Ayreg was in pain.
The longer this winter lasted, the worse his knee felt like it was tightening. He grumbled, as always, about the cold as he shouldered open the door to the Red Dragon. He turned abruptly, though, bending to rub it while leaning against the wall beside the door for support. His perpetual frown was present this night, as it always was, and he finally made his way to the bar, favoring his aching leg a bit. Eventually, the apothecary will come up with some kind of ointment or poultice and he can rid himself of this blasted, so-called "arthritis" that plauges him on every cold night.
Grem was behind the bar, and supplied Ayreg with a tankard of the Inn's terrible ale. He ignored everything else for as long as he could. There was some motion down the side of the bar, some scraping noise coming near the booth, and various flirting and laughing, but Ayreg was quiet. He had no reason to need attention at the moment, after all, and he was ever the pragmatic man. No point in implanting the image of him sitting in a tavern drinking bad ale, when the image he could project is that of a titan dominating a battlefield.
Too bad there weren't battlefields anymore.
Finished with the ale, Jodiah abandoned it on the bar-top, turning and walking to claim his table. He watched a few of the patrons, noting Tara's entrance, and cringing a bit as there were now three of the little banshees in the same room. They didn't seem to unite together, though, which Ayreg thought was only all too well. As he thumbed some tabac into his pipe, though, he noted with some dismay that the vampiress was coming his way.
She looked to be dressed to go to some fancy and well to-do ball, but her outfit would later turn out to be some form of lingerie. Ayreg must have been off the market for far too long. He sat smoking, quietly, barely nodding at this or that and commenting softly when she asked him a question, and he looked back on his younger days. Oh, he was quite the casanova back in those days.
Now...
Well, enough of that. He was in the middle of a sentence when she broke into a shrill scream, and Ayreg dropped his leg to the ground from the table, and half-rose to his feet. Hand on hilt, sword poised for blood... when it became apparent that she was just being a smart-ass again. He grunted, easing back down into his seat, and groaning at the pain. He and his knee both would be more than thankful for when the winter finally breaks and welcomes the warmth of springtime. To make it worse, she accused him of trying to protect her, of all things! He denied it, of course, but she didn't seem to believe him.
He didn't seem to believe himself, either.
The two spoke at length, again, noting the presence of one Alysia Skye. This one troubled Ayreg, and he could not help but stare. She seemed so familiar, as if he knew her -- or knew of her -- from deep within his past. It would have to be when he was originally on Rhy'Din, because Ayreg did not make friends in the Shadowlands. Only enemies.
In the end, Tara took his attention back. He shuffled in his seat, readjusting, while she crawled onto the table. The death knight could tell she didn't care for the smell of burning tabac, but it wasn't as if he was going to stop, after all. She turned, pulling that "nightgown" as she called it up toward her thighs, and told him to touch them.
Jodiah's lips twitched.
He didn't touch her legs, that night. He never even came close. In the end, Tara went bounding off to deal with some hell-spawn (though, to Ayreg, it seemed more like she was becoming his personal servant), and the death knight spoke briefly to Alysia at her place at the bar.
He would have to find this woman again, after tonight. She seemed to know of him, from his previous time in the Realms. It's not like he had amnesia or anything -- it's simply age-haze, from the length of time it was ago -- but another old soul would make pleasant company, for a change.
He left as quickly as he could, ghosting up the stairs after he bid a goodnight to Alysia. He also left as quietly as he could so as to not attract Tara's attention again, else she might make him try to touch her legs some more. Tara was grown, after all, he assumed she knew her own business when it came to the demon who'se boots she was cleaning at the moment, and there were plenty of her allies in the common room. Two of the other little harpies -- Jewell and Amthy -- were both in there, so what could possibly go wrong? As he settled into his bed, wrapped up in the blankets to keep the cold of the night pushed as far away as possible, Ayreg's mind rolled over the things that had happened, and that he had seen.
As he shuffled the events around in his head, Ayreg couldn't help but scowl. She did have a pretty set of legs on her, that girl did. It was a good thing that demon started making the ruckus that yanked her away from his table, as he was just about to lose his self-control. Since self-control is one of Ayreg's most valued traits, he surely would have been quite upset and shaken with himself later for having falling into the wiles of the little vampire...
