The Heartwood Talesan’s Village Amber Inn Stables Rameday, the Eleventh Day of Scholar
Mikal, Kadri, Cesare Rory, Ani, Twls, Dydd, Katshka Kirillsdotter, Zakariyya Kirillsson, a flock of merchants, a herd of teamsters and a passel of guards, some farmers and...
“...Daisy, oh Daisy, what I am going to do? You were always the kindest of lassies. Fair of temper, always a kind look, every morning you made me smile. So why, oh why, oh why...”
For Cesare, the answer to his last question that working day was easily answered. As with the rest of his companions, a pass through the Amber Inn baths was in order. The flowing water was always fresh, the floor and pool comfortably warm and as the evening air cooled a bit, a small mist formed across the surface.
With luxury like this, one could understand why the non-Rhoni tended to stay in one spot all their lives.
When he returned up the stairs, the tavern was quite full.
“...why did you have to take that morning promenade, did you get thirsty, was there a pretty wild flower, did you become entranced by the sunrise and tarried too long on the shore? What am I going to do now... that you’ve been eaten by a school of breakfasting fish...”
The bereaved was a large man dressed in comfortable clothes – tunic and surcoat – worn and stained from a long day’s work. He had a plate of venison next to him and a mug in his hand. Dark hair, dark eyes... he was a model of a farmer as he wiped the froth from his lips after he took a drought from his pewter stein.
“Hoi Barlibert...”
Ari leaned out from the doorway to the kitchen, dinner service having taken her to her personal fiefdom. Rory was behind the bar. It took both Twls and little Dydd in a continual bustle to keep up with the patrons’ wishes, darting around the tables and chairs like swiftlings.
“...jus’ how many cows named Daisy do yah got?”
“All of them Missus Ari, all of them!”
The answer came from the farmer’s neighbor, the lassie Cesare had recognized. Katshka had claimed a place at the end of the bar, where she relaxed tucked up against the counter and bar. Like Barlibert the farmer, she seemed ensconced in a traditional spot.
Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty or more. With a hungry old Forest right outside his door How many more cows will Barli lose, Before he ends his song of woeful moos?
The minstrel – both Ari and Rory had promised a minstrel after all – was the lad who had rode in with Kat. He didn’t sit at the bar, he sat on the bar, his guitar on his lap and fingers stealing forth a melody bright and more than a little teasing.
“Tell them no. They get shrooms and gravy with their meat and that’s all they are goin’ to get. They want potatoes, they’s in the stew and they better like it or I’ll clobber them with me spoon.
“Sellswords. Bah. Ah already got two kids and donnae need to be motherin’ a passel more.”
That outburst from the kitchen received a deep set of laughs, with one sturdy bloke getting a hard whack to the back of his head from a comrade.
“Toldja so.”
The majority of the patrons were of that sort – travel worn and rough. The guardsmen had shed their armor, of course, but most still carried their steel. There were at least five tables of them and they did put the most demands on Rory and his kin. Oddly, none seemed to wear any kind of heraldry, meaning that if they were Jvrillian, they were like Mikal, independent, working from one Contract to the next. And they probably were Jvrillians, coming to town just as promised. At each table there was a wealthier-looking man – probably a merchant – and one or two burly looking ones – probably a caravan leader or some other manner of teamster.
You could tell the newer lads from the older. The less experienced sworders were spending their coin like it would last forever. The elder were more reserved, knowing it’d have to last till Marketday when new contracts were taken up.
Some of them, of course, were taking up a more dangerous hunt.
“Hey, there lassie, ye donnae look like ye are from around here.”
At least three had decided to surround Kadri.
“A small lady like thee, don’t ye know it be dangerous here at tha end of the world. Why there are bandits and unsavory type in every shadow. Like Donnik there.”
This one was a tall swordsman in blues and black, his hair the color of midnight and eyes the most trustable brown. Donnik, his companion, was smaller and wirier, with light hair and a definitely rakish demeanor.
“Ignore tha younglings, lil’ one.”
The third was halfway between the two in height, with ragged brown hair and black eyes. He stood a bit crookedly, but he was definitely a survivor. His face and arms were covered with scars; he looked like a crisscrossed tapestry that had somehow managed to survive without benefit of Attera’s soft touch.
