The man's eyebrow raises in question and the smile turns into a look of almost sincerity.

"There were folks that said he was crazy, but that helm was indeed magical. Plumed with a gargantuan feather and made of solid gold it indeed looked foolish...aye, but that helm gave Jack the ability to turn invisible. Nae not just invisible like spell-slingers about now can make ye. I mean real invisible.

Jack once fer fun decided he should go into the depths of the land, deep under the ground where the keen senses of the creatures down there can see right through what those spell-slingers claim as their most powerful magics."

Grabbing the attention of the barmaid for a refill he continues on with an almost boyish excitement.

"Talkin of real magic, that there helm was a gift from Lady Luck herself! A right token of favor ye may say. But I digress...ahh so he was goin down into the depths of the abyss past horrific beasts like ye could only dream lassy."

The smirk crosses his face once again as the man sizes the lass up, taking note of some of the more favorable of her features before continuing on.

"Ehh...ye seem like ye can take care of yer own, most around now-a-days can...yet Jack was nary one of those types. Could nae have slain an imp in the realms here, a novice ye could say in the fighting skills and all. But brave as an umber hulk busting out when his territory is being threatened ye know?"

Taking a pull from his pint the man pauses giving the tell-tale "ahhh" that a man who loves a good drink lets out after an especially favorable taste.

"So, Jack decides to go to the bottom...all the way down into the very pits with the darkest of the dread horrors. And what do ye think he runs into down at the depths" Aye ye guessed it. A group of power-mad adventurers running about in circles slinging blood and gore against the walls as hordes of demon-kin attacked them."

Shaking his head slightly the man drains his pint and puts it aside, a look almost like disgust on his face.

"Aye, there they were running about screaming gibberish and cleaving into whatever they could get their hands on. It was then that Jack realized that something amiss was going on...these creatures kept coming, in numbers far surpassing what should have been. Then it occurred to him that he was being stared at. Yes lassy. STARED AT."

The man smirks as he emphasizes the words tilting his head to the side and admiring the gentle curve of her neck meeting the shoulder, the tenderness in her face.

"Ye will never guess, but out stomped a deamon unlike any Jack had seen coming straight at him. Of course Jack was a bit terrified, and he turned to run...but just as he was about to time froze and Jack could do nothing but stare at the magnificence of the flaming beast. Then it spoke..

Just like out of the tales the fae sing, in a voice like grinding bones mixed with the scream of a sword makes when the smith plunges hot steel into water to cool. And ifin I heard it right the beast said— What are ye doing down here little man""

The man rocks back in his seat chuckling lightly to himself and then looks upon the lass again.

"Sorry lassy, I never was too great at tale-telling and all, but would ye nae think a deamon would have something better to say to ol' Jack" So of course the threats came, but Jack, being the drinking connoisseur he is decided the best way out of this here situation was to offer the deamon a good drink.

Having journeyed about a bit and keeping a box full of good lagers and spirits Jack offered the deamon some tastes he doubted the beast would have had drank in its time down in the abyss."

A look of sheer pleasure crosses the man's face as he takes a pull from his newly filled mug. It's almost as if he's pleased by the tale, or maybe just the fact that he's kept the attention of such a naive young lass for so long..

"Ah then the idiotic group that was massacring everything decided to attack the deamon, just as good ol' Jack was beginning to get to know him. Murdered the poor thing they did, but he tasted some of the finest spirits before passing so I figure he could nary have been too terribly upset."

The man pauses for a moment and scratches his head..

"Hrmm....I have gone and forgotten really what happened after all that, but I figure it's a good enough tale since ye learned about the magical golden helm and all...Anything ye want to go and talk about lassy' Or ifin ye decide to stay in me company a bit I'll go on and think up another story to tell ye.."

Jack takes a deep breath as he sits on the bed a quill and ink along with a book sit across the room from him. He mutters an incantation and the quill dips itself in the ink, slowly slides out removing the excess and hovers above the page. Jack begins dictating to the quill. Week one in RhyDin. Date unknown.

I witnessed death today at the Inn. It is by far not the first killing I've witnessed in my travels, though I have seen few that were as efficient and quick. It is strange how much I have seen here in RhyDin in the short amount of time since I arrived.