He was, after all, only human.
The longer this winter lasted, the worse his knee felt like it was tightening. He grumbled, as always, about the cold as he shouldered open the door to the Red Dragon. He turned abruptly, though, bending to rub it while leaning against the wall beside the door for support. His perpetual frown was present this night, as it always was, and he finally made his way to the bar, favoring his aching leg a bit. Eventually, the apothecary will come up with some kind of ointment or poultice and he can rid himself of this blasted, so-called "arthritis" that plauges him on every cold night.
Grem was behind the bar, and supplied Ayreg with a tankard of the Inn's terrible ale. He ignored everything else for as long as he could. There was some motion down the side of the bar, some scraping noise coming near the booth, and various flirting and laughing, but Ayreg was quiet. He had no reason to need attention at the moment, after all, and he was ever the pragmatic man. No point in implanting the image of him sitting in a tavern drinking bad ale, when the image he could project is that of a titan dominating a battlefield.
Too bad there weren't battlefields anymore.
Finished with the ale, Jodiah abandoned it on the bar-top, turning and walking to claim his table. He watched a few of the patrons, noting Tara's entrance, and cringing a bit as there were now three of the little banshees in the same room. They didn't seem to unite together, though, which Ayreg thought was only all too well. As he thumbed some tabac into his pipe, though, he noted with some dismay that the vampiress was coming his way.
She looked to be dressed to go to some fancy and well to-do ball, but her outfit would later turn out to be some form of lingerie. Ayreg must have been off the market for far too long. He sat smoking, quietly, barely nodding at this or that and commenting softly when she asked him a question, and he looked back on his younger days. Oh, he was quite the casanova back in those days.
Now...
Well, enough of that. He was in the middle of a sentence when she broke into a shrill scream, and Ayreg dropped his leg to the ground from the table, and half-rose to his feet. Hand on hilt, sword poised for blood... when it became apparent that she was just being a smart-ass again. He grunted, easing back down into his seat, and groaning at the pain. He and his knee both would be more than thankful for when the winter finally breaks and welcomes the warmth of springtime. To make it worse, she accused him of trying to protect her, of all things! He denied it, of course, but she didn't seem to believe him.
He didn't seem to believe himself, either.
The two spoke at length, again, noting the presence of one Alysia Skye. This one troubled Ayreg, and he could not help but stare. She seemed so familiar, as if he knew her -- or knew of her -- from deep within his past. It would have to be when he was originally on Rhy'Din, because Ayreg did not make friends in the Shadowlands. Only enemies.
In the end, Tara took his attention back. He shuffled in his seat, readjusting, while she crawled onto the table. The death knight could tell she didn't care for the smell of burning tabac, but it wasn't as if he was going to stop, after all. She turned, pulling that "nightgown" as she called it up toward her thighs, and told him to touch them.
Jodiah's lips twitched.
He didn't touch her legs, that night. He never even came close. In the end, Tara went bounding off to deal with some hell-spawn (though, to Ayreg, it seemed more like she was becoming his personal servant), and the death knight spoke briefly to Alysia at her place at the bar.
He would have to find this woman again, after tonight. She seemed to know of him, from his previous time in the Realms. It's not like he had amnesia or anything -- it's simply age-haze, from the length of time it was ago -- but another old soul would make pleasant company, for a change.
He left as quickly as he could, ghosting up the stairs after he bid a goodnight to Alysia. He also left as quietly as he could so as to not attract Tara's attention again, else she might make him try to touch her legs some more. Tara was grown, after all, he assumed she knew her own business when it came to the demon who'se boots she was cleaning at the moment, and there were plenty of her allies in the common room. Two of the other little harpies -- Jewell and Amthy -- were both in there, so what could possibly go wrong? As he settled into his bed, wrapped up in the blankets to keep the cold of the night pushed as far away as possible, Ayreg's mind rolled over the things that had happened, and that he had seen.
As he shuffled the events around in his head, Ayreg couldn't help but scowl. She did have a pretty set of legs on her, that girl did. It was a good thing that demon started making the ruckus that yanked her away from his table, as he was just about to lose his self-control. Since self-control is one of Ayreg's most valued traits, he surely would have been quite upset and shaken with himself later for having falling into the wiles of the little vampire...
He was, after all, only human.