#authdrink

[optimismxmagicism]

We’re all goofy goobers yeah

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1]

“Hey….. Hey get up….! Hey, come on buddy I wanna go home!”

Bleeeugh, what just… happened? Everything is spinning, yet his vision is entirely black.. all he saw was vague shapes twisting around him.

“Come on pal, wake up!”

He heard a less than pleased voice call him. With all his willpower he forced his eyes open, squinting as bright sunlight hit his vision, blinding him with white for just a second. When his vision finally cleared, he was met with the scowling face of the tavern owner.

“Listen up, it’s 8 in the morning. Go scrape up your friend and get going, we’re closed.”

Huh..? What? What friend…? He looked towards where the man was pointing. He saw a girl around his age under a tipped over table, fast asleep too.

It was then that vague memory of the night before hit him. He and the girl were talking about books.. then they drank this really tasty fruit drink.. and then another… and then another… and another… with each drink they seemed to be getting dizzier and dizzier, but neither of them ordered any alcohol. At the time they thought they were just getting drunk off the atmosphere, maybe, but…

As he forced himself off the ground, he noted the sticky feeling on his arms. He reeked of fruit juice, his clothes stained too. Blegh, he was gonna need a wash after this….

“Heeeey….” He spoke to the girl, his voice still slightly slurred from both sleepiness and dizziness. “Are… are you… okay?”

His head was pounding, what a night… they must’ve gotten a bad sugar rush and passed out or something…

@springtimestaff

[bxldrsdraumar]

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there's one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings...by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1]  (starter for @princepsumbra)

Sigurd was, as many knew him, a man that lived in the moment. He cared little for rumor or whisperings or living in fear, and when possible banished doubts of past and future alike. 

Therefore, when he had been told that there was to be a faculty mixer, he had been, simply, delighted, with no aforethought to the venue, nor any of his colleagues' hesitance to attend. It hadn't been too much effort to convince many of them to join anyway – for another thing many knew Sigurd to be was charming and persuasive, blinding in his optimism. 

And, for a while, it seemed that he was in the right! For many, whether they liked it or not, it was a delightful evening – the drinks were fresh and flavorful, and unlike what so many of them were used to, the bartenders smiling sympathetically at the knowledge that their patrons for the evening had palates accustomed to the ales and wines of other taverns in town, and the music played by the bards was lively and energetic, enough that even the most dour of his colleagues could be coaxed into singing along. 

For a few hours, any thoughts of a poisoner or thief were forgotten, and the hard-working faculty of Garreg Mach and the Officer's Academy allowed themselves to simply let go for the evening. 

Sigurd himself, feeling light-headed and joyous from the environment of joviality (though he'd been amazed to hear that the drinks contained alcohol, for he felt none of it, despite the volume he'd drank), had stepped out to relieve himself before coming back in -  

And he froze in bafflement that much of the floor had fallen quite silent, his coworkers slumped over their drinks in a way that did not read as exhaustion – especially when he took into account the bits and bobs littered about them, the turned out pockets and unbuckled belts.its and bob 

Leaning next to he closest to him, Professor Leo as he had once introduced himself, Sigurd pressed a gentle, but insistent hand to the man's shoulder and shook, dusting aside the scribbled proofs-of-purchase that lay crumpled about him. 

"Professor – Professor!" He repeated with some urgency. "Wake up, I fear that we have been, ah, stricken." 

Everybody Wang Chung Tonight :clap::clap:

[peerlessscowl]

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there's one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings...by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1] (starter for @sacaeblade)

Raven scrubbed a hand through his hair, huffing a sigh through his nose as the bartender placed the two drinks in front of him. They weren't…something he would have normally gotten, if he were telling the truth, but it had been suggested that they were popular, both among the residents of the town of Garreg Mach, and of the students, faculty, and knights of the monastery.

He prodded one of the paper parasols with his pinky, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. It was fine. Better to come to battle prepared than empty-handed.

Though it was not battle necessarily, save for the frustration that had settled in his gut upon waking from that strange dream a full month ago, walking about what was supposed to be his normal life. But where his normal life had been shambling from one day to the next, the bright red light of fury dragging him to the next dawn, here and now he found himself hearing the quiet voices of not the ghosts to whom he'd become accustomed, but the living, and the promises he'd made to them.

