Vic's Gamble

[Horas]

An inn and alehouse popular with foreign mercenaries, gamblers, and drunkards.

[Horas]

Quentyn and Bannen walk into the inn. Quentyn affects a bit of a swagger as he approaches the bar. "An ale for my mate and me," Quentyn says in Westerosi, flicking a silver stag on the bar. "You know anybody paying well for good swords?"

[The Stranger]

The barkeep looked over the bar and eyed Quentyn, "Why do you ask?" He replied guardedly, as he put two ales on the counter, took the coin and bite it once, before putting it beneath the bar.

[Horas]

"Cause," Quentyn drawls, "They say there's a war brewing, and men like us can make their fortune in a good war."

"Anyone hiring Westerosi?" Bannen interjects. "I can't speak a word of your fucking loose-lipped jibber jabber tongue. Makes it easier if the paymaster can understand me, see? No offense." Bannen grins in a vaguely threatening way.

Quentyn rolls two more stags across the counter to the barman.

[The Stranger]

"Well... if you are looking to join the war, you've come to the wrong town. It's those foreign dogs, as are scampering for sellswords and sails, not we Braavosi. If that's the kind of work you're looking for. You don't look like sailors, so I'd recommend Myr. Now as it happens there ARE men hiring here in Braavos, but not for the war. Not THAT war anyway."

[Horas]

Quentyn and Bannen exchange annoyed glances. "I told you that Oldtown whore was lying. Probably never even been to Braavos..." Quentyn mutters.

He turns back to the barkeep. "What do you mean, not that war? Is there more than one? Seemed like you folks got enough cities declaring war on you as is."

[The Stranger]

The barkeep waved his hand, "Well, You two look like men who don't mind getting your hands dirty am I right about that?"

[Horas]

Quentyn smiles. "So long as it pays, friend."

"Pays well," Bannen corrects, glowering.

[The Stranger]

"Well, I can't say as to that, but I know the man whose doing the hiring, so if you want a meeting, it could be arranged... for a price," the barkeep replies.

[Horas]

Quentyn walks another silver stag across his knuckles. "What kind of price are we talking about?"

[The Stranger]

"You gimme twenty like that one there," the man says, pointing at the stag, "and I'll tell you who to see about making some real money." The Barkeep left for a moment to fill another man's flagon, before returning to Bannen and Quentyn.

[Horas]

Quentyn could afford the small bribe easily, but he had never met a sellsword who hadn't haggled over the price.

"Ten," Quentyn counters.

[The Stranger]

"Fifteen, and not a penny less," the barkeep replies haughtily, putting up a small wooden bowl of dried fruit and sliding it down the bar to a waiting patron.

[Horas]

"Fifteen, but only if you throw in another round of ale with it."

[The Stranger]

"Fine, the owner pays for that any how. The man's name is Tyrone." the barkeep poured two more ales, "He's a broker of sorts. He's usually at the Three Virgins fountain at this time of day. You know where that is?"

It was a small fountain built to honor of an ancient sealord's three daughters. Quentyn figured he could find it.