Journey in a city

Barroom

The blinding light of the barroom enters the hazel eyes of the father. His eyes adjust as does his nose to the smell of the rotten thatch roof; his steps bow the wood underneath his feet. The mud from outside feels more stable than the dwarven-made floorboards. His sight is met with what he hears: a dwarven bard of decent quality in the back left corner of the room on a lifted platform plays a Talharpa from the mountain to the west of the city. His song calls back to a time of Dragons and that of a family that rose to challenge them. The rest of the room is filled with a familiar sight of two men and a woman near the center of the room playing some sort of card game, a feminine figure in a hood just to the father's right no more than two meters away, another man who looks like an elderly beggar with the fine ability to afford a warm meal, and then the owner, a larger man with four arms and baggy clothes stained with drink, oil, and a hard days work.

Tobias takes a seat at the bar, placing himself to the left of the elderly beggar. Giving the bartender a glance and raising two fingers, the man walks over. With a drastic shift in his weight with each step as if he was a ship on stormy waters, he reaches Tobias, leaning towards him with the exhale of a hefty breath, "We have rooms, drink, warm food, and girls. Whatcha here for?"

"I'll take the drink for now."

"You do have coin for this" The owner leans forward.

Tobias's eyes look up to meet the owner as he slides a silver to the large man. He takes the coin and taps it three times against the beer-stained wood of the bar. With a pleased look on his face, he says "Your coin is good. Name's Wymond the owner of this uh... establishment I be getting your drinks and meeting whatever uh request you might have" He pauses, waiting for a name from the Father. "Tobias" he responds. "Tobias! It's good to see a new face here." Wymond passes him a wooden mug filled with some cheap beer along with a pint for him to continue to fill his mug as he pleases.

Wymond wanders back to the elderly guest picking up the conversation where they last left off, leaving the father alone with his drink.

Looking into the mug, Tobias is met with his reflection in a shade of piss yellow. The subtle waves of the concoction provide distortion to an otherwise normal view. These waves lift the aroma of the drink to fill his nose. The smell of wheat, dirt, and mold provides the texture that supports the atmosphere of the tavern. He grabs the drink, his fingers wrapping around the wooden handle. The feeling of the wood and the mug reminds the hand of quality. Being both sturdy and moveable, however, the age of the wood has taken from the finer details. In that grip, the feeling of small wood chips sinks into his palm. Placing his lips on the rim of the wood, its texture is both comforting and slimy just as the drink slides down his throat. The taste of the drink is that of warm river water with a hint of pepper biting at the end. What the drink lacks in taste it delivers in alcohol. Like that of the night breeze, smooth with no rush, the alcohol spreads evenly through his body.

Everything seems fine enough. Yeah, it's run down. Yeah, there's some shady people. Why was she so worried about this? Just grab your stuff and walk away. Starting some fight can't be worth it for Wymond. Last thing he wants is the screams of a fight to drive off business. This should just be an easy walk out and then we take her to our inn in uptown.

The sound of commotion breaks his concentration. Tobias turns to see his daughter with two leather bags in each hand, a seven-foot-tall man with green skin, muscular arms, and a large beer belly blocking her way further into the barroom. "Wymond!" The green skin man reaches for the daughter. "Don't touch me! Have this man move out of the way! I need to speak with you" the daughter states from across the room. "You have no right to talk CoCo, however, if you do have something to give for your debt then feel free to speak" Wymond responds not breaking his relaxed posture.

"No, it's"

Wymond interrupts "Then you have no need to speak girl, unless you are wanting to stop that maid work and join the other girls. Maybe then you can stop taking from my kindness and make actual payment. Your bags, why are they in the barroom? As if you are on your way out."

"I am"

A tension fills the air, the music stops, even the wind pauses and everyone turns to see what will happen next. "And I know you have my necklace. Once I get it then I will walk out that door." Coco says with determination and a passion in her voice. Wymond scoffs at her words and slowly but surely walks over. His expression is that of a man wondering what to say next, with a thumb scratching his upper lip. He stops at the three steps that divide the dance floor from the bar. "Your kind is such a scarce commodity, but some wonder if you're worth the effort. Retire to your room and I will forget about you calling me a thief." Tobias's breath slows and deepens as he turns to gaze back at his reflection within the mug.

"No, you have..." before she can finish her statement Wymond gives a swift nod to the large green half-orc. His hand swiftly rises in the air; the only notice of the coming impact is the shadow it cast over CoCos' face. The unexpected impact causes CoCo to drop her bags and let out a reflective yelp that pierces the ear and sends a wave through the father's spine. Tobias grips the mug with such force it turns his knuckles white, and a return of the twitch in the palm, however, his face remains expressionless. He spectates the two men overlooking his daughter. CoCo's pose directly contrasts with that of the confidence he saw her walk in with; her gaze, now down to the wooden floor and to the left of the people overlooking her, her left hand touching her right cheek while her right hand holds a guard to block another slap.

After a moment, she collects herself, turning her face upwards, revealing the tears that built up in her eyes, the cut along her cheekbone where the man's ring hit her skin, and a bloody nose from the right nostril. Just as Tobias begins to shift his weight to stand up, he sees CoCo stiffen her left hand for a moment.

Damn, what is she thinking? I knew she couldn't handle this. No, no, no. She has to have a plan. Patience, you have to trust her Tobias, if it was anyone else you would let it play out. Just wait for a signal.

Tobias lets out an extended breath and takes a swig of the drink. He focuses on the weight under his coat and along his hip, the feeling of leather straps pressing into his skin along with the tugging sensation on his clothing. Loosening his grip on the mug his skin returns to its normal pigment, now with a few splinters stuck to his callus palm. In the corner of his eye, he can see his daughter adopt a defiant stance with her white pupil forming a shape that was similar to both a snake and a human. "...Have my necklace." CoCo says with blood still coming from her nose.

Wymond shakes his head at her response "This effort is no longer profitable. Ur." The half-orc nods. Wymond begins his walk back to the bar while Ur looks down on CoCo. Her feet spread and her hand shoots behind her back to grab a dagger from its sheath, along with one leashen with a blade made of bone appearing behind her back, coiled and ready to strike. However, a moment of hesitation stops the otherwise fluid movement. The man maintains a broad expression while his amber eyes stay locked onto her. The woman at the card table whispers, "Don't do it, girl."

A brief flash of movement with their hands and the two bodies are brought to the back of the room where the entrance to the bedrooms is. With a large crash, the cracking of wood, pictures falling from the wall, sending dust from the roof all over the building to the floor, and a larger cry of pain from the daughter, Ur has CoCo pinned against the wall by the neck. One hand wraps around her throat while the other grabs the wrist of her right hand which still has the dagger. Her eyes expand as the breath leaves her body. Her one free hand claws, an attempt to free herself from the grasp, leaving only small red marks that do not break the skin. While her feet flail about, either trying to find a footing or kick her assailant, her leashen provides the best offense, giving several small cuts but as the grip tightens her strikes weaken.

She spits in an attempt to breathe. Blood and mucus mix on the chin, building upon the hands of Ur. Tobias leaves his seat, sending it crashing to the floor, eyes locked on to Ur.

"Oh?"

"Mistress."

"Shall I?"

"Contribute to?"

"Suffering?"

"..."

"I Shall."