Lux Tenebras (Murag/Astarill/Lhaeben/Aldari RP)
Aldari paced back and forth in the cramped hovel Sier had called home, muttering furiously to himself. Nearly every other stride he had to turn, pausing now and then to double check the scant papers sitting on his apprentice’s table—not that he thought it would reveal anything, but he was running out of ideas, and had to occupy his hands somehow. ”‘blivion take those bull-headed bigoted brutish bastards,” he growled, finally sitting at the foot of Sier’s bed and dragging out the worn chest at the foot of it. “Thinkin’ ev’ry mer wants t’lock ‘em away fer nothin’. Takin’ their frustrations out on innnocents. Not on my watch, yeh bunch o’braindead bottom-feeders.” As he spoke he rummaged through the chest, eventually procuring a decently filled coinpurse from its depths. Next, he carefully felt around between the bed and the wall until he touched the hilt of an elven sword, pulling it out and inspecting it critically. Well made, with a fire enchantment glistening along its surface—he thought it would fetch a decent price. The gift had never seen use as far as he knew, and the old mer didn’t have enough money to hire a mercenary besides; he only hoped he’d get to Sieralon in time for him to be mad about it. Trinkets in tow, Aldari made his way back to the surface, practically sparking with indignant rage along the way. Any lowlifes quickly retreated from the mer without so much as a backward glance—they sensed something off in the normally complacent mer, something their survival instincts told them would be a very bad idea to annoy. After selling the blade and buying a few necessities, he made his way to the Bee and Barb, taking a calming breath before entering and looking around. It was a mark for how upset he was that he didn’t even glance at the kegs of mead, instead searching the tavern for any signs of a sellsword.
Murag was sitting at a table in the corner of the tavern, his mace hanging on the back of the chair and a mug of mead in his hand. He drank some of it, and then put it down on the table, letting out a sight. He knew he shouldn't spend his money on mead, not when work was this slow, but he'd really felt he could use it right about now. That was one of the downsides of this line of work: you never knew when you'd get your next payment.
Slightly bored, Murag let his gaze wander, glancing at the other people there. Just then, he noticed someone coming inside, and they made eye contact for a moment. It was a mer, and he looked pissed. Or maybe not pissed, exactly, but at the very least he was distraught. He seemed like the type of person who would either cause trouble, or be a potential customer. Murag was prepared for both scenarios. Especially the latter. He could seriously use the latter, empty as his pockets were. But the best thing would be to wait and see, Murag thought as he took another gulp of his mead.
