Meepsie
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It was a hard day for the staff of Yulgar’s inn- and one bartender in particular was feeling it more than most. Fifteen consecutive parties, seven special orders, and two melees… and that was all in the past hour. They had just finished pouring a heavy round of juice for an entire table, and barely had time to wipe sweat off their brow when a voice echoed from the corner of the room.
“Is it my turn yet? I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten about little old me.”
As they searched for the source of the rude remark, the barkeep’s eyes drifted to the furthest stools at the counter, where they laid eyes upon a figure in a gray, ratty cloak. He was definitely older than the inn’s usual clientele, that was for certain- and more experienced, too, if the history scarred across his body was any indication. A closer look at his features revealed them to be relatively bog-standard, as far as grizzled adventurers were concerned. The only exception was his nose, which twitched constantly as the bartender watched on in curiosity. It reminded them of a rabbit, and probably would have been cute if the nose’s owner didn’t appear willing to stab anyone who pointed that out. None of this anything unusual, of course, but the fact that he seemed to have appeared from nowhere certainly was.
Perhaps the geezer had come in through the rear entrance? It was supposed to be for staff only, but with how winding the city streets were, the inn staff never blamed someone who went in the wrong door by mistake. The important thing was, he was here now… and judging by the words coming out of his mouth, had been for quite some time.
“Aren’t you going to take this old man’s order?” he asked, with a tinge of playful impatience in his voice. “Come on over. I don’t bite- not much anymore, at least.”
Charming, thought the bartender. Better get over there before he decides to return to old habits.
Probos Schiss watched the tavern staff with delight as they hurried to his aid. It sounded cruel, but he always relished the luxury of having someone else feed him for a change.
“I’ll take a flagon of Moglinberry juice, the largest size you have. And for the main course… I’m quite interested in that wild boar you have roasting out back.” Pausing for a moment, he sniffed the air briefly. “It’ll be done cooking in a few minutes, right? I’ve always been partial to the loin, but I’ll settle for a shoulder if someone else beat me to it.”
Shuffling in his seat, the figure fished a small purple pouch out of the folds of his cloak. With a flick of his wrist, he gently tossed it towards the countertop, where it came to rest with the clanging of metal on wood. “That should cover the cost of everything,” the figure said with a smirk. “ Let me know if it isn’t… I think I still have a few coins rattling around somewhere in this cape.”
With a sweep of their hand, the bartender moved to collect both the silken carrying case and the heavy pieces of copper within. For someone of this man’s appearance, they noted, he certainly has a nice coin purse. Given the nature of the trinket, as well as the tinges of red that dotted the bottom, there was a strong chance that this wasn’t his money to spend. Still, money was money, so why probe into a gold coin’s previous owner as long as it becomes yours in the end?
“You can keep whatever’s left in there,” he growled. “The bag, too, if you want it.”
DEFINITELY not his, then, the person behind the counter snarked as they turned to face the other needy customers. But, hey… free pouch.
With how many different scents he was picking up throughout the inn, the man wagered, there would be at least one that would resonate with the odor it gave off. As far as he was concerned, the fact that it was the person who took his order just saved him the trouble. With that out of the way, the only matter of business left was simply to enjoy his meal… whenever it came out, at least. Focusing on the smell, as he had learned from previous inn-based outbursts, would only make him crave the lavish loin that he was expecting even further- to the point where he’d probably end up storming the kitchen to grab it as soon as possible. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, and took a hearty sniff of stuffy tavern air. It may have looked strange to some, but for the man himself, it was his favorite part of the night- or any night in town, for that matter.
The Inn was, by all accounts, a melting pot of people from all walks of life. On their paths here, as the old man noted, they each developed their own unique smell- the kind which no amount of hygiene can truly ever wash off. In popular towns like this one, they blended into a fluctuating fragrance that delighted every inch of his nose. He would probably say the best way to describe it all was as a sort of divine potpourri… if the rest of the pack wouldn’t have ridiculed him for using such a ‘high society’ term.
As he drank it all in, the man’s content smile widened, and curved upward into a grin. The hair on his back stood up in delight as it spread across the rest of his body. So many people, so many possible encounters, and so many different scents to memorize. And only one Probos Schiss, tracker extraordinaire, here to experience it all in his true form.
There was no doubt: in one way or another, tonight’s feast would be one to remember.
< Message edited by Meepsie -- 10/7/2023 19:34:53 >
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