'I'll watch over her. And when we return, we'll all go home.'

He had avoided Lady Caelin - Lyn - since awakening, just as he'd avoided Sir Kent, unwilling to acknowledge whatever judgement might have been in their eyes at seeing him. If things had gone differently, if circumstances had been better - if he'd been less gullible, less naïve, stronger, faster, smarter - then perhaps they might have emerged on the other side of the strange experience with a bond as strong as if they'd truly fought together.

But dreams were strange things, and the unease he'd felt was real enough.

Raven was no coward, though, and knew that he could not avoid them forever, and so, brusque as ever, had intercepted Lyn emerging from her classroom with the invitation. He had acknowledged her acceptance with a nod, turning on his heel to stalk off silently, and as the arranged time crept up he found the unease returning.

He flicked at the paper parasol again, taking a small sip of the drink, grimacing. Sweet. Sticky, cloying.

He set the drink back down, standing when he saw Lyn weaving her way through the crowd toward him.

Raven inclined his head, greeting her with a clipped, "Lad - ah, Lyndis. …Lyn. Yours," he added with a short nod in the direction of her drink before the bottom of the world dropped out from underneath him, vision swimming with black as his forehead hit the edge of the bar and he dropped like a stone.

Is This Something Normal Friends Do? I Don't Know

[duskofendflame]

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary.

Corrin wakes up on the floor of the tavern, head spinning and the urge to throw up bubbling in his stomach. Perhaps it had simply been too long since the last time he had gone to a tavern, and he had gone overboard. Say, when had the last time he had drank anything been exactly? Probably before Kana was born.

And even then he'd never had much.

He sighs, standing up with a sickening crack from his hips. Ow. Well, that may be the least of his worries. He stumbles, an unfamiliar shift of the weight he carries throwing him off.

Wait. He had... no sword. No no no! Did he lose Yato?! Not again! (Though, did it count as again if the first time had been in a dream?)

What in the world had been in that drink?! It must have been so strong that he passed out, and someone took the oppourtunity to take everything from his person, other than the clothes on his back.

He glances around the tavern, spotting another man on the floor. He scrambles over to him, shaking his shoulder wildly to try and wake him up.

"Sir?! Sir please wake up! Do you know what happened...?!"

@leonsterslance

Hey. Wake Up. You Fucked Up Big Time.

Anniversary (2023) | Authority +1 (October)

[aglaean]

The dance had come apart, as all must. And yet, there was an inexorable pull to that evening - like an arm interlaced into knots that bind - which kept the good Princess in mind of choreography. Some vestiges of the flow, the careful extension of a hand, or the incline of a neck in graceful sweep had infected her step. It was a phenomenom noted with really far too much joy by her downstairs neighbours that for a moment, upon return, she did not stomp quite so heavily up the stairs.

Such grace, why it was almost more than the mortal frame could bear! So insupportable was their step across the ballroom that she was almost certain it had could never find a replicant. It truly was a shame they had been the only witnesses to their combined magnificence.

Now, grasping her former dance partner by the lapels, shoes crumpling on a floor glazed with spirits and hasty lashings of soap, she knew that the moment had passed into the ether of memory quite thoroughly.

A firm shake, that was no doubt what was required here. ‘HELLO?’ She yells.

Not that one so innoculated into asetic deprivation as she would know, but such drinking houses as these were uniquely suited for shouting. Her voice should be carrying over the buzzing background noise of what she would blanket over with the term ‘depravity’ - insulting jabs and wooing and the like. And yet, the bar was entirely isolated. Her voice sang with singularity.

The isolation had been that which snared the high attentions of the Princess intially. A walk back from the market had revealed what was usually a bustling den of iniquity to be suspiciously silent.

It was one thing for wrong-doing to be loud about its folly. But this, this silence was far more incriminating.

Inside: none but the slumped form of General Umber, as if the urge to nap had taken him unawares. He looked almost peaceful, but the Princess, with her full powers of observation immediately knew something was amiss.

Leaping to his aid, she now found herself shaking him upwards into a sort of awkward half-upright position. He kept slumping forward, as if the floor contained some essential palliative he was lurching for. Good heavens, had he fallen into a stupour of intoxication?

