The Dancing Mare Inn & Tavern

The Dancing Mare is the main inn and tavern in High Phelan. They host wrestling competitions and offer prizes to the victors. Many mercenaries stay here when they aren't on jobs to attract potential employers.

Isolde had probably put entirely too much thought into making herself not look like Knight-Commander, but she knew the court would raise hell if she were seen intoxicated. However, she felt like more than anything right now, a good few pints would muddle up her headache so that it would be a dull fuzziness for the night.

A chipper sort of fellow trounced his way down the starwell with a wide smile adorned on his face. Though clearly one of the shortest people in the house, he held himself with a sort of confidence that would challenge a giant (in his case, an average-height human). Taking is sweet time, he made his way to the Dancing Mare's bar, hastily scanning the prey that had adorned themselves upon the many stools.

Clearly, he thought to himself, the gods made this night just ripe for the picking. Of all the individuals whose gold-filled pockets lines these wooden seats however, it was a certain looking girl knocking back what looked like a couple ten coins worth of booze. With the already wide smile getting ever wider, he casually strode towards an empty seat that was placed right next to her, perhaps even by a divine, he thought, and climbed the wooden precipice with the skill of a newborn rhinoceros.

"Good evening," the gnome panted, as suave as he could be. "If the stars weren't aligned as they were tonight, I would be guessing you're here to start something rather... interesting." His voice betrayed the stature of the young gnome; a baritone essence flowed from his panting throat like warm honey onto a morning biscuit.

Behind the tavern's bard sat the other city gnome, a wide-eyed, eccentrically colored trickster with coins spinning 'round the table and an absent-minded look on his face. In truth, he had been watching the woman for quite some time, his eyes trailing from her to the other patrons at random, his fingers dancing about the surface of the table, his cards, and his coins. Drustan, who was still in the habit of introducing himself to folk as Tristan, knew her the woman was, or at least had an undoubted suspicion, and had chosen to remain at a distant until, unless, something went wrong. He had had not a single drink, though he played with his cup as though he had.

His eyes narrowed as he saw the other gnome, first confusion, then shock crossing his face. To the best of his knowledge, there wasn't another of his kind for miles, and yet he was another, shamelessly flirting with the woman he knew to be the knight commander.

Isolde knocked back another shot, though she had clearly surpassed her own tolerance a few shots ago, and the lines of the world around her grew fuzzy. She looked to the gnome, and even through her drunken haze, she knew his game. Though, his confidence surprised her. She wouldn't turn him away yet, anyhow.

"And you read the stars, sir?" She questioned, a sly, cocky, I-know-something-you-don't-know smirk playing on her lips. She sat the shot glass down, careful to put her arm down directly in front of her so as not to miss the bar entirely, "And what sort of interesting could I be starting, hmm?" She tilted her head towards him, a red shimmer following her head as her cropped auburn hair fell by the side of her face.

The bard by the fire played a happy melody, one of a place called Scarborough Fair. It livened the room, and even the candles seemed to dance merrily.

Smiling, his response was at first, not one of speech, but of another audible noise: a snapping of fingers. As he did so, the air darkened above he and Isolde, and from beyond the darkness, the two could easily witness a field of stars, one that seems to mirror the one above the city exactly.

"I do, once in a while," the gnome replied, pointing to a cluster of stars. "If you see this one, m'dear, one can clearly recognize the gnomish constellation of Hapyrus, which represents a sort of... oh, what's the word... sexe chaud about you. In my people's speak, it means 'high adventure.'" As he spoke, he pulled out a few coins from his purse, subtly pulling over the barkeep with a beckoning finger.

OOC: "sexe chaud" means "hot sex."

Isolde couldn't help but blush, though normally she would see through this game, alcohol had clouded her judgement, "I do adventure myself often. Such is true... But, what allure does that bring to you? Your people are more often taken by other pursuits, no?"

The barkeep answered his gesture, joining the two, "What'll it be?"

After asking for two of the same drink Isolde ingested, the gnome distributed what ever amount of coinage the barkeep asked for.

"Adventuring is definitely something we gnomes do love to embark on every so often," he said. "However, our definition fluctuates between many different ventures." He placed a hand into the dark above them and swirled his fingers as if testing the heat of a bath. The stars began to change, forming pictures of various activities. He begins to list off a few terms that he explained fell into the feeble definition: painting, traveling, singing, attending court, maybe even being a guard.

"The best form of adventure," the gnome finally ended up on, "is definitely swordplay." The picture in the faux-sky ended up on a blade illuminated by stars.

Isolde smiled, intrigued, "You wield the blade, sir? I may have to test that myself." She mused, knowing without a doubt that no foe she had encountered bested her with a blade. The still-sober part of her mind hinted that he may be referencing something else, but she shut it up by downing the drink offered to her.

The other gnome gathered up his things, sliding them into his satchel and strolling over. He whistled to the barmaid, currently making her rounds, and gave her an overly flirtatious wink. He'd have to follow through with it, again, he knew, but he had no problem with that. She came over, bringing a rather potent wine and a barrel over to help him up to the bar, where he took the seat on the other side of the commander. Drustan listened in casually, acting as though he cared not what was said and was merely enjoying the view of the patrons; after all, he was sitting with his back to the bar, lounging lazily against it and whistling to the tune of the bard music.

