Scoundrels of Xoth: the Dream Thieves

Looking around"What is going on around here? Barkeep!!!" Hanford shrugs"Is there a town meeting or something?"

"Borz" as the other mercs had called him upon realizing there was no one to serve him and his desperate thirst hops over the counter and begins to sniff at amphorae looking for something decent to drink.

He wore a warshirt, and carried an executioner's greatsword. Borz hadn't spoke, he was either mute or just didn't understand the local language. It didn't make a difference, he was on the payroll to kill things. Which he had done judiciously, only the last week, someone had touched the sword. Borz had beaten the unfortunate man to death with his bare hands howling like a wolf as he had done so.

One needed only see the brutal efficacy of his attacks to realize that the man loved to kill. The grin of ecstasy on his face as he had literally crushed the man's skull only served to prove that.

Right now, he looked bored. And Borz was at his most dangerous in such a state.

Eloras looks around silently. Sitting between a missing bartender and a bored executioner is not peaceful enough.

He stands up and walks around, looking around, noticing the spiders that are everywhere, but he doesn't ask them anything yet.

He sniffs the air, keeping an eye on the door in case someone moves too quickly or too deftly.

Borz finding a stoppered amphorae of wine lifts it to his lips and takes a generous swig. Then restoppers it and holds it aloft for his compatriots. "Wine. Good!" He says in his broken Taraamite - it was the first thing he had said in weeks, and hard to disagree with his assessment. Placing the clay vessel aside he begins to look for any store of coin that the missing keeper had left behind. He only had aught with thievery when it was directed against him. Otherwise, unattended coin was his by right.

"Ahh, I will take a swig of that. Got to wash down the dust of the road." Hanford figures if they cared they would lock the door when they were out.

Without seeing any direct traces of what was here or what happened, Eloras turns towards the steps leading upwards.

"I'll look upstairs. And after that, the roof is an even better vantage point." he tells them in Taraamite.

"Ah. Up. Come back. Five minutes." Borz nodded and pointed to the ceiling. He found a modest purse behind the counter and jingled it. Grinning like a bandit. "Where, Nox?" He directed the question to Hanford who was remaining inside so far. Borz may have been a ruthless killer, but he was highly protective of the pack.

Borz went back to searching for intelligence now. He didn't expect to find much. Maybe a ledger of people with past due tabs open. But any indication of economic power would be useful to his liege.

Hanford will start looking around for some food"You know Nox. Probably got lost coming through the door."

Borz makes a gesture that implies masturbation and chuckles. "Long road here." He suggests with a croak. Returning to the wine he takes another large gulp. "Nox miss out. Good wine." Placing the near empty vessel back down carefully he leans against a wall and grabs a knife from the galley, leaning against the wall he starts honing the edge of his sword. "Borz itch for fight. Or for woman. Both best. Long road." He reiterated his point earlier about the needs of travelling and rest.

Noxmorte hangs back as the others make their way though the empty streets. They enter the tavern and he can hear Hanford's call for the barkeep. Moments later as he hears they conversational tones, he begins to approach and pauses for a dog to enter. He wonders briefly if that's the culture around here. He enters behind the dog and surveys the room.

Borz looks at the dog and considers its state. He had often found, especially in the far flung corners of the world dogs to be an excellent indicator of a people's disposition.

This dog was not afraid of strangers, it was very curious of them. With no one around that behavior was suspicious. His experience raiding had taught him to be wary of lone dogs in abandoned villages, they had more often than not developed a taste for human flesh.

Then again, it could just be a very nice dog. But Borz had little hope of that.

Eloras wrinkles his nose and quickly scans all the rooms, his hand on his knife in case anyone wants to get physical.

If he finds no one and nothing, he goes back to the first room.

"Good dog."

Borz said it his thick accent. Hunkering down he clicks his tongue and holds out his hand palm up to the dog. "Kommeheire." He commands in his native tongue.

Noxmorte skirts around the dog and heads behind the bar. He's looking for some wine that hasn't been shared by his fellows and maybe the coin box. "Nap time or not, the inn should have a keeper. Not seeing one is a bad sign fellows. We should be on our guards."