Her eyes land on a half emptied glass of Latona knew what on the bar-surface. They proceeded to narrow with an accusation. Still, even if he had over-indulged, she was a merciful holy woman. ‘WAKE UP.’ Her voice continues, undisturbed by the silence that sends it echoing around the establishment. ‘GENERAL UMBER?? IT DOES NOT SUIT YOUR STATION TO BE RECLINING SO.’

He was truly lucky that the Gods had sent one so dainty as she to his aid.

[@lionheartsoath]

hey, there are better places to a nap than on the ground, you know

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1]

[atefirom]

This… is not her scene. Liquid sloshing out of glass, loud music, others breathing right down her neck. It is enough to give her chills and not the fun ghoul tingling ones. A hand comes up to scratch the back of her scalp and a grimace is spread across her face. As uncomfortable as she looks, it is a wonder how she wound up here.

Not surprisingly, it was not the allure of sparkling colors in a glass that caught her attention and the idea of a tavern alone, whether it was actually serving alcohol to students most definitely underage or not, was enough for her to stop eavesdropping. However, one must always keep their ears perked for even the smallest slip of tongue. 

“Oh, but I heard there was a [...] who was [...].” 

“Oh then definitely don’t go alone!”

Eyebrow raised to no one but herself, later that night she set out. And regret she did. She would keep her wits about her and her eyes peeled at least in case the rumors did turn out to be true. 

“Oof! Hey!” Her eyes come in contact with the guy she collided with. Taller than her, dressed in royal blue with tufts of white fur and a holier-than-thou expression. I could take him. Her first instinct nudges her. Careful Panette, these nobles have a way of getting information and spreading misinformation in return. “Ahem. Pardon me.”

She continues on, not looking back and unaware of what he did manage to slip past her, more dangerous than whatever dirt he could get.

Do her eyes deceive her or did those red curls belong to someone familiar? Slumped over the bar did not suit such a refined lady as herself.

“Celica!” She calls upon her approach, amber eyes spotting the half-drunken beverage within arm's reach. She places a hand on her shoulder, shaking as hard as she could. “Hey, wake up!”

@seraphiia

p! for punching! it's a punching party!

[Grants Authority +1]

[fluxrspar]

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1]

Selena did not consider herself to be quite the drinker; it wasn’t an entirely rare occurrence, of course (in the interest of having a tolerance, should the need ever arise), but it wasn’t exactly commonplace for her either. A light act, from time to time, primarily just for the fun of it. In a moderate fashion where she could control the consequences, it was, in her eyes, a completely harmless act.

The habit had hardly followed her to Fódlan however—what with her load now being that of a teacher’s rather than a general’s. It was one thing to be in the command of a troop within an army (and it wasn’t a light task either), but the time and dedication required of her even as just a substitute meant any moment of rest was often spent in her quarters—if she could travel further, she’d rather use that to study or prepare for the next day, week, or moon.

Today had been an exception however—because she’d heard of a tavern in town and had been interested in visiting for a while. Her schedule had been decently freed and she had looked into it in advance, and so today was the day she decided upon—to give the place a visit.

So she sat in a quiet corner, away from the ebb and flow of the masses. She wasn’t interested in the people (not really—that wasn’t why she came), but the atmosphere itself was… nice, she would admit. A sip of her drink.

It was good; she could see why it was so popular. It wasn’t entirely to her taste though. (Perhaps she should’ve chosen a different flavor?) Contained entirely within a slender wineglass however, Selena wasn’t so bothered as to leave it unfinished. The glass is set down, and Selena begins to stand.

( Something isn’t quite right. ) Rather—something was definitely wrong. She blinks.

And when she opens her eyes, blearily, she can tell time has passed. Mage had entered shortly after dinner with the intention of returning to the monastery with a few hours to spare before midnight. Now, sitting upright and looking at the window, she could see the sunlight breaking dawn.

As a person, she is well—not even a hangover, which implied that her drink indeed hadn’t been spiked. Her mind ran slowly, but not at a standstill, until the comprehension comes that it was likely a sleeping potion. (That had to have been premeditated—how she came to drink it, however, was uncertain.)

She also was not alone in this—at another table, there is a man she recognizes from the monastery (though his name escapes her). In part as a way of showing concern and in part as a way to test her balance, Selena stands, walking the distance between them. (So far, she felt alright—a sleeping potion was likely the end of it.)