“They ain’t seen nothin’ but their momma’s skirts. Ah lassie like thee need a bloke who’s been down tha Path and back.”
He spares a look for Kadri but figures she can look after herself. Plus of course Mikal is close by. Like always he will keep a wary eye on anything going on and will intervene only if needed.
He smiles at the bard's song, thinking it clever. It will be nice to have some entertainment. Meanwhile he intends to renew an acquaintance.
He'd been nursing an ale, watching the room. He saw it fill with people. The farmers and locals he mostly ignored, unless he overheard something about the area he felt was useful, and those he tucked away in memory for later.
His companions entered either singly or in pairs and sat in different locations. It was reasonable enough that they didn't cluster together. It was a seemingly safe town. As safe as towns could get, from what Mikal had seen and heard so far. And, they'd spent months together on their journeys. Months sleeping, eating, and doing everything else under Her light you could think of all within spitting distance of each other. A bit of space, chatting with someone new, someone whose various body odors you did not recognize from a distance, was a bit refreshing.
He is wearing his nicer clothes. His road clothes are still drying from being washed earlier in the day while he was at the baths. He has on black pants and a white shirt, over which he wears a black sleeveless tunic.
During the months on the road he carefully, using needle and thread, had embroidered on the left breast of the tunic his sigil. A White Rose, stained with blood and weeping blood red tears.
He notes the numerous Jvrillians in the place, and that most are loners, like himself. He is evaluating what he sees, discarding the ones still wet behind the ears and focusing more on those who have the walk and mannerisms of men who have seen combat, and survived.
Being involved in a Troop, and seeing large scale battle, is a completely different experience than guarding a caravan or walking a watch in a town or village. It leaves a mark on a man. A mark that others with similar background can detect, if they are looking for it.
And while Mikal is willing to take on trainees for his Troop, in fact in the long run trainees might be easier to mold as they won't have to unlearn habits before Mikal instills in them unfamiliar tactics, he does want to recruit s core of veterans to build upon.
His eyes picked out Kadri as she entered the tavern and while he did not get up and immediately go to her her kept an eye on where she was.
So when the three Jvrillians approach her, he takes a gulp of ale, places the mug back on the table, adjusts his Darksteel weapons, Short Sword and Main Gauche, and slides easily through the tavern to a position near the bar where he can observe, and or quickly intervene if needed.
He makes sure Kadri can see him, but unless she asks, he doesn't immediately intervene. Instead allowing her to handle it first.
However he will not allow her to come to harm, so he makes certain his weapons as loose in their scabbards and watches carefully.
Kadri was outfitted in a much more presentable version of her old travel clothes , her hair braided up and bits of feather and colored ribbon tied in it. Much like, in fact, that own night where she had first met Dazi and set down this strange road.
She smiles widely, looking at them.
"Oh, I dare say I've been down paths that you would not wish to tread. And as for bandits in shadow - why I would say that the shadow is a very bad place for them to be around me. I am named Kadri, originally from Amber and recently from Grand Talantal."
She pauses and cocks her head to one side, then spins, ducks, weaves, and moves past, around, and behind the three.
"Come now. A proper lady likes her space, and a proper lad gives it to her. If you are good, I might even tell you a story."
Another wide grin, this one a bit more feral.
"If you are NOT good, the next story might have you as its subject."
Last edited by Art in the Blood; Mon 03/08/1521:12 UTC.
The Heartwood Talesan’s Village Amber Inn Rameday, the Eleventh Day of Scholar
Mikal, Kadri, Cesare Rory, Ani, Twls, Dydd, Katshka Kirillsdotter, Zakariyya Kirillsson, a flock of merchants, a herd of teamsters and a passel of guards, some farmers and...
“Aye... the lad comin’ down the Highgaard passes a while back. Seems you are still travelin’ with the redhead and the same dark-haired lassie there. And took a much lazier route to get here and all.”
Katshka still had that easygoing quality from the trail, quietly ensconced at her end of the bar space. Her little pendant glittered a bit in the lamplight as she sipped her beer.
“So what brings you down to the coast? Have you come to visit the Farm? Fa will be thrilled to see Fern again. Though I got to ask... you know anything about that white mare in the livery?”
