MAN: COMMON DIALOGUE #1
The man accepted their company.
Owyn chatted idly with the rough looking fellow as Gorath looked on, making certain that in his ebullient mood the magician didn't slip and give away the true purpose of their travels.
"So, where are you headed?" the man asked, describing a large arc with his ale cup. "Anyplace interesting?"
"Actually, we're not headed in any specific direction," Gorath intervened. "We're wandering. Looking for an employer. Treasure to watch, caravan to guard..."
The man snickered. "Or a caravan to steal from, eh? Freebooters then. Well, theres not much going on in the Kingdom these days, not in the west. The Prince has seen to it his roads are safe and his vassals happy. For the likes of us, he's taken all the fun out of life."
Locklear nodded. "You're not the first one to say so."
MAN: COMMON DIALOGUE #2
Locklear cleared his throat.
Glancing up from the business of cleaning his fingernails with a bootknife, the man regarded them frostily, motioning with the tip of his knife for them to quickly make their business known.
"That's a very nice knife. Keshian isn't it?" Locklear commented carefully. "Where did you chance to purchase it?"
The man smiled, showing uneven brown teeth. "Who said I bought it?"
"Ah," Gorath said, taking hold of Locklear's shirtsleeve. "Well. I think my companion here promised me a drink before we came in and I think it's well nigh time I collected on it. Good day to you. Perhaps we can speak again."
MAN: COMMON DIALOGUE #3
A table was cleaned for them.
Sitting down on an splintered bench across from the man, Locklear shared a bit of the mercenary's bread as he listened to a story about a failed love affair with a married woman. As the story progressed from a sentimental recounting to a drunken blubber, it became evident the man had no intention of finishing the tale any time soon.
"That's terrible," Locklear intoned a round a mouthful of bread, his attention fixed instead on the wooden boards behind the mercenarys head. "Awful. Tragic..."
"Ah, there you are," a steward said, laying a heavy hand on Owyn's shoulder. "Are you lads still going to help me carry in those bags like we talked about?"
Initially at a loss, but suddenly understanding they had been rescued, Owyn clapped his hands together. "Yes, yes, of course. If our drinking companion will forgive the absence."
Blearily the man looked up at them and nodded, waving for someone to come and fill his cup.
MAN: COMMON DIALOGUE #4
The man scowled.
Apparently far more intent on something going on across the common room, he seemed uninterested in Locklear's repeated attempts to chat. At last he glanced up and gave an exasperated sigh. "What exactly do you want?"
"Just a little friendly talk," Locklear said with a companionable smile. "News, gossip, a song perhaps..."
"Well, go and find a bloody jongleur then and leave me be. I've got better things to do than entertain every jackaboot that comes through that door."
MAN: RARE DIALOGUE #1
Locklear slapped the man on the back.
Immediately he regretted doing so as the mercenary gasped, his face contorting into a mask of pain.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize... Is your shoulder broken?" Locklear asked.
"Don't worry yourself about it," the man spat between gritted teeth. "I haven't exactly made the fact known." A faint popping sound issued from the man's back as he moved his shoulder, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "I was a courier for the dwarves. I reasoned there would be less chance a brigand would try to intercept me if he wasn't aware I was injured."
Locklear nodded sympathetically. "Did you break it in a fight?"
"No, a fall," the man said. "Stupid man I am, I was in the dwarven caves and I came to this pit -- part of the caves had collapsed so there were all kinds of sinkholes everywhere. Since there wasn't a plank I could walk over and I didn't have any kind of rope...I jumped. I think if I had the chance to make the decision again, I'd have waited until I got my hands on a coil of hemp."
MAN: RARE DIALOGUE #2
The man kept Locklear laughing.
After a string of bawdy tales about mercenaries and blushing maidens, he launched into a tale about a lord's daughter he'd once tried to win, though with quite a bit of resistance from a man named Luc.
"He demanded to arm wrestle you for the girl?"
"Actually, no. Alas, it was the girl's idea," the man sighed.
"I'd have strangled her!" Locklear said with a laugh, holding his sides. "Ah well, I don't suppose you can win them all."
"Oh but I did win," the man continued, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "The girl knew Luc was the strongest man in the village and so did I, had known it for several days once I'd found out who all her possible suitors were. Any way, I had visited an herb shop and picked up a vial of some wonderful stuff called Fadamor's Formula, a potion which I'd heard mercenaries say helped sustain their strength during long fights. I waited until a few moments before the contest before downing it because I knew it would last only a short while. I marched in, sat down at the table, and very nearly took the poor fellow's arm off. When it seemed his personal honor was at stake, I took him aside and told him I would let him soundly beat me in front of everyone and let him have the girl if he gave me half the amount of the dowry. Half an hour later, I was a very wealthy man."
MAN: RARE DIALOGUE #3
The man belched.
Though not initially in the most companionable mood, he eventually gave in to Locklear's attempts to make conversation and told a story about a foiled robbery thanks to the sword skills of his brother-in-law.
"Sounds like it's lucky you had him along," Locklear said.
"Hmm. Probably, but if he hadn't been out looking for one of those bloody damned fairy chests, we'd have been to LaMut on time. Could've watched Earl Kasumi and the rest of those Tsurani warriors of his humiliating Baron Gabot's men in the archer's tourney. That must have been quite a sight, especially since the Baron himself is generally considered an archer only second to Duke Martin of Crydee."
"Fairy chests?" Locklear interrupted.
"Treasure chests," the man clarified with a scowl. "Not that I ever believed we would find one, but he says they are usually hidden in out of the way fields or back in little canyons. Only a damn fool would believe something as stupid as that, but I suppose I should expect as much from any husband of my sister."
MAN: RARE DIALOGUE #4
The mercenary demanded ale.
Initially suspicious of Locklear, he began to loosen up as his drink took hold, speaking eventually at length about his colorful career as a Midkemian freebooter.
"So, how did you get the scar?" Locklear said, commenting on the red slash which traced the man's jawline. "Escaping from a Quegian press gang?"
"Nothing so daring," the man laughed, speaking into his ale cup. "Though I shall have to remember that one when next I have the chance to show it off at court. No, I simply ran afoul of a group of bravos who were bucking for a reward at the Mac Mordain Cadal. They didn't wish to have the competition and so we had...words."
"Must have been pretty sharp words, Locklear said. "What was the reward for?"
The man shrugged. "Some monster the dwarves called a Brock Noor or something of that nature. Apparently they couldn't split up their time between trying to kill the thing and digging out a mine shaft collapse the thing had caused. So, they called in mercenaries for help."
MAN: RARE DIALOGUE #5
The common room grew quiet.
Turning so his face could only be seen by the man whom he had approached, Locklear greeted the man loudly, then pitched his voice lower, "Are you a swordsman or a storyteller?"
A smirk appeared on the man's lips. "And what makes you think I am either?"
"Because when a common room falls this unnervingly quiet, it means the locals expect either a fight or a tale," Locklear muttered. "So which is it to be?"
Looking down at the counter near his elbow, the man sighed. "Seeing as how I've left my sword at home and I've only a butter knife at my immediate disposal...I suppose a tale to pass the time would be more prudent at this juncture."
Mostly his stories were about battles, large and small, fought sometimes for fame and glory but always for the coin of the right color. He had travelled up and down the Kingdom of the Isles, but never had he found a minute's peace in any place that he slept. When at last he had come to the conclusion of his storytelling, he thanked Locklear for listening then stumbled off looking for something closely resembling a bed.