(Though, it did not escape her—to what end?)

“Excuse me, sir,” she begins, gentle but firm in waking him. (She then places space between them also, in case he was the type to wake up violently.) “Are you alright? A tavern isn’t really a place fit for sleeping.”

Absent-mindedly, a hand glides to where an earring of hers would dangle, recognizing its absence almost immediately. Gaze sharpens suddenly, understanding trickling in next.

She’d been robbed.

@venticatenae

get in loser we're going to beat up a thief

“A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu…” | Anniversary Mission Board | Authority +1

[crookedorel]

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1] (starter for @corvuschriisti)

It was the same no matter where one went, it seemed - there might be those in charge of ruling, and those that they ruled, and those who had clambered about somewhere in the middle, scrabbling for a seat at the table where they may, bartering for pieces of the world as one might a bauble at market. But an unblooded rich man bayed the same as an unblooded poor man, made an ass of himself all the same.

These Fodlan nobles. Some had seen battle, long ago, had paid for their tales with their flesh, or the flesh of those they ruled over, but of the crowds Berkut saw milling about town, it seemed more and more that it was merely men with money, and little else to speak of. No sense, no honor, no strength.

His eyes raked about the warm bronze lighting of the club, the stem of his glass pinched between his fingers as he practiced the social graces he'd seen come to other men with ease - even in Rigel, where a man's mettle was tested first on the battlefield, and then in the ballroom. It came easier then, when he hadn't needed to gloss over his titles, his accomplishments, his reason for being.

But as he moved about the room, brushed elbows, he found that there were some that were more than happy to do the talking for him, if he just prodded on the right spots.

And with some of these men, those spots shone like beacons in the night.

He handed off the glass of tokay to his new acquaintance, and lifted his in toast, forcing a grin to his lips. He did not linger overmuch on the wings. "And what, may I ask, is a king doing so far from home? Your homeland - Kilvas, you said? Is it currently indebted to the monastery in some way?"

Imperial Tokaji

[ulirblood]

"of course." she nods, moving to stand taller than him so she can properly examine his head. her hands hover over his head, parting his hair to reveal a not too worrying bruise. "this must be from when you fell. don't worry, it'll only be a moment." she reassures with a gentle voice, allowing her faith to gather in her hands and putting herself to work.

how glad she is in this moment that basic faith-based magic does not require staves in this land, for this would not have been possible otherwise. she hums, pulling away as soon as she's satisified with her work.

"we'll get out of here. i promise." edain says with a steadfast expression on her face as she looks down at him— one that turns something a little sheepish. "i have experience getting out of a prison like this, if you'll believe it." sure it was only once, and she had dew and jamke's help back then— but still. something was better than nothing.

"if we can't physically pick a lock or anything like that, i think our best chance out of here is to get someone's attention. trick them into letting us out or stealing their keys… somehow."

reyson wake up we fucked up big time!

[peerlessscowl]

Raven did not go out to pubs, generally. He tolerated them as a matter of course when he took a job, or in the brief time that he had traveled with a company as their preferred haunt, but by and large he hadn't the temperament for them, and he knew that about himself. Still, he had been asked by enough people – those which apparently considered him friendly, or perhaps saw him in a different light – that it became more effort than it was worth to keep finding excuses. 

In retrospect, he wished he had. Raven had watched as the night went on, enveloped in the buzz of noise and lights and too bright flavors, as, one by one, each of those with him had lost control of their inhibitions, and eventually lost consciousness. He'd seen enough of the raucous bar-time behavior that he knew it was unusual, but he'd dismissed it until his fingertips went numb. 

And by then, he found, he was no longer in control of the situation. It happened quite quickly after that, a wash of what might otherwise have been a pleasant tingle along his body until he faded out, slumping in his seat. 

He was aware, even then, of the rustle and movement about him, just barely on the other side of autonomy, just out of reach of grabbing the bastard's wrist and breaking it. 

Raven felt the nudge, gentler than the hands that had rifled through his pockets, and grunted softly, forcing himself to take the second, rougher nudge and use it as a springboard to regaining himself. 

His mouth felt abhorrently dry. He grimaced, his eyes flicking to the card on the table. 

There was the soft request, polite, from a boy he vaguely recognized but couldn't quite place. Raven grimaced at that, too. 

