Jak sits at the bar fuming after thanking the barkeep for the drink, knowing that it is worthless trying to negotiate with Hara.  The dreamborn had a strong sense of pride and refused to let anyone else push her around, even a little.  I'm done though.  That's it.  I've got a decent stash to work with, but they don't trust me any more, so why bother working with them.  

"How incredibly rude." Nevitash remarks to the bartender as Jak sits silently stewing next to him. He considers confronting the strange figure, but decides against it. He can't draw undue attention to himself, not while he's so close to the grove. They could still find me he thinks, a thought that makes him shiver. He picks at the stew, trying to eat around the meat as much as possible, pausing to glare at Jak for a moment or two, then ordering another glass of the wine.

"You know, its really not quite bad. It rather grows on you after awhile."

 (OOC, I didn't see that you had talked to me.  Sorry!)

Jak looks up when the bartender refuses his coin.  "Huh?"  Feeling Nevitash's eyes burning a hole in him, "Oh, I...  I apologize.  I've had a bit on my mind.  Some seriously frustrating times, actually.  I thank you for the stew.  I apologize for my distractedness.  You say you have some good fortune?  How so?"  Jak sips the drink and you watch as his face becomes more animated, the scowl slowly fading.  It's a bad day, but Jak tries to make things better.

“Right then, I’ll need someone to travel with. Let’s see if horrible social skills have improved at all.”, I’yar stands up with a half smile and picks up his mug of ale, gesturing his mentor to just sit back and observe. He walks to the first bunch of people who look like they have travelled a road, or are capable in surviving what the road has to offer. Setting his mug down, he pulls a stool in with his foot and sits on it. “I’m I’yar. Pleasure to meet you. Are you fine folks, by any chance, going to travel to Buttershine? A little town north from here.”, he tries to appear friendly smiling wide, and perhaps needlessly exposing his sharp teeth again. 

Oltheris looks around at the Tiefling adressing the patrons around him.  "Going?  No. Could I be convinced to go? Most defintely.  Is there something interesting going on there?  I am not really sure what I am supposed to do here anyway.  I am Oltheris by the way.  All I am currently doing now is making sure this fellow doesn't get too drunk."  He nods toward the human sitting next to him.

He grins and winks.  "He might die if he gets too drunk," he whispers in a way that shows he is not trying to whisper at all

(Athletics will do, we’ll call it a Grapple.)

Athletics: 1

Valar tackles the sweating man to the ground as he screams for help.

Valar puts his gun away, and pulls out a large sword, a single pearl sits in the bottom of the hilt, the word Justice  is carved into the blade, and he holds it to the mans throat. "I'll let you live today, but I better not hear from you again. Ya hear?" Valar stands up, straightens out his clothes, and hurries out into the night before the guards can arrive. Angered that he missed his target, and knowing next time will be much harder, Valar heads to the local tavern to cool his head.

“There is a person up in those parts whom I need to talk to. You know, if I go out the Cross alone, I’ll perish by the next pile of horseshit. So, I’m looking for some friends to travel with. Anyone interested? Maybe you can pick up something from the town that you need.”, at this point I’yar addresses anyone not yet fully drunk in the Ghoul. His drink, still untouched, rests on the counter as he sits next to Ollie, his back turned to the barkeep as he looks over the patrons. 

Makariy takes the time to settle into his seat, taking a long swig of his beer as he does, before answering. "Makariy." He replies warily, glancing down at the proffered hand as if he didn't understand the gesture before clasping it. "Thanks." Finally, he thaws, as indicated by a twitch of his lips in what could be an approximation of a smile.

Comforted by the familiarity of the tavern, Makariy leans back to observe the arriving patrons. "Wine." He mutters under his breath as he notes the druid's order, squeezing as much disapproval as he could manage into one word. Almost unconsciously, he raised his tankard to his lips only to find it dry. With a sigh, he nudges the empty mug towards the barkeep. "Top it up?" He suggests, before being reminded of his promise to stay sober. Wincing, he adds, "Maybe just water, for now."