A bit farther down, another meeting was taking a turn... a duck, a swoop and a turn, with Kadri slipping past her newest group of suitors. Now, this did free her from the triplet of Jvrillians, only to end her out in the open in the commons.
The roughhewn Jvrillian spoke first.
“Perhaps even a bedti...OW!”
From behind the bar, Rory clocked scarface with a mug to the back of the head.
“Ye want tha’ kind of story, go to the Shark. This is a respectable tavern, Horace, an’ ye should know that by now!”
Rubbing the back of his head, the elder Jvrillian snorted.
“Aye, and end up broke and without work. An’ I’ll be damned if I sign on to protect a barn full of fish. It smells bad and who in their right mind would ever steal fish. Besides, when did a fisher lass talk to anyone other than a fisher lad... or fishers in general anyways? Right surly bunch if yah ask me.
“Last, I donnae take me pay in flounder.”
This, of course, left his two compatriots alone to follow Kadri.
“Oi, ye are a slippery lassie ain’t thee! And a proper lady at that... cor, Nevvie, I ain’t ever met a proper lady before...”
His cohort, obviously Nevvie, replied to Donnik as he turned to face Kadri.
“Of course not, since when do proper ladies come to village taverns?”
With a sly smile he then repeated his question to Kadri herself.
“So lassie, since when do proper ladies come to village taverns? Surely that’s a good tale to be telling, aye?”
For Mikal, it appeared that Kadri was in no danger, between her own swiftness and the barkeep’s trusty stein. Indeed, if anyone did look suspicious now it was him, his checking of his own weapons having caught the attention of other guardsmen.
Two looked at him as if he might be the one planning trouble. One, a sturdy looking fellow with long black hair and an open brigandine hauberk rakishly worn over his tunic, simply rubbed the back of his neck as he observed Mikal’s stance. The second was a very short fellow, of an oddly sturdy build, his head resting on crossed arms, his mug sitting on the table beside him. He simply rolled his head in Mikal’s direction and opened one eagle eye upon him.
“Hoi...”
From the corner, resting on a stool, a third spoke up. This one’s voice was gruff, earthy and low. Wearing heavy clothes and a heavy cloak, features lost behind the shadow of a drawn up hood, this one seemed content to sip from a heavy pewter mug.
“One rule.”
Leaning up against the wall, quiet and still, was a sword almost as tall as Mikal – certainly as tall as Kadri.
He leans on the end of the bar, keeping his eyes on Kadri and her supposed suitors.
He grunts a reply. "Any fighting won't be started by me." He glances at the two following his friend. "If those two get riled up enough for not being able to catch the girl and get out of hand, though." He shrugs meaningfully.
"Ah, so you see - that is a very long story, and one with many parts that I would be loathe to tell upon a dry throat. It also has many a part - would you want the one that begins with a rainy day and a knife in the dark? Or the one which begins with a demon? Perhaps the one that begins with a battle? Or one which begins in the Grandest Grand Talantal? There is simply not the time to tell them all."
The Heartwood Talesan’s Village Amber Inn Rameday, the Eleventh Day of Scholar
Mikal, Kadri, Cesare Rory, Ani, Twls, Dydd, Katshka Kirillsdotter, Zakariyya Kirillsson, a flock of merchants, a herd of teamsters and a passel of guards, some farmers and...
“Well, Cesare, that’s right obvious.
“Darkmane brought me here. It’s a fair walk between here and the compound, and I don’t cotton to arriving tired and then being even more tired when I drag myself home.”
The young woman took a slow sip of her drink, continuing her conversation with the Rhoni.
“But mostly I’m keeping Kari there company. You’d think having a minstrel for a brother would fill your house up with song. Right. Between chores and sleeping and working the horses, the only way we get to hear him sing is to follow him when he escapes Father’s overlooking.
“Not that Fa’s a task master or anything but there’s always a powerful lot to be doing at the ranch.”
She did, however, cast a glance over her shoulder, looking a bit concerned at Mikal’s discussion with the stranger.
“Oh, that’s not good.”
She very quickly returned her attention to Cesare.
“Now the last? That should be obvious. I haven’t ever seen that breed of horse before. She looks as sharp as a crusader, but is built like an Amber breed and moves like she’s always dancing.
