An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Lykourgos XI: Taproom Dealings

Lykourgos XI: Taproom Dealings

The Fifteenth Day of the Ninth Moon, 873 AD.
The Soldier's March, Owkrestan-Triarian Borderlands, Klironomea.

The ride to the Three Lambs inn took him only a few days, for he was travelling light and alone. At first he'd thought he might be headed to the wrong place, but according to a few locals when he'd asked around the 'Evergreen Layman' had changed its owner and name some years ago now. Lykourgos supposed that King Thrytas must not have known before setting out, but it made little difference to him. He was hardly going to turn back now, not seeing as he was already here. Because he didn't want to be stopped or seen along the road he wasn't exactly regally-dressed either, and neither were his guards. They were wearing some light armour, mostly a dull studded leather like his brother's battle-dress, since he didn't want any of them to be completely unprotected, and they all carried blades on their person. He had all five of his on him right now, as a matter of fact. He looked... not poor, but certainly not rich either. He'd caught a glance of himself in a pool of clear water whilst riding yesterday, and he looked like a relatively average, if well-equipped and well-kempt, sellsword. The letter he'd been sent hadn't left his pocket since he'd set off, for he was worried the Triarian king wouldn't believe that he was Prince Lykourgos, but somehow he doubted that would be an issue. How many people were sent missives by a king unless the man knew who they were in advance?

He came to a stop as the inn came into view, dusk settling across the land, and nodded at the men to his side.

"Elanulo, make sure the men are ready to move at a moment's notice. It's unlikely we'll be camping here or staying at the inn tonight, for one reason or another."

"Your will be done, your Grace."

The knight in sellsword's garb banged a leather-clad fist to his chest in a gesture of respect and supplication, then turned to make good on the orders he had been given. He still had the guards with him, so he hadn't completely disregarded all advice, but showing up with them to this meeting was likely to give off the wrong impression.

He continued riding on and dismounted his mare swiftly as he drew closer to the building, patting the side of her mane affectionately as he flipped a silver crow to an ostler over at the side. The young man scrambled for the coin and diligently began shovelling fresh hay out into a small stall.

"A feed bag for her as well, ostler. Oats. You'll be tipped for it, don't worry."

The young man nodded hurriedly and made to see to Lykourgos' mount, and so with an acknowledging nod he walked inside. The inn itself was nothing special, just a small taproom with a few tables off to one side away from the door and a wall of ale barrels at the far end. There was the faint smell of cooked meat wafting from a room towards the back, and a small stairwell leading up to what he presumed would be a small number of rooms for overnight stayers.

"Greetings, traveller!"

The voice of the innkeeper was jovial, but cautious. Lykourgos wasn't surprised, for there probably weren't many innkeepers that were happy to see sellswords in their taverns and taphouses. They paid good money and drank a good deal of booze, but they also had a tendency to make a nuisance of themselves and start fights. He had no intention of doing any such thing however, so he was certain the innkeeper would be put at ease soon enough. There were a few people sat at tables around the room, but not many. He counted five people sat at the moment, and another two stood with mugs of ale by the barrels at the other side of the room. He turned his gaze back to the innkeeper, who looked at him quizzically.