Post by Gareth MacKay on Jun 12, 2014 14:35:51 GMT -6
The temperature began to drop as the sun began to set. While still not in the desert proper, the temperature still bounced around from one extreme to the other. Walking alongside his camel, a hardy thing that Gareth had come to depend on, he saw the two lanterns illuminating his last waypoint. The Edge of Paradise wasn't typically described with any positive details. It was an inn located on the outermost edge of the Deadsands, whose existence depended on lack of competition: the impassable waters around Hryst forced most trade through the Deadsands around Domhan Tir's northern mountains, and no other bar would want to open in such a desolate place. It was kept up enough for customers to know that the desert had not killed it yet, and its main appeal was that it was the only place to get a good night's sleep until you had reached Domhan Tir. Gareth led his camel and the heavier gear (pots, his weapons, his preserved foods, among other things) to the stables next to the inn and found an open box stall. He removed the hood of his cloak and put his desert goggles on his forehead. The desk at the front was empty.
Sleeping. Again.
It was hard to find good help out here in the middle of nowhere, Gareth imagined. Desert stable boy couldn't have been sought after by the ambitious, especially when it was in the middle of nowhere. Fargut, the owner, had to settle for family help. He rang the small bell kept on the desk like an alarm clock. With one side covered in straw the stable boy stood up. His hair was disheveled and his eyes looked like they could fall back into sleep at any moment. He moved his hands around the desk, moving papers around looking for something until he finally stumbled upon the log book. He repeated this process until he found a pen. With a yawn and a groan he asked Gareth, "Name, stall number, length of stay."
"MacKay. Six. One night. Make sure you feed her well."
"Fighting?"
"Yes."
There were a few regulars who Fargut had made deals with, Gareth being one of them. He liked to fight and the gambling brought in money for Fargut, so he usually threw in some free services when they came into the area.
Gareth left and walked into The Edge of Paradise. The door was creaky and was a little too big for the frame--he always had to jam it back and every time it seemed like this was going to be the time it broke. Between the career scavengers and traders the place was relatively busy. The cards tables were packed as they were prone to be. The game of choice was named with some hokey desert pun for a nickname--he wasn't sure. Beyond that there were some tables to sit, and in the very back of the inn was empty space that had a carpet of dirty cloth. The second floor, where the rooms where, had the same thrown-together, DIY feel of the bar. If it was possible for a bed to only barely work, The Edge of Paradise had found a way. Gareth removed his beige cloak and put it on a rack by the door. He didn't feel too comfortable removing his armor, though. Peace in The Edge of Paradise was always precarious. Most respected the place--if it was destroyed in a brawl then it would make life helluva lot harder for everyone. Sometimes a hothead came through the doors with a chip on his shoulder about something or other, and while it was usually immediately taken outside, violence would ensue.
He walked up to the bar and called for Fargut, who acted as owner and barkeep. He was stocky and short. His family had apparently come from a slightly more hospitable neighboring region and his naturally olive complexion helped his case. He had always known Fargut to be very opportunistic--his bar was a direct result of Hryst's early inability to navally trade--and so even though the man had been kind to Gareth he always took his words with caution. "I'm going to need some water, Fargut. It's been a long day."
"Of course, my friend. But not too long where you won't make some money for me tonight, eh?" He smiled as he poured a large pint of water from the spigot. "I'll even throw in a couple ice cubes for you," he said as he dropped them into the glass. Gareth raised his pint in appreciation. He moved the cloth facemask down around his neck, and then loosened his bandages so that his mouth could peek through. The water felt good. In a land of sand, water is as good as gold, and Gareth could only assume that Fargut knew he was king of the wild west. "Fights are going to start in thirty minutes." Fargut reminded him.
"Alright, alright." He had been on a bit of a dry streak lately, but all that meant for Fargut was that the payoff was going to be bigger when Gareth got back onto his game. Gareth had been a proven commodity for the owner, who understood the delicate difference between winning and losing in these bare-knuckle brawls. He took a deep breath and relaxed for a bit. Looking around the room, he saw some relatively big guys that he knew were going to be a pain if he ended up fighting them later in the night.
Sleeping. Again.
It was hard to find good help out here in the middle of nowhere, Gareth imagined. Desert stable boy couldn't have been sought after by the ambitious, especially when it was in the middle of nowhere. Fargut, the owner, had to settle for family help. He rang the small bell kept on the desk like an alarm clock. With one side covered in straw the stable boy stood up. His hair was disheveled and his eyes looked like they could fall back into sleep at any moment. He moved his hands around the desk, moving papers around looking for something until he finally stumbled upon the log book. He repeated this process until he found a pen. With a yawn and a groan he asked Gareth, "Name, stall number, length of stay."
"MacKay. Six. One night. Make sure you feed her well."
"Fighting?"
"Yes."
There were a few regulars who Fargut had made deals with, Gareth being one of them. He liked to fight and the gambling brought in money for Fargut, so he usually threw in some free services when they came into the area.
Gareth left and walked into The Edge of Paradise. The door was creaky and was a little too big for the frame--he always had to jam it back and every time it seemed like this was going to be the time it broke. Between the career scavengers and traders the place was relatively busy. The cards tables were packed as they were prone to be. The game of choice was named with some hokey desert pun for a nickname--he wasn't sure. Beyond that there were some tables to sit, and in the very back of the inn was empty space that had a carpet of dirty cloth. The second floor, where the rooms where, had the same thrown-together, DIY feel of the bar. If it was possible for a bed to only barely work, The Edge of Paradise had found a way. Gareth removed his beige cloak and put it on a rack by the door. He didn't feel too comfortable removing his armor, though. Peace in The Edge of Paradise was always precarious. Most respected the place--if it was destroyed in a brawl then it would make life helluva lot harder for everyone. Sometimes a hothead came through the doors with a chip on his shoulder about something or other, and while it was usually immediately taken outside, violence would ensue.
He walked up to the bar and called for Fargut, who acted as owner and barkeep. He was stocky and short. His family had apparently come from a slightly more hospitable neighboring region and his naturally olive complexion helped his case. He had always known Fargut to be very opportunistic--his bar was a direct result of Hryst's early inability to navally trade--and so even though the man had been kind to Gareth he always took his words with caution. "I'm going to need some water, Fargut. It's been a long day."
"Of course, my friend. But not too long where you won't make some money for me tonight, eh?" He smiled as he poured a large pint of water from the spigot. "I'll even throw in a couple ice cubes for you," he said as he dropped them into the glass. Gareth raised his pint in appreciation. He moved the cloth facemask down around his neck, and then loosened his bandages so that his mouth could peek through. The water felt good. In a land of sand, water is as good as gold, and Gareth could only assume that Fargut knew he was king of the wild west. "Fights are going to start in thirty minutes." Fargut reminded him.
"Alright, alright." He had been on a bit of a dry streak lately, but all that meant for Fargut was that the payoff was going to be bigger when Gareth got back onto his game. Gareth had been a proven commodity for the owner, who understood the delicate difference between winning and losing in these bare-knuckle brawls. He took a deep breath and relaxed for a bit. Looking around the room, he saw some relatively big guys that he knew were going to be a pain if he ended up fighting them later in the night.
