Roadside tavern (Open)

[Merel]

"Shave a dragon an' a werewolf an' tha patron is next..." Sang a man at the counter, apparently drunk, and yet he completely fit in. But to be honest, while silence can be broken, one nannot break constant noise by adding some more noise. Such was the case in a tavern by the road leading out of Morgana. Or into Morgana, depending only on which way one treaded the road in question. Meanwhile the door silently opened, and hardly noticed amidst the general commotion slipped inside a little girl. She almost could have been the common abandoned, runaway or orphaned kid from the streets, she was barefoot, covered in a necessary amount of dirt, clad in rags. The only thing hinting differently was an ornate sword on her side.
The blade, obsidian of a form no mortal could forge, was wrapped in cloth to hide it's unearthly beauty from strangers, "sewn" together with metal wire for the blade's sharpness would cut apart the srongest sailcloth by merely touching it.

The girl sat down in an obscure corner, watching the crowd as she used to not too long ago, when there were places in Morgana where they didn't know her reputation. She had set off in search of adventure, a quest like those in tales or something the like of it.

"...And then, as they were heading through the woods, suddenly monstrous beasts sprang out of nowhere..." A man was reciting at a nearby table. Merel drew closer as she recognised the story he was telling.

"...Twice as tall as men, their heads that of bears, tusks like a boar's sprouting from their mouths, they attacked the traders's wagons like mad." The audience listened with awe. "All hope seemed to be lost as the traders tried desperately to stay alive. But then a fierce shout shook the land, the leaves of the trees fluttered, and the beasts reeled back. Ahead on the road stood He, wielding a claymore burning with magical fire - or as some say, with the fury of justice. The Landstrider!"
His audience, villagers by the looks, and likely his friends, cheered at the entrance of the hero, raising their cups. The storyteller continued his tale.

"With a mighty leap he landed atop one of the beasts, driving the sword through it's skull. Then he moved on to the rest. Impaling a beast, the foul creature burst into flames, soon only a charred skeleton hanging on the magical blade. A third monster attacked him from behind. He didn't even pull the claymore out of the skeletal remains, twirled around swinging the sword, scattering the blackened bones and cleaving his attacker in two with the same move.
He stood there triumphant not for long, only telling the traders that he will seek out and slay the dark wizard who created the monsters, but when the traders wanted to thank his deeds, he had already disappeared into the woods."

[baal]

Ba'al sat huddled in the back of a horse cart with other travelers. His weather resistant travelers cloak tightly wrapped around his body to provide what little shelter it could against the wind and rain. "What a dreary place" He mumbled in tune with the complaints of the others. At what seemed like forever the ride finally ended and the driver of the cart went to the back to lower the wooden rail. "Everybody off" The waterlogged driver barked. Ba'al did not take the none friendly voiced driver to heart. He could hardly blame the old man. He looked as miserable as they were. But ferrying people around was what he did for a living.

Slinging his pack over a shoulder the young man jumped off the back of the cart with the others into the muddy road. Holding the hood of his cloak with a free hand so it did not blow back in the wind he went with the others towards a building. The first rule he had learned so far since venturing out of the city for the first time was when in doubt, do what everyone else was doing.

Entering the building with the crowd he was greeted with the musky smell of sweat and beer. Pushing his way through the body's the young man found a table off in a corner where he could be by himself. For a moment at least. Some others he was traveling with ended up joining him preferring a familiar face then one of the strangers in this place. Ba'al pulled back his hood now and undid the belt holding his sword. Sitting down he leaned it against the wall.

"Having fun yet kid?" One of the older travelers he came to know as Raz said. He was the friendly sort. But his scar covered face showed the many dangerous roads he had traveled in life. The the long black haired youth smiled. "Better then being stuck with my dad. He clucks over me like a mother hen" The older man scratched at the bristles on his chin and shrugged. "So your off to see the world? Ah, I remember when I was that young" The older man followed Ba'als gaze towards the drunk storytellers and then looked back to the boy to see him rolling his eyes. "Not all story's are the creation of imagination boy. You would be wise to pay mind first and ignore later"

Ba'al thought about that statement and nodded his head in acknowledgment. It was never worth the risk of just ignoring things right away. Waving a gloved hand Ba'al ordered a round of drinks for himself and those he knew at the table. As they waited the group recalled there own tales on the way here. Ba'al was just a quiet observer at those tales. It was not that he did not have any to tell. On his first day out he was ambushed by bandits. Thugs no better with a sword then him thankfully. Somehow he managed to survive that skirmish. It was also the first time he ever killed another man. He got quite sick and threw up at the end when he could afford the luxury. Now though he did not feel so bad. The young man came to terms it was either the bandits or him. He had heard the sad thing about killing was it got easier each time one did it.