"Indeed, love, indeed I do!" The gnome became excited, though it was obvious it was an excitable state that was controlled by some sort of personal inhibitor. Snapping his fingers once more, the dark sky dissipated, reforming into a blade big enough for gnome to handle into his hand. It was a short sword sheathed in a beautifully colored shade of red, not unlike the color of Isolde's hair, with a gold border adorning it's smaller edge. Symbols of, what looked like, an alchemical sort lined the flat edge.

"I am known as a swordbearer, m'dear," he explained, fiddling with the unsheathed sword in his hand. "Perhaps one of the best from where I come from. Not many can handle the oomph I administer to my prey." He pulled the blade from it's scabbard and waved it toward the bar, exclaiming a manly, "Ha ha!" He does his best to not enrage the working barkeep.

Isolde smirked, "Quite... lengthy for one so small, if you don't mind my saying so. I know much larger men who couldn't handle it to save their souls." She smiled, trailing her finger absentmindedly around the edge of her glass.

From the other side of the woman, Drustan stifled a laugh, understanding without any amount of difficult just what innuendo and truth his fellow gnome was going for. His eyes twinkled as he looked over at her, discreet despite the growing smirk claiming his face. At her words, however, he burst into laughter, spinning himself to face the bar and placing a hand on her shoulder. "My dear Izzy, do you not realize what sort of a stir you are making...?" We winked at her, trailing his fingers gently along the exposed skin of her forum, his smirk widening, flirtatious.

"A stir?" The gnome asked. "Whatever do you mean? I'm only merely demonstrating the prowess a man such as myself possesses to an obvious fellow of swordplay."

Keeping a smile, he made intense contact with his kin's eyes. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" he asked, as cheery and friendly as possible. "Imbécile!"

(("What are you doing? Idiot!"))

Isolde frowned, "Oh, posh, Tristan. I'm merely making friends. Hang the rules." She giggled drunkenly, giddy from drink, and not understanding a word of what the pair spoke.

The man winked back at him, his smirk only growing, a flirtatious purr to his voice as he spoke, "Mon frère, n'est-il pas assez d'elle à part si le temps se poser?" His hazel eyes fluttered back to her, a coyness to his voice, "If we are to hang the rules, ma beauté, may I join in the fun?"

{My brother, is there not enough of her to share, should the time arise?
My beauty}

The gnome laughed wholeheartedly at his kin's vulgar proposition. "Vous bâtard! Je ne veux pas vous embarrasser, mon frère."

He looked back to Isolde, still with a warm smile adorned on his face. "Your friend here is quite a funny man! I'm glad that I can easily share my humor with fellow gnome." He snapped his fingers, magically manipulating the loose strands of hair hanging from the woman's face back behind her ears.

Looking behind the woman, he says to Tristan, "Pour surprendre elle premier, dix pièces."

(("You bastard! I don't want to embarrass you, my brother."
"To surprise her first, ten coins."))

Isolde smirked to Drustan, "Perhaps. I do so enjoy making friends." She teased, turning the smirk back to Claude, "I didn't catch your name though, swordbearer."

The younger smirked, winking back at him and nodding. "Si c'est ce que vous voulez, mon frère, puis dix pièces, il est!" With that, he offered a sip of his wine to the woman, his coyness somehow amplified. "I do believe this would be to your liking, though I shame myself if I am wrong."

{If that is what you wish, my brother, then ten coins, it is!}

Isolde smiled, taking the wineglass, "I cannot refuse your offer, friend." She giggled a bit, not sipping it as much as she chugged it happily, keeping her drunken haze going.

The gnome's eyes widened, shock crossing his face as he eased the cup away from her, downing the rest of it to prevent her from continuing. "Ma beauté, I do believe we should continue our fun elsewhere, lest we anger the 'tender further." He nodded to the other gnome, gesturing towards the stairs, "Allons-nous continuer notre poursuite, ou de reporter notre aventure pour un autre jour?"

(Shall we continue our pursuit, or postpone our adventure for another day?}

Nodding, he turned back to the woman as she sipped her wine. "Claude Etienne, m'dear. Swordbearer and alchemist. And you," he said, motioning to his kin, "are called Tristan? Good name, sir, good name." Claude pulled a small bottle from a pouch on his belt, and began twiddling with it between his fingers.

"Non. Elle est trop ivre. Peut-être un autre temps," he said to the other gnome.

(("No, she is too drunk. Perhaps another time."))

Drustan smirked, another wink following up the gesture as he leaned to the knight commander's ear, whispering softly, the heat of his breath caressing her ear as the soft purr in his voice carried his words. Slowly, he moved away, awaiting her response and shooting the other gnome a coy, overly flirtatious glance.

Claude popped open the small bottle he fiddled with in his hand, and poured its contents into his drink, the white liquid dulling the brown color of the drink. He took the pint and quickly chugged it down with little difficulty. He exhaled a satisfied "ahh" as he placed down the flagon.

Isolde's eyes widened slightly, but she smirked all the while, "You boast. We shall see, sir Tristan."