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"Ah, a pox on me for not introducing myself fair lady!" Dorian said bowing and leaping forward to help her with the cart. "My name is Elohman the Fool! You are correct to assume a fool is as I am for where fools are found fun is abound."

Dorian smiled all the wider. Elohman was a name from his distant past...Elohman WAS a fool...back in Morroc. Unfortunatly the desert people had no need of fools and he was eventually stoned. It was Dorian's stage name for when founds were especially low. As Dorian Blayde was actually KNOWN on the streets, Elohman the Fool was obscure enough that she would most likely have heard little of him. He feigned tragedy when she remarked on his mistake of the wheel.

"Oh curse the day! My poor ma must be turnin in her grave to see this fool so very lost. I apologize for my ignorance and will remedy it with my service as long as you need it this night...should you need a fool at all of course. As for the sack...I did find it along the roadside...you say this belonged to a thief? Ah no matter...a finder is a keeper and I take no guilt for the stolen goods. THis may well buy me good meat tonight and so I thank the nameless gods of chance that dropped this bundle of delights into my poor hands."

Dorian immediatly regretted what his hasty actions had bought him. He had pledged his service this night to a merchant he had shadowed for three days...surely she would recognize him. Not only that...but he was due to meet his old friend Troh Natob tonight...or was that yesterday...or even tomorrow?

Troh was not a precise fellow...not when it came to dates. The man was shifty as a black ferret and as paranoid as a fly on the wall. He had reason to be as well...he had quite a bounty on his head as of late...and the guards were becoming more insistant on catching him. Troh had gotten more paranoid when the "Dead or alive" description was changed to "The head of..." But Dorian had laughed it off.

Troh was a legend...his uncanny ability to always know the right place and time to do things...along with his ability to disguise himself in shadows...Troh had no trouble building a base of thieves and pick pockets around him. Now it was something of an empire.

Dorian had warned Troh the dangers of making himself too known. Pick a merchant's pocket and you roused the laughter of guards. Pick a city's pocket and you have the royal army howling for your blood. Still...Dorian did admire Troh's tenacity. The man had come from nothing to accumulating the wealth of an aristocrat.

Ironically, their last meeting, Troh had discussed a plan to permanently seat him in the council and forge papers of nobility to get the guards off his back. Dorian had jokingly suggested that if his plan failed the price on his head would quadruple in amount. As of yet...Dorian had not seen Troh make nay moves to put that plan into action.

A paranoid and resourceful man...Dorian liked him for his grandiose plans and sheer spirit...Troh liked Dorian for his skills, jokes, and the fact that Troh kept hounding him about joining his organization. The offer was flattering sure...but Dorian liked to keep himself untied. That way...should Troh ever fall, ((unlikely)) Dorian would not be next in line for a political assassination...nor would he have to deal with the hassles of running an organized crime syndicate.

For now, Dorian was content with relative obscurity and a price of 1,000 zeny for him, dead or alive...under a false name. It was funny...the only thing they got right in his wanted poster was his curly hair.

((ack! sincere apologies...back to rectify the situation!))

Taking the last possible bite from his apple, he tossed the core into a nearby sewer duct. That apple should hold me till tomorrow since I had a large lunch. the late afternoon sun cast dark shadows and deep red hues upon the entirety of Prontera. Stopping in at a tavern just of on the the market district's main street, he stayed for a while, attempting to gather information on this criminal. Most were wary of him, a stranger, and didn't seem to enjoy one snooping about either. Yuki shook his head slowly as even his bribe failed. There'll be no extracting information from these types today. With that he left the tavern and made his way to the center of town where he had spotted an inn earlier. Entering, he was greeted by the man at the counter. Requesting a simple room with the most basic of accomodations, Yuki paid the man and was handed his key. trudging along the hallway to the right of the front desk, his fatigue suddenly cauhgt up with him. Wow, I guess travelling all day can really drain a baody. having entered his room, Yuki unstrapped his satchel, shield, and sword. He carelessly flopped down on the bed and fell into a fitful slumber.

((I you refer to Avelaine's Parents' Inn, then yes. 3nodding ))
((I had forgotten her last name. sweatdrop ))
((I assume that I am the swordsman referred to in the "Claire" portion of your post, right?))