[Merel]

As a wagon carrying travellers arrived outside a crowd of new patrons entered the inn, for a drink while the horses were fed or for a longer stay overnight and rest, either way the throng inside the tavern grew considerably.
The girl just watched the people flow in. So much more people, so much more candidates to start some commotion of sorts. Realising she wished for trouble to be caused, some minor chaos to emerge, a stray thought floated into her mind.
The apparation of Iyebel had said she was becoming her child more and more with time passing, was this what the diety meant?

She didn't mind the thought for too long, her attention occupied more by the crowd growing louder by the minute, people drinking, playing cards, someone rolling his eyes at the Landsitrider story just told, and so on.

She didn't notice the man until he came up close. He was of a large build, somewhat fat but just as strong too, not the kind that would mean any good to her.
"Ye lost li'l lady? Ye know tis a dangerous place for yer kind 'ere. Come up ta me room, I can give ye shelter." He said, winking.
"Leave me be." Merel said, hand drawing near to Ravana's hilt, concealed by the table. Having grown up mostly in lower- to middle-class taverns and inns, she knew it wouldn't be her safety the main concern of the brutish man, whatever the details be.
When the man advanced on her reaching out to touch her somewhere unchivalrous, she planted a foot at around his groin and kicked. Not any sensitive spot, she hit maybe a hipbone or upper tigh, still sudden enough to stop the man in his tracks. Also to anger him though. In the worst case she had Ravana as a last resort.

A crowded inn is like a powder keg. A simple spark, like such an incident, can set off a chain reaction, ending in a general brawl. Every man finds a reason or excuse to join the fight, if not else then ones made up on the spot. Soon the place is engulfed in people releasing their tensions upon each other.
So was the case here. Could the "curse" of her presence be more than just a Morganan urban legend?

[baal]

Situational awareness was a skill most often learned with time. Being fresh and green to the ways of adventuring and the open road Ba'al had not yet learned that skill. So as to what exactly caused the fighting to erupt was a mystery to him. At first the young man ignored it until a body came flying onto the table spilling all the mugs of ale. As patient as he was from years of working the legendary dragon-fire forge. Ba'al had his limits. He was soaking wet and all he wanted was to be warmed by the tavern fires and enjoy a drink. But it seemed he could not even have that.

Swearing with enough color to make a sailor proud he got off his wooden chair and cracked it in an explosion of splinters into the nearest persons back. His traveling companions, also highly annoyed at the loss of the free drinks Ba'al payed for also joined the madness of the fight.

Ba'als strong arms really did him justice here. He may be inexperienced with swordplay. But a good brawl he could do. Especially with drunk patrons. The young man brought up the metal bracer on his forearm to block a wide swing from an attacker and grabbed him by the throat with his other hand. Raising the attacker off the ground Ba'al choke slammed him to the ground and gave a good powered boot stomp to his face.

It appeared to be Ba'als turn to get a chair to his back and he staggered forward into a drink server wench hands first. Looking down at where his hands were cupped the young man gave a sheepish grin and received a firm smack to his face that took the taste from it. "Cmon!" He barked. "It was an accident!"

Out of nowhere came a giant of a man even bigger then him. The breath left Ba'als lungs at the football style tackle. He was not exactly sure what happened but somehow his upper back was on the long bar table. Feeling the collar of his tunic scrunched up in his attackers hand Ba'al started to receive some good punches to his face. Grabbing the wrist of his attacker to stop the assault Ba'al reached blindly behind the counter with his other hand for anything that could be used as a weapon to bash this giants head. He really did not care but a bottle would be nice. Even though it was a horrible waste.

The attack on his face stopped for the moment and Ba'al lay-ed there staring at the giant of a man through his only good eye. The other already swollen tightly shut. "What do we have here?" The large man inquired as he looked at Ba'als pendent that came out from under his shirt during the scuffle. A depiction of a serpent eating its own tale "Ouroboros. Blasphemous dragon cultist!

Having a hand around a thick bottle the young man struck the giant of a man in the head with a explosion of glass and pushed him off.