White Cap Inn

[The Flint]

Despite its name, the White Cap Inn is a tavern without sleeping accommodations. It is popular with well-to-do traders, fancy bravos and wealthy locals.

[The Flint]

Francis entered and looked around, his hands placed on the soft paunch over his belly, which showed his love of food, and the rouge on his nose hinted at a love of the drink as well. His clothing was not as fine as some, but finer than others. He fit in.

Just as he'd fit in with the last fourteen bars and taverns and wine-shops. He scanned the room, expecting to once again be disappointed, but at the far end of the bar a man stood leaning up against a post, his long thin sword tangled from an attractive gold sash. He was most certainly Kelio Hussia, member of the Group of 63.

Francis approached the bar, and ordered his drink, his Braavosi accent passable when given with the slight slur of drink he'd added to it. As he drank his drink, Francis glanced occasionally up at the swordsman, than continued drinking. This continued for almost an hour, as he pantomimed a man building up courage to speak. Finally he blurted,
"Aren't you Hussia the swordsman?" Francis put a finger to his lip thoughtfully, "yes, it is you. I'd recognize you anywhere. I saw you duel a few months back, some foul mouth bugger that you gave what for. Most impressive!" Francis extended a hand. "Yaro Turin, much obliged."

[The Smith]

Kelio looks over to Turin and then down at the man's outstretched hand. Chuckling Kelio looked over to his friends, and then back to Yaro. "I don't talk with any one who hasn't bought a round for the house chum." His friends laugh and clap him on the back, and several nearby drinkers gave a cheer.

[dienekes]

Willem Snow enters the inn for a few moments and looks around only to be shoved out the door by some servant muttering about street urchins.

[The Flint]

A bag of coin appears in Yaro's hand, and he raises it over his head, "Well if that's the price of a few decent stories, I say why not. Barkeep, drinks all around if you please!"

[The Smith]

Kelio steps up laughing and hugs Yaro close, "Well my friend welcome to a new life. What did you want to hear about?" He takes a slug from his drink.

[The Flint]

"Why your life as a Bravo of course! You ever kill anyone who REALLLLLY deserved it?" Francis said, his eyes lighting up in pure hero worship.

[Horas]

Cinnak sits in another tavern across the seat, casually watching the door to the White Cap Inn. He eats a roast fowl with gusto, but barely touches the wine he ordered with the meal.

[The Smith]

Kelio laughs then waves everyone closer and tells a story about killing Lord Derisa in a duel after Derisa called him a "Baboon". He recounts the deul in exacting detial. Describing ever strike and stab. Aparantly Kelio played with Derisa for a long time, for he stabbed the man in every limb.

[The Flint]

"You showed him you did! Another drink for my new friends!" He told the barkeep, laying down more money. "Give us another Kelio! What was your most trying battle? Two on one? ten on one?"

"Yaro" batted his eyes in blatant idolatry.

[The Smith]

"That is a good one. It was one to one. A water dancer named Felis Huger. I am sure you have all heard of him." One of Kelio's hands drifted up to a long scar on his cheek, "He gave me this, and three others. One is far to close to my heart. The man could have been the best in the city. If not for a handful of others." He recounts the battle again, this one was truly epic and hard fought and it takes almost two hours. This is a quiet story though, calm and deadly. People are drawn into the exacting description of a fight that took a quarter of the time that the story takes.

[The Flint]

"Yaro" keeps Kelio's throat from getting dry, with another drink always close at a hand. After all, telling stories of daring do, is such thirsty work. He watches for tell tale signs of drunkenness, although the man's capacity seems significant.
"A sobering story indeed, We better have another round!" He grins at his newest made friend, as the drinks continue to flow.

"They can't all have been so serious though. Surely there must be a duel you remember fondly? Of course all duels are deadly serious," Francis said with the sincerity of the intoxicated, "But some are less serious than others."

[The Smith]

Kelio tells another story and then another. He drinks a mug with every story, but his voice does not slur, nor does he stumble about. His volume does increase slightly with every drink.

[The Flint]

Francis had to be impressed by the man's drinking ability, although it was inconvenient. Even Ser Gilbert, the Far Reaches' champion drunk would have been well and truly plowed by now. "Yaro" continued to ply the man with drink, choosing the most intoxicating beverages he can find on the menu. When Francis had done as much damage as he thought possible, he said:

"You know, I have to registrar a compliment. These drinks don't seem to be hitting me with the desired affection! One of my ships just came back from the Summer Isles, with a native beverage that'll straighten the hairs on your head! Let's say we repose to my abode and continue our party there?"

[The Smith]

Kelio laughed loudly his breath reeking. And nodding his head loosely he looked over to the bar keep. "You can shut down now Ilion. We are going to Yaro's." Kelio wraps his arm around the younger man's shoulder and leads him towards the door, "Now where do you live Yaro? I hope it is somewhere nice. Or at least some where wet?" He laughs again, and so do all the occupants of the bar who follow Kelio out. The twenty three men and women make an odd parade, must of them stumbling, and all of them laughing.