Work Text:
Taverns were usually the place to go if you wanted either information or a good time.
The dwarves would come up from their mining trips and commemorate their jobs well done by filling up the seats by the bar and loudly celebrating. Honeydew laughed and sung the loudest, having led many mining trips.
Others were scattered about the tables being waited on by a couple of hardcore-looking ladies.
Minty Minute and Fiona Saberial were the two barmaids and could easily drink anyone under the table. Try as these men might, they weren't any match for the girls. Fiona (who may or may not be in cahoots with the shady, tall man leaning up against the wall in the corner of the tavern) had never lost an arm wrestle match, and could effortlessly keep up that track record. Minty, on the other hand, knew how to make just about any drink or poison under the sun. She had been approached by the two best potion makers in town, but turned them both down.
A different lass occupied the bar sometimes; her clothes weighed down with concealed weapons and a hood obscuring her face, Nano Sounds looked the part of a proper mercenary. She was a regular at that table in the corner with the shadowed man Rythian, leader of an underground mercenary service. Rumor had it that Queen Lomadia was associated with said mercenaries, but nothing was ever confirmed.
Sometimes the town's three architects rolled around to sit down in a booth and drink a few rounds. William, Sjin, and Ross sat around whatever table was available and talked about their plans. Ross was a slow but talented designer who used expensive materials like marble to build for the royal queen herself. Sjin was quick and determined, using common and affordable materials such as wood to build homes for the common people. William built for the traders and the citizens with market spaces, making sure his structures were noticeable and prominent with bricks that complimented or contrasted each other. Fiona was usually the one to make their food, arm wrestling Ross each time he boasted about his strength a bit too much (and winning every time).
The tavern was crowded, light and song filling the dark and quiet cobblestone streets around it. The dwarven shanties could be heard all the way back to the marketplace! Xephos hesitated a little before entering the building. He wasn't the loud and brash type like the rest of the lot at the Crooked Caber, but he had a job to do.
He pushed open the door and was met with a blast of heat from the busy place. He could see the two barmaids rushing about with sly grins on their faces and suspected that they had already pick pocketed the bar owner, Ravs, when he had passed out drunk outback. Xephos had heard the rumors about the two. He recognized the three architects sitting at a table. They were having a discussion at their table, drinks nearly empty and plates left with crumbs. He spotted first the busy bar full of dwarves, and then a greatly contrasted figure cutting through the crowd of workers. He was tall, thin, tan, and ladened down hidden blades and a long sword. No one else seemed bothered by it.
"Minty, we need another round!" The man ordered.
"Yeah, I'm on it!" The blonde barmaid called over the noise.
There was shouting coming from the architect's table where the second barmaid, average height with curly red hair, was arm wrestling the royal constructionist. Perhaps he should start with her, intimidating or not– he'd have to start somewhere.
As soon as she turned from the table, Xephos caught her.
"I'm looking for a man," he stated.
"Then you're at the wrong tavern, mate." The barmaid joked.
"No– I–" Xephos realized that he was not cut out for the job he had been tasked with. He was just a scrawny farmer who needed extra money. He rarely visited the town itself, how did he expect himself to find a man in a town so unfamiliar to him it might as well be that suffering kingdom down the river.
"Yeah, I know what you mean." The barmaid grinned, speaking in her thick northern accent. "See those two in the back? They're who you wanna see."
Xephos couldn't apologize or thank her, as she had already disappeared back into the crowd to serve a handsome and arrogant night. Instead, he headed over to the table with the mercenaries. They looked dangerous, that was for sure. Xephos was dreading every second of life spent locked in his deal.
"Er," he started lamely.
The two looked up from their maps and parchment. They looked quite menacing and irritated at being disturbed by a little farmer.
"I am looking for a man." Xephos started again. "I've heard he runs a stall in the marketplace selling things that are not allowed within the confines of the kingdom walls."
The two exchanged a glance before turning to the nervous commoner. The lass spoke first. "You got a name?"
Xephos tried to remember the name of the man on the wanted poster the guards had shoved in his face. "Recherché."
"I'm sorry?" The man asked, leaning his head back, a smirk on his scarred lips.
"Er– no." Xephos looked over at the the front door where the red headed potions maker had just entered to avoid seeing the lady's laugh. "It's, uh, Turpster, if I remember correctly."
"Turpster the market-man, you say?" The woman asked. "We might be able to find him."
"For a fee, of course." The man added as though this routine had been rehearsed. It probably had been.
Xephos dug around the pockets of his cotton pants. "Well I don't have much in the way of money, but–"
The man stopped him, holding up his hand. "Ah, that's all right... But it means you owe us a favor."
"A favor?"
The woman leaned forward. "We'll find this man for you. We can talk about payment later."
"Er, okay,"
"Deal's a deal then." She smiled. "Ey, Fiona! Get this kid a drink, will ya?"