The Raven
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Post by The Raven on Aug 27, 2016 17:29:47 GMT
An hour's walk from Harrentown due north sits the Unlucky Crab. Originally the abode of a Ser Walder Honeyspoon, it currently belongs to his supposed nephew Robb Honeyspoon. Robb claimed the property shortly after the old knight's death in battle, and has converted it from stately holdfast to a house of ill repute and even more ill digestion.
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 28, 2016 1:33:50 GMT
Kyle had a few hours to spare, so he walked the three miles one day after his lovely meeting with the fat knight. He gave the place a cursory glance for the outside but was more concerned with the inside of the establishment. He heads to the bar and orders the best spirit they have.
observation: 40
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The Raven
Administrator
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Joined - December 2015
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Post by The Raven on Aug 28, 2016 11:48:07 GMT
(Success. 1 point awarded.)
Around the house sits a tall stone barrier and a sturdy but open gate, no doubt a souvenir of the war. Kyle manages to avoid stepping in the vomit but two feet in front of the Unlucky Crab's front door, which squeaks from lack of care. One of the shutters is missing. The tavern area must have once been intended as a proper noble's hall, for Robb Honeyspoon commands far more space than Kyle. There are certainly more customers, but these are not like the humble townsfolk that frequent the Lonely Ghost. The innkeeper knows professional highwaymen when he spies them, and they spy him in return before seeming to pay no mind.
Kyle sees two women working the crowd, both clearly exhausted. The younger, a lass with braided red hair, serves Kyle something that was probably ale before being watered down.
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 28, 2016 19:22:01 GMT
Kyle looks about with a practiced disinterest, then drinks the swill slowly. He had an instinctive dislike for those who didn't care for their place's upkeep, whether thief or in keep he had always been rather professional about appearances. He looks about for someone who seems alone. He'd like to chat before getting too far.
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The Raven
Administrator
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Joined - December 2015
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Post by The Raven on Aug 29, 2016 18:42:27 GMT
He sees two candidates. One is some sort of knight, judging by the slightly rusted plate and the fact the more unsightly patrons avoid him. The stranger nurses a drink while reading some kind of map Kyle can't make out. The other choicd is an older man playing dice alone in his dirty clothes. He almost certainly works the earth, though whether gardener or farmer or miner, it is hard to say.
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 29, 2016 20:13:07 GMT
Kyle has a few coins to waste, so he heads to the lonely man. "Mind if I roll some bones?" He asked. "Brutal cold out, and this swill ain't warming me up much."
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The Raven
Administrator
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Joined - December 2015
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Post by The Raven on Aug 30, 2016 17:39:48 GMT
The old man's face brightened beneath the graying beard. "Certainly! Perhaps yer knuckles can do with a bit of warmin' too. Folks call me Ned." He set the dice in the center of the table for inspection. "Have a gander so ye know I'm not cozenin' ye. Now where are ye from? Harrentown?"
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 30, 2016 17:42:57 GMT
Kyle gives them a test roll for form's sake; the old man could have all his coins he'd brought if he learned something. "Not originally," he said, "but war's given many of us new homes. I live there now, though," he said. He places a copper on the table. "Your roll, Ned. My knuckles are too frozen to start up." He looked about. "So what do you do around here, then? When you're not taking all the gamblers' money?"
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The Raven
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Post by The Raven on Aug 30, 2016 18:31:22 GMT
"Farmin'. I tilled the earth for old Ser Walder afore the war killed 'im. Now 'is nephew trades me drinks for food. Cabbages, maters, and the like."
The dice were carved from yellowed bone, but despite their peculiar origin, rolled as they should.
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 30, 2016 19:11:44 GMT
"Well that's nice of him," Kyle said, watching him roll. "Place seems like it's seen some interesting times. Was it always a taver?"
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The Raven
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Post by The Raven on Aug 30, 2016 20:55:48 GMT
Ned clearly possessed technique, but not the guile to truly profit. "Not at all. 'twas Ser Walder Honeyspoon's home. He owned everything for twenty acres in honor of the Lothstons. When he died, Robb showed up and said he was the last livin' kin. Now, he didn't get the land itself, but no one begrudged him the house. Well, except Martin down at the Knight's Respite, because his family had always been the local innkeepers."
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 30, 2016 20:58:54 GMT
Kyle nodded. "Heard of the place, he said. "Guess it suffered an accident. A horse kicked a candle over or some such?" He went with a wrong story; rumor mangers love correcting naive newcomers. He took a roll of the dice.
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The Raven
Administrator
Posts - 1,119
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Joined - December 2015
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Post by The Raven on Aug 30, 2016 21:31:19 GMT
Kyle's six to Ned's ten meant the old man had four new coppers in his pocket, so he was in a fine mood. The old man lowered his voice. "If it were a horse that started that fire, I'd wager it's still drinking for free." He tilted his head slightly towards the table of ruffians Kyle had spied earlier. "Martin's lucky his family were living in Harrentown at the time. Red Eels aren't ones to care about coh-ladder-ole damage."
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Post by Ethan Flatrivers on Aug 30, 2016 23:39:35 GMT
"Red Eels," Myle said. "How ominous." He thought a second. "If I had a job that needed doing, who would I talk to to find one of these...eels?" He asked. "Or, if I wished to avoid future trouble with the same sort of men."
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The Raven
Administrator
Posts - 1,119
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Joined - December 2015
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Post by The Raven on Aug 31, 2016 14:53:37 GMT
"Well..." He held the dice idly in his hand without rolling. "Skinner Jon is the Lord Paramount if you take my meaning, but in these woods, you'll want Hal. He's the Andal fellow with the blonde beard near the bar. Smells like old perfume."
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