The guild.

You step into the dimly lit bar, the air hangs with tabac and leaf smoke from the patrons, despite how out of the way the establishment is it is pretty busy. All the furnature is of an oddly high quality, carved with various insignias and symbols, the doors too are made of odd materials, elder wood and hazel, with fixtures made of dull iron and silver handles, all inscribed with their own sigils. Many of the odd patrons sit at tables secluded or in small groups, making notes on this or that, reading maps or smoking and drinking talking to others in their group in a hushed tone.

Every time someone enters the room everyone stops for just a moment and the room goes completely silent as they evaluate you, before returning back to whatever they were doing. Many of those eyes tell you they have seen some terrible things, many of the bodies do too, or the nervous habits of clutching religious paraphernalia close even as they drink. Anyone can come in freely, though not many new faces show up at all, but you are a familiar face.

At the bar there's a woman who has an air around her that says she isn't to be messed about with. Cause trouble in her bar and your going to suffer for it. She gives you a small nod and returns to her duties. On the wall above the bar is a large board, it looks like a board of odd jobs, but you know they are odder than most. Odder and more dangerous too. You recognise a few faces of friends in also, seems like a busy day at the bar.

Lots of guild members are here for what little R&R they get.

Megyn walked in with a tired expression and sat quietly at the bar for a drink. She was usually reserved and came here to relax. Pushing a coin across the wooden planks she nodded to the keep for her favorite drink: a light ale.

While she mostly kept to herself at these sorts of places, Megyn did take the chance to look around. You never know where and when inspiration will strike you, after all.

Istvan looked up as someone entered the bar, as everyone did, to see who had come calling. He smiled as he saw it was that quiet minstrel that was always asking everyone for stories of their 'hunts' for her songs and tales. She never got any material, of course, as most hunters were tight-lipped about their experiences. It was the nature of the trade, information was often all that stood between life and a horrible death.

He shifts his feet as they rested on the table, working blood into his legs from the prolonged position. With one last glance at the girl, he nudged the spectacles sitting on his nose, back up into position and finished writing his final entry into his journal. It had been particularly harrowing and it took some effort to force himself to recall all the details in case he encountered such things again.

The girl's eyes came to settle on him, which he noted, but she decided to finish her drink before approaching him. She had such bad luck with hearing any tales that she figured a little brew might help.

Finishing her mug, she slid another two coins to the bar tender. "One for him, please," she said with a nod toward Istvan. "Whatever he's having."

A little honey to attract a fly? Perhaps. It couldn't hurt, she figured.

The man known as the Wayfarer smiled as the barmaid beings him another drink, eying it dubiously; but taking a pull at the amber colored liquor nonetheless. Lifting his legs from the table, he pulls his cloak around him, his journal mysteriously disappearing with the motion.

Standing, the man retrieves his drink and a shepherd's crook leaning against the wall. Making his way across the floor, it can be seen that he walks with a slight limp now, perhaps injured in his last hunt.

Finally, he reaches the bar and smiles at the young woman, taking a stool next to hers.

"Hello, Megyn, haven't seen you around for a couple weeks. Been taking jobs?", he asks politely.

The girl smirked to reveal two dimples. "Not really," she replied. "They still don't let me go out just yet."

This was partially true. While Megyn was green to the whole society, she was brimming with excitement to get started. The guild masters had thought her a little young and a little naive to put her out on a mission just yet. Perhaps it was a rare glimpse at innocence, but Megyn wasn't one to hold grudges. "But it's not that interesting really. I'd really like to know about your own adventure, Mr. Wayfarer?"

Megyn casually pulled out a quill and rested her cheek on her hand. She always came on a little too strong. Perhaps it was a character flaw that still needed some ironing.

Istvan matches her smirk, sans the dimples and shakes his head at the young woman. It was not her youth that prohibited her, it was her naivety. Perhaps he would invite her along on a job soon, to see how she does in the field instead of sitting around the guild trying to leech off of real hunters.

"Now, now Megyn, you know better than to ask about that. It will only drive other hunters away and you will get nowhere. Fortunately, my last job was not all it was flaunted as and so I can speak of it; although I doubt you will find it entertaining.", he replies, chastising her gently enough.

"It was reported that a ghost was plaguing a homestead a few counties over. A small manor belonging to an old family with increasingly less wealth and renown as they had generations before. Long story short, they took it upon themselves to create stories of a haunting, complete with little traps and effects to convince the common rabble. They hoped to gain some status from it and some wealth; but I revealed their ploy easily enough.

They are now the laughing stock of the area and will not be holding on to that little scratch of land for very much longer. I might keep track of it and make a purchase myself very soon.", he reveals softly, winking to the girl at the end.

Saltator sat in the corner of the bar, in the darkest area. Where he sat with his mug of ale and eyed the patrons suspiciously. He carefully judged each in turn; looking for pouches of money and weapons. As well as suspicious actions and notable marks on the patrons are what particularly attracted his attention. He was always looking for work, he preferred to stay in the shadows and hide his face. Occasionally he enjoyed mingling with the locals or other adventurers to here the goings on of the town.

He noticed two regulars he'd seen quite often in the inn. One was a female tale-teller, while the other was a more woodsy fellow. He couldn't quite recall their names since he wasn't around so often. He liked how easily they clicked and he wished he could have some companions like that seeing as at the moment he had noone. One day. One day, I'll have that closeness with some people that I can call them my friends. he thought as he sat back and took another sip of his ale.

Meygan smirked and chuckled in reply. "Actually it would make for a wonderful childrens' story," she snickered back, playfully biting her lip and taking a gentle jab at the man. She sighed a bit as the play wore off. "I'd love to even have that as my adventure."

Meygan shrugged. She was ambitious, sure, but she wasn't one to hold onto things for too long. "Oh well, it will happen when it happens. Do you know any of the other hunters here? It seems like people flow in and out of this place before I get a chance to learn any names. Well, I learn a few," she added, as she knew Istvan's name... at least a little.

Istvan turns to consider the other hunters lounging around.

"Over there is Carroll Gunnarson, a hunter of Fey it is said. He is near legendary; but getting long in the tooth. The two dwarves quarreling in the corner are the Thunk brothers, noted for having hunted down something called a Banshee. They like to brag; but they are pretty tight-lipped about what it truly was.", he begins, gesturing around to some others and indicating they are no one of note.

"I will be going out soon enough, after I fence a few items and let my leg heal. You can come along then if you wish.", he offers, turning to smile at the young woman. His eyes took her in and it was not a child he was seeing.