Fire And Gallows

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Vulnus

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(Fire and Gallows takes place in the world of Lon-Gar, which translated from Mage tongue to English means Iron Wall. The Third Empire is at war with Geth (English: Death), a country full of sentient undead. The closest town to the front owned by the Empire is Wind-Lore, and it is the army's staging area.
Any fantasy race is cool, and you can make your own.)

Harrow sighed adjusted the bandages around his mouth. He hated them, but they were necessary to keep his decaying flesh together. He looked around at the oblivious bar patrons, none of whom knew he was an undead.
The wonder of spells was that you could become a new person if you worked them properly.
A glamor to change appearance, another to hide your scent, and then an illusion to change your voice. Of course Harrow only used two of these, and with an expertise that required years of practice. Practice that he had acquired to make others comfortable around him.
 
"Trouble, those bandages are aren't they?" came a voice from beside him.

It was a rogue, the creature beside Harrow was fairly small at the most two or three feet tall, it was clothes in tattered trousers and a chainmail shirt with a red tunic, with a belt going around its waist and over the chest.

The face was that of a fox, in fact it was a fox!

"Dah names Allegretto." He said holding out his paw "I'm from a small village deep within the valley of Krona Fora. Just outside of the Blood Mountains....you are?"
 
A tall paladin strode in, gleaming in polished plate mail with the cross-shaped pommel of a bastard sword showing above his shoulder. He removed his helm and held it under his arm, exposing a cropped military haircut and piercing brown eyes. He scanned the room briefly, but if he took any notice of the well-hidden undead he didn't show it. The sunburst holy symbol around his neck was plain evidence of his profession, a soldier of the church in the endless fight against the forces of evil and corruption. He would surely strike down any undead without thinking twice if he were aware.

He paced to the bar, his spurs clinking. Setting his helm on the scarred wooden counter top, he ordered a stein of ale and took the seat on the other side of the fox, flicking a copper coin out of one hand to make it spin in a short circuit to be caught in the other.
 
Suddenly, the bar's doors opened once again, and a hooded man in brown and dark red leather armor entered the room and slowly approached the counter.

His lower part face was covered with a dark red cloth bandana and he was wearing some peculiar glasses, possibly made by a dwarven hand, giving him a strange look while concealing his identity from the others. But not from Harrow. He knew who that man was. He met him before, way back before this bloody war even started.

"Brandy, please." When this mysterious man has spoken, the undead mage was clear of doubts: it was him.

(Yup, Vulnus, he is back, and he is less of an a-hole than ever! Also, wouldn't you mind if he and Harrow were on somewhat friendly terms with each other? Also sorry for the low quality of the post. :/)
 
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The battle-torn warrior slowly rode into the town, alone and bloodied. He caught a few stares at him, but they quickly looked away. His black horse snickered as a kid stopped in the road to stare at the knight's bloodied sword, hung on his hip. Moving aside before he was trampled by the horse, the kid ran towards the market area. Reaching the tavern, the warrior slide off his horse and tied it to the post before pushing himself inside. His heavy metal boots echoed loudly in the small tavern, but the coin pouch echoed louder as he tossed it onto the counter. "Bartender, give me your strongest drink." his young, exotic voice said full of sorrow and grief.

​
 
Allegretto lowered his paw when he noticed so many strong and power beings walked in. A Rogue like himself was no match to them.

'Whoa, I wonder if any of them dealt with the wars...." he said under his breath.
 
Harrow looked over at Alegretto. "Sorry, lost in thought. They call me Harrow. As far as the wars, well I'm here to visit a friends grave, so I wouldn't know." He said, then looked around the room.
"I am from a place gone from this world, burned to ash by mage fire. Burned by the very mages who once called it home."
Harrow looked back down at the table, one hand lowering down towards his knife as he saw a familiar man. d

(OOC is here: https://www.iwakuroleplay.com/threads/fire-and-gallows-ooc-plot-discussion.66857/ )
 
The mysterious man noticed the undead's intentions and just said:

"There's no need for that, my old friend." when he received his drink, he pulled down his bandana and took a sip from it.
 
Harrow's hand rested on the knife, and he looked at the man. "You're retired." He said, a note of distrust in his voice.
 
"Well, I was retired until I realized that sedentary life wasn't for me." he calmly took another sip of brandy. "And I would suggest you to leave that knife alone, because I'm not here to kill you or anything."
 
Harrow was just as impressive as all the other men who entered the bar. He hoped that he too would be as great as them! His ears twitched amused as he drank down the rest of his mead.
 
"The what brings you here?" Harrow asked Crimson, relaxing a little.
He stood, looked at the others at the table. "What brought any of us here? The war?" He asked the table in general.
 
"I ended up here just by an accident. I wasn't planning to find you here at all; not only that, but I also thought that you have already died (no offense). But anyway, right now I'm just aimlessly wandering around the lands, helping people when needed. That's all I can say right now." Crimson took another sip of brandy.
 
Frank to a fault, the paladin remarked, "You look more like a thief than a charity-peddling monk, friend."

He swigged a draught of ale, absentminded spinning around the chunky gold ring on his index finger with a levering motion of his thumb.
 
"Don't judge people by their looks, they say..." Crimson said while finishing his drink.
 
"I suppose not. These days the truly evil men are in the halls of power, and we below wait for the moves of their game pieces to wreck our lives."

He drained his ale and signalled for another.

Looking at Harrow, he canted his head toward Crimson and asked, "You two fought in this war?"
 
"No, not me anyways. We've met way before this "war" has even started. So we are technically old allies."
 
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"I fought in one battle, but I never signed on with an army." Harrow says, closing his eyes for a moment before looking over at Crimson. "Old allies indeed. Though we had our share of disagreements."
 
The armored man smirked, raising his fresh-filled stein to the pair of them, "To a happy reunion at the end of the world. Perhaps I shall meet some ghosts as well before it's through."

He slapped the nearby fox on the back, with a bit too heavy of a hand than strictly necessary.

"What of work? You'll forgive me for saying you two have the look of hired swords. I'd welcome some news of coin to be made."
 
Harrow looked at the Paladin with a measure of curiosity. "I know of a man whom may or may not have work for us. He's a merchant, a new one to this town. With the front of the war moving ever closer to our present location he may wish to leave, but with bandits about he will need caravan guards." Harrow said, glancing towards Crimson for a second.
 
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