((Sorry for not posting much..Life is really..hectic, right now. Trying to get moved into a new apartment, getting ready for college..Anyway..))


"O..K.." Erin nodded at the girl and walked inside the house. He looked around for the owners, or anyone, really. It seemed like he'd maybe stood around for too long, though..He couldn't really find anyone. Still, if the girl really was an Acolyte, he was sure that she would have informed the owners that the Church would take responsibility for the damages. The church did offer their services for excorcisms, but taking care of the aftermath was important too.

He continued to look around the house, but he couldn't find anybody. He sighed slightly. "Another job failed..Nn.." He stomped his foot on the ground, giving his fingers a quick snap. He stepped outside, looking around. The two girls had left..and it was getting ready to get dark. He could only hope that the Inn he worked at wouldn't be too terribly sore with him. He turned and headed back.

Erin lifted his head, looking down the streets of Prontera. Even though darkness was getting ready to fall, it didn't make the streets any less busy. Lamps lit up the main roads, and made it more than easy enough to see the faces of people around him. There seemed to be quite a few people congregating around an inn in town. Most of them looked like they were quite battle ready. He looked in the crowd, but he didn't see any Acolytes, or any Mages. Swordsmen were all too common in Prontera, as were Merchants. But he didn't often get to meet Mages..

Still, such a big crowd..his curiousity was going to get the better of them. Surely they were here for a reason. Besides, the innkeeper probably wouldn't get TOO mad at him for being a little late. Erin took up a position slightly away from the group, only wanting to see what they were going to do.

Dagon turned to Talaris as teh archer entered the inn.

"We shall speak more of this at length Talaris...but for now, I have not eaten in quite some time and the smells coming from yon inn are enough to draw my attention." Turning, the quiet swordsman walked into the inn. He did not take a seat near the archer, deciding to sit a ways away and closer to the roaring fire that leapt with fiery glee and imparted a cozy atmosphere within the establishment.

Groaning, Dagon removed his tattered cloak and heavy wool shirt, revealing gleaming chain mail underneath. He likewise removed his boots and flexed his aching feet, sighing as the rejuvinating effects of the fire washed over them like the kiss of a goddess. Understanding that an upstanding location such as this would not take kindly to his unkempt appearence, Dagon stood and pulled a folded mess of cloth from his backpack and dissapeared for an instant around an unoccupied corner alcove.

He returned dressed in his best ((and only)) formal regalia ((description in profile I think.)) He took his seat again and pulled his hair back into a haphazard pony tail that was every bit as wild as his previous style. Placing the partially rusty chain mail into his backpack, he still deigned to keep his sword at his waist. The old katana was such a sore looking sight, the hilt wrapped in fraying bandages that hung off it in long swaths, yet Dagon seemed to cherish it with the same tenderness one would have toward a child.

Patiently he waited for service, his eyes flat and distant as his mind was lost in thought over this newest ((and prehaps most dangerous)) venture.

Avelaine blinked at the woman. Then she blinked again. Her curious head tilted slightly to the right. She put a finger to her lips and looked upwards, as if searching for an answer.

"Hmmm . . . uhhhh . . . hnnn, you can help my mother take the stew pot out!" Avelaine said, as she took the food cart from the side of the room and pushed it towards Alisia. "I have to go call down the guests."

Avelaine left her there and sprinted up the stairs, two steps at a time. Her mother started to taste the stew, found that it was right, and added a pinch of extra herbs and spices. Stopping at the beginning of the hall, she took a deep breath and screamed out: "DINNER TIME!!!"

Claire had just given the guest their herbs when she happened to look at the clock. It's almost time, she thought and started to count down the seconds until it struck seven, 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. Her hands shot up to cover her ears just at the exact time that Avelaine yelled the announcement for dinner. Even after all this time, Claire couldn't believe that Avelaine could still keep true to her timely habits.

She started out of the room and down the stairs to find Avelaine just about to sit down at her usual spot. Like before, Claire also strode over to her usual place, a left hand seat from the corner of the table where their father sat, took the table napkin, and flicked it out of its folding. She straightened her skirt and sat down gently, carefully sliding her chair closer to the table.

Claire also hoped the most of the guests would join them for dinner tonight. There were a few people outside earlier that she was interested in talking to.