Only after he has his drink in hand does he turn to face the tiefling, although the water remains untouched. "I'm not headed in that direction, but I know of it." He replies guardedly. "Why d'you need to go? Not much going for the place."

“As I said, gotta meet someone and ask some questions”, I’yar slides his full tankard towards Makariy.

The bartender chuckles as he refills Makariy's mug with cold water. "Men with your temperament are generally either scholars or holy men. And you don't look much like much of a-"

He is interrupted by shouts and yells from outside.

"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" The shouts increase in volume as what you presume to be a large crowd nears the tavern.

(DM note: It is an age of fear in Atlas, the main continent of Lunargrimme, and fear breeds prejudice, superstition and ignorance. Magic is fairly common, but those who are accused of practicing dark magic or necromancy are liable to be burned or lynched.)

(No worries at all!)

Like a puppy, Nevitash's resentment immediately fades, replaced by another wave of boyish excitement. "No need to apologize, good sir. I could tell you were deep in thought about an obviously important manner." Nevitash leans forward confidentially. "I have recently uh...liberated myself from a situation I have spent my entire life chafing against. I am drinking to freedom tonight, my friend. A toast, perhaps?"

Seeing I'yar approach others in the tavern, Nevitash is about to respond before hearing the cries outside. "A witch? How exciting. Perhaps the townsfolk have caught a terrifying creature of the night." He stands and drains the second glass of wine. "I think I should like a look. I have heard much of what prowls the night. I would see it up close, now. Especially if it is contained."

Valar is just now reaching the tavern, when he hears the crowd yelling. He turns toward the noise, and tries to figure out what is going on.

"You know what?  I'll toast to that.  I'm hoping that I am also free of something that rankles me, but they managed to get a solid final thump in my ribs." 

"Here's to newfound freedom. "

Jak scowls again, takes a drink, and then smiles.  He offers his hand.  "I'm Jak.  It's a pleasure.  I'm sorry about my... anger.  It's been a rough day. What's your name?"  

The dreamborn's  violet eyes sparkle with interest. "Indeed? Well here is to both of our freedoms, friend." Nevitash takes the offered hand and shakes it heartily, perhaps overenthusiastically. 

"Nevitash. And do not worry about it. I learned in my circle long ago that anger is a useful emotion to have. It often tells you who has your best interests at heart." 

Hearing the commotion outside building, Nevitash can't take it any more and he bounds up from his stool and moves over towards the door. "Forgive me. I have never been in a settlement this large... or any settlement for that matter, and I am eager to learn every aspect of a place like this."

Jak looks over at Hara, knowing that she will likely stay and finish another drink before leaving.  Not wanting to look at that stupid smirk any longer, he gets up and says, "Yeah.  The Cross can be a lot to handle on your first time here.  I grew up in these parts, so I know them fairly well."  Walking over to the door with Nevitash, "Is there anything in particular you want to start with?"

The ghostly Father Wilbur slinks silently through the city, floating through walls and between rooftops, staying out of sight. He attempts to get a view of the "witch," poking his face through the wall of the house he just infiltrated, phasing into its closet.

(I'm just waiting to give everyone a chance to react to the scene before I proceed.)

I’yar gives a concerned look to his mentor, as the grin fades from his face. He looks at his drink that is now an arm’s length from him, and reconsiders his offer, downing it in an instant. Then, he addresses his drink mates, “Excuse me, I will be back in a moment. Please consider my offer in the mean time”, he step out of the bar and begrudgingly walks to see which poor villager they are burning again.

To the Tiefling he says, "Count me in, I am not sure I want to stay around here much longer anyway."

To the wine drinker, "Cries like that are usually not good for the so called witch.  I would like to see this 'witch' as well."

To Makariy, "I knew you could do it friend!  Resist the drink!!  Come, let us see what your neighbors consider a witch."

Oltheris downs the last of his stew, grabs his gear, and steps out into the street behind the other patrons heading to see what the commotion is all about.