His head hanging just a bit low, Daron took sidelong glance at his kind of mentor when the venerable demon hunter caught up to him. Without really thinking, he nodded at Reynard's suggestion, figuring he'd had more experience in this 'field' as well. "You really think so..?" A realization quickly dawned on the young cleric, eyes widening slightly he laughed nervously while avoiding eye contact. "W-Wait, what? Impress her, why would I want to do that? I, er, just always like having a chance to spread the good word, eh-eheh..." his chuckling didn't take long to morph into another sigh, knowing there was no way Reynard was going to believe him at this point, not after blundering out what he had.
Could you blame him, though? The way things were back at the cathedral, he had very few chances to interact with the fairer sex; while most male acolytes became a part of the physical arm of the order, becoming clerics and templars that fight to rid the world of darkness and all that, the womenfolk were generally a part of the spiritual side, priestesses who spread the good word of Selros and taught the common people of his ways. Not to say there weren't men who became priests or women who became warriors of the light, but that's just how it had always been... and aside from mass the two sides never interacted much, the templars spending most of their time training in the courtyard while the priestesses learned what they could from the old texts.
Having been lost in his thoughts for some time, Daron nearly walked straight into the stone hitching post outside the tavern. Startled by the sudden obstacle in his way, he halted with his face a few inches away from the cold slab. His gaze flew to the side just in time to see Olfina standing at the doorway and grinning at him, amused by his near blunder. Squinting his eyes, he returned the grin with reddened cheeks, embarrassed by his clumsiness. Shaking her head, her hand went to take ahold of the handle belonging to the heavy wooden door that barred their passage inwards.
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The interior of the Rickety Gallows Inn was less cheerful than one would hope from a tavern; dimly lit by hanging lanterns, the white stone (from which the building was crafted with) walls stained with dirt and what one would hope was ale, the wooden floors and counter top matching the unkempt decor of such. While the main room was mostly empty barring a few miserable looking patrons sitting at neglected oak tables, there was one particular corner where a group of grim looking soldiers sat in silence, idly sipping their mead.
While they donned the standard light armor of the Reim military, (dome-shaped helmet, iron breastplate, leather boots, tabard and chainmail), their tabards, rather than being primarily blue and bearing the symbol of the crown, instead were dyed black and emblazoned with the sigil of Memento, a white tree with countless long winding branches that intertwined with one another.
More noticeable than their armor were their various stages of injury, however, one bearing a bloody head bandage that covered his right eye while another seemed to have his arm in a sling, while the last was just covered head to toe in scars, some old and some new.
The stillness of the tavern would swiftly be broken by the front door swinging open, bringing in what little light the overcast skies brought through, every patron looking up from their misery at the sudden commotion. Striding in confidently, Olfina let her spear rest on a nearby weapon rack, turning her attention to look around at the dismal setting, hands on her hips. "Well, you lot look as depressing as usual." There was a short moment of uncomfortable silence... then a sudden, unexpected uproar of laughter came from the people.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Olfina!" the heavily scarred soldier replied loudly, getting up from his seat and ambling his way on over. "Done tending to your grandpa's carrots and potatoes, then?" Grinning, the redhead closed the gap between herself and the guardsman, crossing her arms in feigned disapproval. "You know I haven't held a plow in months, Garent. Been too busy doin' the job you and your boys are supposed to be good at!" While a stranger might've taken that as an insult, the soldier laughed it off as a jest; it didn't take much to see that the two were good pals.
"What brings you here then, love? Tired of waiting for me to pop the question so you're gonna do it instead?" Rolling her eyes, Olfina shook her head with a chuckle. "You would be so lucky. No, we're here for something else..." she motioned back to the doorway just as Daron walked through, looking about at his surroundings. Garent tilted his head to get a better look at the lad, still grinning he raised a brow. "Oh, I get it now. You like the pretty boys, eh? Well I'm glad you found yourself a man, at least." The grizzled soldier winked at Daron, who could only blink back at the accusation he'd cast, not realizing it was a joke. "W-What, no, we're not-"
Cutting Daron off, Olfina scoffed, pushing on Garent's chest playfully, though the beaming smile never left her expression. "Well I'd consider any man who doesn't have a face like a butcher's block pretty when compared to you." Again, the insult only brought another roaring laugh from Garent, along with the two other soldiers who'd heard her. "But no, that's not why we're here. You seen that airhead of a mage around today? We need to talk with him."
Garent scratched his chin, thinking it over for a moment. "Nathaniel? Nah, can't say I have. Bertran would probably know, he's always bossin' the poor lad around." Olfina looked back, calling out to Daron (and Reynard if he was present).
"You hear that? Go talk to the innkeeper. I'm gonna have me a pint before we hit the road." Not giving them a chance to respond, both soldier and farmer's daughter clapped their arms around eachother's shoulders, cheerily finding their way back to the table where the other guardsmen sat to partake in a bit of much needed mirth the tavern had previously lacked.