The Old Ways (Open)

The Rathskeller was slow that chilly evening, so there were no difficulties in finding a place to sit at the bar. Tristan did just that, rubbing his sore hands together as he meandered through the tavern towards the first bar stool he found. The woman behind the counter was a familiar face, and the blacksmith gave her a nod. What was her name…? Ed-something… Edrei? Gods, but he was terrible with names. ”A pint of whatever you have, please,” he requested politely, settling deep into his seat and leaning forward with his elbows on the bar top. Soon enough the woman had set down a pint in front of him, to which he offered her a tired smile and a word of thanks. Reaching out with blistered hands, the brunette pulled the pint closer, content to just sit and breathe for a few relaxing moments. In short? He was exhausted. It had been a good number of years since he had put his body to work in such a way. Tristan knew that rebuilding a smithy would take a lot of work and effort, but everything seemed to ache in such a bone-deep kind of way that made him want to sleep for a month. In his younger years, such rigorous work was commonplace on the farmstead, but since taking up the lonely life of an adventurer traveling along the empty roads, he had forgotten. Well, more accurately his body had forgotten. Despite the deep aches in his back, arms, and hands, there was no doubt that he was proud. The smithy was coming along nicely, and hopefully soon they would have a means in which to make and repair weapons, or create other items with the right resourcing. None of it would really be possible without Remi and Deimos’ assistance, of course, and he made yet another mental note of finding some way to repay them for their kindness. After sitting hunched over his drink for a few minutes, simply content to breathe, Tristan grasped the pint in his blistered hand and took a tentative sip. The liquid was cool on his tongue, but strong, and the blacksmith-to-be coughed a little before clearing his throat and taking another sip. It was good. Strong, but good, and tiredly he closed his eyes and rested his forehead in the palm of his open hand. Hopefully he wouldn’t fall asleep at the bar… How embarrassing that would be. tristan I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way

R O N I N

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Exhaustion was a feeling that Ronin could relate to. Whilst Tristan had been rebuilding his smithy, the ex-captain had been but a few buildings down trying to battle a guildhall under control. Surprise surprise, it was a lot more difficult than it looked, particularly when a large stone golem seemed to have taken up residence in the edifice he'd chosen. So it was a battered and bruised Ronin who came to join Tristan at the bar, sinking onto a stool a couple of seats away and ordering himself a large, cold pint to nurse as well.

He'd given up taverns, once upon a time. Drinking did nothing for his usually very docile temper, a fact that he had learned, forgotten, learned all over again and schooled himself on. But this was a new place and he was a new person (he felt like he'd become a lot of new people over the course of his short life) and damn it, not only would a drink not hurt, it would bloody well save his life at this point.

Thanking Edrei (and smirking at the idea of being served drinks by her rather than leading her as a member of the Storm Guard), Ronin let out a long sigh and took a grateful sip of his drink. He'd head home after this, he promised himself - otherwise he might end up asleep at the bar too. Speaking of which, he glanced to the side and spotted a familiar face from their meeting in the Temple, offering a sympathetic smile.

"Long day?" he asked conversationally.

So lost in his own musings as he was, Tristan was taken aback when so suddenly addressed. Blue eyes lifted over the rim of his mug and focused on the man sitting only a few seats away. Recognition shone immediately in the brunette’s gaze, for it was the man from the meeting at the Temple. Ronin. Giving a lethargic smirk that was still warm and inviting, Tristan straightened up where he sat and grasped his mug in a blistered hand and lifted it a bit to acknowledge his conversational greeting. “Something like that,” Tristan murmured in response, his tone strangely raspy from all of the dust and ash of the old smithy. Clearing his throat in attempt to quell it, he lifted the mug to his lips and cooled his parched tongue with another swig of drink, resisting the lure of a tempting cough afterwards. Gods, but if this stuff wasn’t strong. The man made a mental note to stick to only one pint for the evening. Turning in his seat so that he was facing Ronin, Tristan held his mug in one hand and leaned an elbow against the bar top. “I found an old smithy in town and I accepted the arduous task on restoring it. It’s a bit of work, but.” He paused with a shrug. “I’m lucky to have had some help.” Sitting at a tavern and sharing a conversation over a pint wasn’t something that he was yet used to, and he hoped that his mannerisms wouldn’t come off as awkard. For so long, Tristan had traveled alone and kept to his own company; being addressed so brazenly was a bit strange, but not necessarily unwelcome. Ronin seemed like a genuine sort from their brief introductions, and Tristan felt no need to be cautious as to his motives. At least, not yet. “And yourself, my friend? No offense, but you appear as exhausted as I feel… And considering I can barely feel my hands, that is quite an impressive feat, indeed.” tristan I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way

R O N I N

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Something like that. Oh, but could Ronin relate. Lips quirking in a crooked smile of his own, he tipped his glass in return and took another drink. The Rathskeller with its clink of mugs and low light and rumble of voices was more soothing than Ronin gave it credit, and he could certainly see why the man across from him had been struggling to stay awake when he'd addressed him. As he explained about the smithy, further recognition sparked in the ex-captain and he sat up a little. "That's right," he said. "I think I remember you saying as much. Tristan , was it?"

Drumming his fingers along his glass, Ronin turned in his seat as well so they could better converse. "I'm glad to hear you were able to get it set up so quickly. That's no easy feat." But Tristan already knew that, hence why he looked and sounded so worn out. If his new companion was anything like awkward then Ronin either didn't notice or didn't care. An easy socialite with blood bluer than he'd like to admit, in his time he'd met more awkward people by far.

"Me? Heh, no offence taken, I assure you. I was in the Settlement trying to shoo some... stone monster, I suppose, out of the building I intend to turn into a guildhall. Mayhaps I'll have use for your smithy in the near future, if there's enough interest." He grinned.