"I think not," he said, rising slowly. "If I'm going anywhere, it's to find the owner of this - " he flicked a finger against the calling card, " - and repay them for their services." 

✶ — › A NIGHT TO REMEMBER ‹ — ✶

A popular castletown tavern adds trendy fruit-based drinks to its menu in order to appeal to the denizens of Garreg Mach. The ploy is successful and the place has become absolutely packed, but there’s one problem. Word travels far. Too far. Seemingly anticipating a wealthy onslaught of students and faculty, a watchful thief has spiked your drink with a sleeping potion and slunk away with your possessions. Wake up, find the criminal, and recover your pilfered belongings…by force if necessary. [Grants Authority +1]

[duskofendflame]

Corrin vaguely wonders what would happen if Yato was truly to be pawned off to another. Complete rejection of being wielded by hands that were not Corrin's own, most likely. What that would intail, he had no idea. It probably wouldn't be pretty though. But still...

He couldn't claim to know the plight of someone who might do something like this. Perhaps they were simply desperate for money, coming across two noble looking men with expensive weaponry and thinking they could make a quick buck. Corrin thinks of the dim streets of Nohr, where many had to resort to thievery and fall into the dark underbelly of crime.

"Let us not assume circumstances my friend, perhaps our little thief here just needed to be able to feed their family for the forseeable future," Corrin sighs, bare feet padding across the wooden floor of the tavern as he makes his way towards the door, "maybe it's not too late to follow after them. I don't see anything else of interest around here, so let us make haste." The sky is dark as Corrin pokes his head out of the tavern, gently breathing in the night air.

"Oh! And don't worry if we end up having to buy back our weapons! Money is no issue, I would rather have our things returned safely to us than have money in my pocket anyway!"

Hey. Wake Up. You Fucked Up Big Time.

Anniversary (2023) | Authority +1 (October)

[duskofendflame]

Corrin has no shortage of experience in dealing with odd knights, so he simply smiles sympathetically at Finn's anguish and turns to the rest of the empty tavern. There was nary another soul around, other than the remaining barkeep tidying up the tavern - likely for the night, given the rest of the context clues.

He smiles at her as well, making sure to duck out of her way as she passed by while cleaning, "Of course, makes sense." Corrin may have been naive, but he was far from stupid. Perhaps he did not understand the exact mechanics of it, but it couldn't be that different from poisons. Ah well, too late to worry about it now.

Sharp ruby eyes scan around the small arena, though he does not catch anything too much of note. There are muddied footsteps by the door, but that is about all he is able to find.

Though... such tracks would imply...

Corrin quickly points it out to his companion, gesturing at said footprints, "You are welcome to look at well, but this about all I can find of interest. It seems as though the culprit may have been someone who entered, slipped something into the drinks and stole our belongings, before leaving once again. Given the footprints face both directions."

Hey. Wake Up. You Fucked Up Big Time.

Anniversary (2023) | Authority +1 (October)

[peerlessscowl]

His head swam. 

Raven was aware, vaguely, of the gentle murmur beside him, a voice so faint and familiar he might have brushed it with his fingertips, but he failed to make out the words, swaddled by the blanket of oppressive darkness as he was. He felt warm, more than anything, flushed and a-tingle in a way that he hadn't since the last time he'd been poisoned. 

If he'd been fully conscious, the thought might have made him angry, furious at the audacity, at the breach of what might have been a soft moment in his life – might have been chilled with the same cool rage that he'd used to cut down those before. 

But for the moment, Raven merely struggled against the tide of his sluggish faculties, dragging them back to heel one by one. 

He couldn't have accounted for how long he was out, time a thick syrup around him, sinking its hooks in and clinging to him in a film, but when his eyes fluttered back open, and he took in the too-bright lights, his mind churned to take in the surroundings once more – same bar, the same darkness outside the window, were these the same patrons that had been here when he'd arrived? 

No more than an hour, but still far too long. He grunted, once, the sound muffled by how dry his throat was, and he felt the soft press of a body against his shoulder, and the firmer press of the bar at his back. Lyndis. His grimace deepened, and he stood, slowly, clumsily, until his palms pressed flat against the bar. 

"Water," he rasped, forcing his expression to neutral, rather than slack, rather than terrifying. "Two." 

