Percival clasped the door frame of the pub door as he ambled in. The room was dim, and as the bar was swept by his rather riled up twin a cloud of dust filled the air. The Loyal Leutzman was an old pub, it had ran for a decade, owned by the once Lord Anton Ravenstad. The air wasn't the only thing dusty, a thick layer of faded brown dust littered the place from table to pitcher. The conversation was as equally aged as the old establishment: Percival walked in upon an argument, one over the pub's last period of open door service.
"So what?" Anton spoke with a splutter from his lips as he almost spat his words from his mouth. Arthane sat in a nearby booth face grinning wry as he wound up the old barkeep. "You know I hadn't the choice in the matter. When those Elves were the only clientele I couldn't boot them out! They were bringing in coin. It's economics you fat bastard!" Anton clamored with rage, "Besides, this time it might be different". Arthane furrowed his reverendly brows then gave his gullet a good eye.
"We're not gonna catch this Jacobin if you lot keep degrading our unit moral." Percy piped in, calm as ever as he pulled out a creaking chair to sit himself down, "What's this about Elves?" the knight inquired as his eyes traced them for response. Arthane let out an aged cackle, his arm hung lazily off the side of the booth. "I'm telling him. He better not fill this place with Elves like He did last time." Arthane mustered, his words coated in a juxtaposing sense of stern jesting.
Anton let a huff of air out of his nostrils as he chucked the dusty rag to the back of the kitchen. The barkeep undid his apron and threw it aside as well. He thumped out towards the two, collapsing into a nearby chair... "We're the children of a bygone age, lads..." Anton offered faintly. The atmosphere sobered at that: all of them had felt in some way that their time had passed, some more than others. The streets felt different, not like the ones they wandered all but a few years past. "You don't think I yearn for those days when things felt fucking normal? Spirit, back when I didn't know what a bloomin' Kathar even was?" He rambled red in the face. "When I held a coronet on my head! When I could do the things I find so voiding hard these days! But..."
"at the end of it all, we're gonna die among strangers." Anton simmered at that, his rasping voice calmly fading into acceptance. "There's no changing it now. Grey strangers, stout strangers, scaled strangers, green strangers... If I'm honest, I don't recognize this city anymore. And when I lay my eyes on this place for the last time, I won't recognize it either."
"When you fall in love with something in this place, you can bet your tenpence it'll be gone by the years end. But if you don't scamper off, something'll come and replace it. It's the way of things". Anton leaned back in his chair, flinging his feet onto a nearby bar stool and clasping at his pint which had lingered on the counter nearby. "But hey! Here's one to normality! May she rest in peace." He ushered as he raised his pint glass, it's contents sloshing. "These outlanders might not know of Regalia like we used to. But I'll make do with them. Least the ones who don't have a taste for treason." He tipped his pint glass down his throat, emerging with an empty vessel and a layer of foam on his upper lip.
Percival remained in a stunned silence for a moment, standing and pushing his chair aside. "Right.. Well, at least you ended with a semi-light note..." The knight spoke with a concerned visage towards his twin, "Come on, we've got a run-away to hunt.". The two men gave a grumble of acceptance at this, carrying themselves out of the doorway as fast as their old bones could carry them. They weren't done with Regalia just yet, though perhaps Regalia was a little done with them...
"So what?" Anton spoke with a splutter from his lips as he almost spat his words from his mouth. Arthane sat in a nearby booth face grinning wry as he wound up the old barkeep. "You know I hadn't the choice in the matter. When those Elves were the only clientele I couldn't boot them out! They were bringing in coin. It's economics you fat bastard!" Anton clamored with rage, "Besides, this time it might be different". Arthane furrowed his reverendly brows then gave his gullet a good eye.
"We're not gonna catch this Jacobin if you lot keep degrading our unit moral." Percy piped in, calm as ever as he pulled out a creaking chair to sit himself down, "What's this about Elves?" the knight inquired as his eyes traced them for response. Arthane let out an aged cackle, his arm hung lazily off the side of the booth. "I'm telling him. He better not fill this place with Elves like He did last time." Arthane mustered, his words coated in a juxtaposing sense of stern jesting.
Anton let a huff of air out of his nostrils as he chucked the dusty rag to the back of the kitchen. The barkeep undid his apron and threw it aside as well. He thumped out towards the two, collapsing into a nearby chair... "We're the children of a bygone age, lads..." Anton offered faintly. The atmosphere sobered at that: all of them had felt in some way that their time had passed, some more than others. The streets felt different, not like the ones they wandered all but a few years past. "You don't think I yearn for those days when things felt fucking normal? Spirit, back when I didn't know what a bloomin' Kathar even was?" He rambled red in the face. "When I held a coronet on my head! When I could do the things I find so voiding hard these days! But..."
"at the end of it all, we're gonna die among strangers." Anton simmered at that, his rasping voice calmly fading into acceptance. "There's no changing it now. Grey strangers, stout strangers, scaled strangers, green strangers... If I'm honest, I don't recognize this city anymore. And when I lay my eyes on this place for the last time, I won't recognize it either."
"When you fall in love with something in this place, you can bet your tenpence it'll be gone by the years end. But if you don't scamper off, something'll come and replace it. It's the way of things". Anton leaned back in his chair, flinging his feet onto a nearby bar stool and clasping at his pint which had lingered on the counter nearby. "But hey! Here's one to normality! May she rest in peace." He ushered as he raised his pint glass, it's contents sloshing. "These outlanders might not know of Regalia like we used to. But I'll make do with them. Least the ones who don't have a taste for treason." He tipped his pint glass down his throat, emerging with an empty vessel and a layer of foam on his upper lip.
Percival remained in a stunned silence for a moment, standing and pushing his chair aside. "Right.. Well, at least you ended with a semi-light note..." The knight spoke with a concerned visage towards his twin, "Come on, we've got a run-away to hunt.". The two men gave a grumble of acceptance at this, carrying themselves out of the doorway as fast as their old bones could carry them. They weren't done with Regalia just yet, though perhaps Regalia was a little done with them...
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