The man I know only as Lang killed a man I had only seen one other time who went by the name of Lippy. I witnessed a brawl earlier in the day between the two; however, the more I think about it the more I think what caused Lippy's death is unrelated to the earlier skirmish. The earlier bout could hardly be called a fight as with one punch Lang knocked Lippy unconscious.

Back to the killing though: I entered and shortly after sat at the bar taking advantage of the day like any other. The occupants were unknown to me other than the dragon Icer. I picked up a few names while sitting around namely Jade or Jadey, and there was a boy in the room name Virgil. There was also a priest there that goes by Father however I do not as of yet know his name.

There was a commotion coming from the back alley and shortly after Lang marched Lippy into the inn. Pushing Lippy toward Virgil he continued to ask the boy if Lippy was the one who had 'done it." I later heard that Lippy had beaten the child.

Virgil confirmed that it was Lippy. At that moment Lang transformed into a demon, or I should say shed his guise as a human. He decimated Lippy with his strikes, crushing bone and tearing flesh. Little remained of the man after the demon was finished with him, and what was left was unceremoniously fed to the stew.

I document this because I figure two things:

First, I witnessed Lang transform into his demon form. I'm under the impression that this is a rare occurrence.

Second, I've come to the conclusion that what little of the arcane arts I have picked up in my prior travels will be insufficient to defend myself in this land. My tricks and unique spells, though useful in many instances, hold nothing against the powers I've seen brought forth here. I must find a tutor to further my knowledge of the arcane arts or find a place or group of learning if there is one in this land. Jack nods as he reads over his monologue. He ponders his next step and comes to the conclusion that his answers will only come through observation and by continuing to meet and grow acquainted with the people who know this place.

"Of course?"

The quill moves as if to continue scribing his words. Jack ends the incantation. The quill shudders and sits lifeless in the inkwell. Jack coughs and continues.

"Of course good ol" Jack, that means ya need ta get back down ta tha bar and learn what there is ta learn "bout this here land. An" partake in a good drink, or three."

It was the habit again.

The itch barely beyond reach of scratching, a persistent ticking in an otherwise silent room, a story that ends without resolving plot points, Jack could go on all day with witticisms to disguise and dismiss his problem. The issue, of course, is Jack is a gambler.

To gamble, or take unnecessary risk for the possibility of greater reward, is a not-so-small piece of the person known as Jack Shalbaal, really is more of a part of his soul. Retired or not, Jack couldn't easily put aside something that has defined him for so many years.

Jack paces in front of the counter muttering softly to himself. A man of little possession, Jack knows wealth is something that corrupts. It is also something that he put behind himself in his other life. The numbers kept racing through his head though. It was a small lottery week with only 27 entries, 2 of which were already Jack's.

"There are only a few minutes before the winner is chosen?"

Jack mutters to himself as he counts out the silver crowns in his pouch.

"210. Twenty-one more tickets" Tha puts me at 23 ov" tha 48 total. Givin me a 47.9 percent chance o' winnin"."

It wasn't the best of odds, more-or-less a coin-flip, but that spellbook Jack's been eying cost 1500 crowns. Jack's meager income derived from scribing the odd missive and helping out around the inn a bit, would take months to save enough. Never the patient one, Jack places the crowns on the counter.

"21 tickets mate, an' be quick bout it. Tha winner's goin" ta be drawn soon."

Tickets in hand Jack nervously waits for the winner to be announced. It's the same feeling every time a bet is on the line. It's always the butterflies at first, along the heightening of the senses before the reveal. Adrenaline rushing through the body as it tenses?the bigger the bet, the more at risk, the bigger the rush.

The look of surprise on Jack's face is a half-truth at best. Jack feels the loss, his chest tightening and his breath quickening. He sighs, the whole experience feeling once again as if someone was ripping out a part of him. There was a time when Lady Luck smiled upon Jack, hell he could've been her poster boy. Those times were gone now.

Jack sighs softly tossing the tickets over his shoulder.

He doesn't glance back or slow his steady trot when the man at the counter curses at him, nor does he turn back to see the tickets floating in their decent settling haphazardly on the ground.