The water was a boon, icy and refreshing to his dull senses as he knocked the whole glass back in one motion. His fingers came on instinct to his belt where his coinpurse usually sat, nestled into his swordbelt, but both were gone – he repressed the urge to scowl viciously, instead kneeling with the second glass of water, gently shaking his companion to waking. 

"Lyndis." He tried not to think of how he'd failed, again and again for this girl, it seemed, and reminded himself that the shaking in his hands was likely from the poison. "Lyndis. Wake up." 

Is This Something Normal Friends Do? I Don't Know

[bxldrsdraumar]

Sigurd had not realized that he was holding his breath until he had released it in his relief – Professor Leo did not appear injured, and rose, albeit slowly, groggily. Reaching over the counter, Sigurd found an empty glass, and filled it from the tap. "Here, collect yourself. We will have to be off to find the perpetrator – I do not think that the dastard could have gotten far." 

He cursed their foul luck – that it had been a group event, with many of the monastery's finest knights and professors, but off their guard, unarmed and without mount, made them the perfect targets for the most opportunistic. But atop their opportunism, the thief must have been dreadfully stupid as well. Who else would have so brazenly made an enemy of those most powerful and determined in the continent? 

Almost absently, though he had not even been in the room when the catastrophe had fallen, Sigurd patted his trouser pockets, his belt, his cloak, before shaking his head. "I do not believe I have anything missing – it seems as though the thief made a thorough pass at your possessions," he added, gesturing to the proofs-of-purchase littering the ground at their feet. "Have they taken anything else?" 

That seemed as good a place as any to begin – what was missing? Between this and method of dispatch – was it magic, or something as mundane as poison that had so efficiently put down several adult bodies in mere minutes? - they might have been able to figure out in what direction to head. 

Sigurd's eyes flicked to the backroom of the tavern, where the movement of the tavern owners and staff had not passed in some time. He did not suspect that they were complicit, not entirely, not yet. Perhaps they could see where the servers were, to determine what exactly had happened to the drinks. 

Sigurd jerked his head, pressed a finger to his lips. "Come. Let us move – quickly, but quietly. I wonder if the thief is yet among us." 

Everybody Wang Chung Tonight :clap::clap:

[duskofendflame]

"Oh! Did I not say my name? My apologies, it's Corrin. Corrin Kamui Kolstad Ichinomiya von Fosberg." Corrin smiles, standing from where he had been kneeling and dusting off his pants. At least he'd had nothing else of value on him beside Yato. He still had his dragonstone, so he could only assume that whoever had robbed them had thought it was mere junk. If the worst came to be, he would still be able to fight.

"Not serious?! I think it's a lot serious...! Don't you care about whatever got taken from you?" He didn't really want to keep going on about Yato, but that sword was a family heirloom. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing that you were allowed to lose.

"The last thing I remember was..." Corrin is amazed that he can remember anything at all. He didn't exactly have the greatest short term memory, and the long term was well... it wasn't great either, "Um... before I passed out, I believe I was about to leave and head back to my quarters to write a letter to my daughter. Heading towards the door is about where it goes black."

Hey. Wake Up. You Fucked Up Big Time.

Anniversary (2023) | Authority +1 (October)

[reprisalet]

"edain... professor, priestess..." he repeats, as if grounding himself on words. "i'd say it's good to meet you, but i wish the circumstances were better. my name is reyson, of serenes forest. i also presently work for the monastery."

he tries to clear his head. it's difficult. her offer to aid him is appreciated. while normally in such a situation he might be a little more wary of a stranger, it helps that she's in the same position he is in. it builds a bit of trust right from the jump.

"please, yes. if you can do anything to heal my head, i would be grateful. i don't think the wound is too bad, but i hit it when i fell..."

if he can think more clearly, they can work on a way out of this situation. he's doing no one any good falling into old fears. this isn't the first time he's been in a situation like this. it has him shaking, almost, but he clamps down on it. to be strong, to not act afraid...

ah, but... when did he fall? he remembers having but a single drink when he went to the tavern. but he remembers, if he tries, falling and hitting his head. what a mess. that must have been when all this had happened.

"if we can orient ourselves, we can see if there might be a way out. this cell doesn't seem to be very well-constructed. maybe the lock is weak, or... well, it doesn't hurt to look. i cannot be trapped again, i..."

reyson wake up we fucked up big time!