his three previous business associates were any indication, she could definitely understand his wary nature. Everybody wants something, this is true. At that particular moment, Ely only wanted to sink back into the shadows and get out of the spotlight. They had attracted far too much attention for her liking. Without another word, she moved over to the table where the Cleric had sat down and slipped gracefully down into an opposing seat. She canted her head slightly to catch a glimpse of Fenris out of the corner of her eye, then nodded to one of the other empty chairs. He could choose to join them or not.

It was his choice.

[Murdoch]

His face doesn't change, but inside, he is considering her with interest. She is one to explain herself in subtleties...interesting, and certainly commendable, but potentially dangerous to anybody who misinterprets her. He himself always strives to tell the truth...just maybe not in a way that they will draw the right conclusion. It's an art, and one he likes to think that he's good at. However, he will not underestimate this girl; her 'consultations,' if her knifework, demeanour and general attitude are any indication, are more on the illegal side than that of a normal, law abiding citizen. Not that he cares, of course; some of the things he does, although necessary, are illegal and technically, to some, 'Evil'. He must have half the Paladins in The Far East hunting for him, which is why he tends to stay to the west. He can take a Paladin in a fight, but it is far better not to get into that position.

And her last comment, as she moved to sit down; that was a blatant hint- at least, by their standards- that she is looking for something. A job, perhaps, or a recommendation. As he suspected...she only helped him because of some selfish desire to get something for herself. After all, he is obviously more experienced than those three- well, two- clowns that left a moment ago, and far wealthier. Those seven dragons were a low price for him, but still, not a price to be scoffed at.
He sits down slowly, retrieving his glasses from the table he was seated at a few minutes ago, and looks at the cleric and the thief impassively as he sets his glasses down before him. He motions to one of the waitresses, a young girl with a rod-like build and tied up black hair, and she moves over with visible reluctance. What could this dangerous stranger want with her? All he wants is to order a replacement water, and she nods quickly and hurries away from him.
"If you are so useful to have along," He asks flatly, "Why are you here, and not making yourself...useful...elsewhere?"

[Arynea]

Arynea noticed as the girl sat down across from her. It wasn't very often that she was even acknowleged and when she was, it didn't usually turn out good. Most f the time, it was to go against her beliefs in Ikini or to just torture her for being born what she is, an elf.

She just sat quietly as the man who seemed to be the center of the previous riot took a seat beside her. He seemed well skilled but had some honor to him. That was good. She was a little more wary of the woman. She looked like she wasn't exactly one you could trust. You'd be talking to her one minute then the next, you'd be searching for a job to replace your lost coin. Oh, she knew how that was. Nobody ever seemed to care when she got robbed, though.

[Aithne Breagh]

Right down to business.
Ely could respect that.

She didn't seem too keen on playing twenty questions, but that was the price to be paid for stepping in on matters that had not originally involved her. It certainly had been a little out of character for her to stick her nose in, so to speak. That wasn't to say that the little thief didn't have ulterior motives. The fact that he now carried a small pouch of gold dragons certainly hadn't escaped her attention. Be that as it may, Elysillien was no fool. This man would happily dole out his own brand of justice should he feel any sort of threat from the likes of her. And of course there was the cleric to consider. The woman had taken his side without even knowing any of the particulars that Ely had witnessed whilst sipping at her drink. There was no doubt in the pale woman's mind that Arynea would fall back to that same stance if circumstances called for it. His question made Ely think back to the past few days and all that she had been through. It certainly wasn't something she wanted to talk about.

"My last consultation ended."

Abruptly. And it hadn't even been her fault. Memories of the ice wolf sprang to her mind and Ely forced off a shiver that had tried to rumble up her spine. She allowed her pale, icy gaze to slide once more in the cleric's direction. She could sense that the woman was being reserved because she didn't trust the ghostly one. It didn't hurt Elysillien's feelings; it was simply something she had grown used to throughout her life.

"I am here looking to...make myself useful yet again."

For the right price, of course. Then again, maybe she had chosen the wrong person to back. No. She knew that she had made the right decision. Ely might have been a thief, but she did have standards. It had never paid to work for anyone who lacked strength and discipline. That was a lesson that she had learned at a very early age.

[Murdoch]

Fenris allows his mouth to twitch upwards into a small smile, but no more. Let her make of that what she will; it was deliberate, allowing that slip, but only because he saw no harm in it; it was a small smile that comes from recognising another individual who skirts the law often, and who has little time for fools. That much was obvious from the moment they met. The nature in which her last 'consultancy' ended is of interest to him, but only for the sake of extra information; it would let him know whether or not he can trust her, but since he doesn't trust anybody, that point is moot. The fact that she is seeking a job, however, is not. She obviously wants a job or, if his suspicions are correct, the pouch of dragons around his belt. Well...let her try. He has caught his fair share of thieves before now, and if she attempts to steal from him, he will not go easy on her. He learned long ago not to underestimate people just because they don't look particularly threatening.

It is true that he has a job already lined up, but that is away to the north, across the Narrow Sea, and he doesn't see how having a thief along could possibly help him. He already has a few men lined up, and he already has transport and accommodation sorted out...so why would he need a thief? She may be quick on her feet, but that doesn't count for much. He would have to keep an eye on her to make sure that she was safe and make sure that she didn't walk away with anything valuable from their quarters. No, very little reward for such a large risk, and a probably steep price; nobodies help is free, and he has a feeling that she intends to get that pouch of dragons off of him one way or another.
"Whilst I regret to hear of your current unemployment," he says flatly, "I am afraid that I cannot help you. I just do not see how your...expertise...could help me in my next venture." He picks up his glasses, putting them on slowly as he gets used to the diminished amount of light reaching his eyes, and turns his head a little to look at the cleric-warrior. "And you?" He asks brusquely, "You must have a reason for coming to my aid." The cleric hasn't spoken much...maybe it was wisdom or uncertainty, either way, he will not be able to tell until he learns more about the cleric.