“And if Father finds out there’s a new kind of horse, you can bet crowns to stars that he’ll be here faster than a merebeast can turn around its own tail.”
Nevvie was quite happy with Kadri’s riposte, placing a hand on the back of an empty chair to rest rakishly, and it was hard to tell whether or not he ignored Mikal’s posturing out of course, bravado or simply that the mercenary wasn’t as cute as Kadri.
“So yah are a sharp tongued lassie, I see. Always a good quality – spirit always makes matters interesting and a night to be rememberin’.
“It is too nice a day for rain and daggers, the tales of Nobles are always high falutin’ and boring, and battles always end the same – as you would nae be here if’n yah lost.
“But a demon, you say?
“What might cause a sweet thing like you to have crossed a demon’s path – and to get out with soul intact? Now that... that would be a tale worth hearing.”
From the corner, from that quiet shadow, came a low, long exhalation.
“Then set yourself down, relax an’ enjoy song an’ drink, laddie. Because of everyone here...”
A sip was taken from that heavy pewter mug.
“...yah be tha’ only one foolin’ about with steel and shrugs all threatening meaningful.”
He nods as she tells her tale, raising an eyebrow when she explains that the minstrel is her brother.
At her comment and glance in Mikal's direction, he looks over to make sure all is well with his companions, now keeping a sharp eye on the situation as he knows from experience that things can turn right over just on one wrong word.
He chuckles.
"She is called Dancer, belongs to one of our group. You obviously know your horseflesh."
Although his tone is light, he is aware that Romana has been hunted and asking about her mount might be a way to confirm her presence here.
Finding a seat at a table near to the hooded man, he sets down his drink and sighs, though he turns his chair so he can rise quickly if needed.
"Effective, wasn't it? Got the attention of everyone here who it needed to, without any shouting, banging, or violence."
He takes a sip and goes on. "I take my contracts seriously, and I have seen the likes of that", he nods towards the two who were engaging Kadri, "turn ugly in a heartbeat."
He turns to glance at the man. "Not that I worry so much for the girl. But were I not to step in and intervene I'd be spending all my time explaining to the local magistrate why those two were all cut up and mangled. And I'd prefer to drink in peace."
"There is no night to be remembering aside from the stories for you, I am afraid."
She gives a bit of a pouting face.
"For I have many brothers and sisters, and they are the jealous sort, and Amber takes these matters seriously indeed. Why, from my 'little tent' on the plains of Amber, they rode across the length and breadth of the land and they came riding all the way to the courts of Grant Talantal itself over rumors of my marriage. Also, it is quite possible my husband may be put out. And while he is not so much the violent sort, I think being on his wrong side is a matter not to be taken lightly. Then, my dear friend, there is me. I do not think you wish to see the extent of my 'spirit'."
"So, my friend, you have a choice - content yourself with amusing stories and a good drink, laughs and jokes - or ... find out what my or is. I personally think a good stiff drink and stories are preferable to what is not to happen - and leaves us both to smiling, yes?"
As she speaks, she keeps moving, and moves herself to a seat a little nearer to Mikal - then whistles and holds up a coin to perhaps tact one to exchange it for drink.
"Now, in a wood on Brementown road came riders, more than a handful of riders on eastern steed, in hot pursuit ..."
And out came a story, truth, or something similar to truth, at least in broad strokes. Names and faces changed, identities masked behind new identities and things which may prove hurtful to others rendered no longer sharp. In short, a tale fit for a campfire, of events which may or may not have happened long ago.
Perhaps instead of an eastern princess it was merely a fair maiden. Perhaps other changes. But it was true. Broadly.
The Heartwood Talesan’s Village Amber Inn Rameday, the Eleventh Day of Scholar
Mikal, Kadri, Cesare Rory, Ani, Twls, Dydd, Katshka Kirillsdotter, Zakariyya Kirillsson, a flock of merchants, a herd of teamsters and a passel of guards, some farmers and...
“Bloomin’ idjots...”
Horace, the guff one, looked at his two cohorts.
“Larkin’ after a married gal... that’s about as bad as dating a fisher’s daughter. Nothin’ is worth tha trouble of a vengeful husband or a bloke who works a gaff all day.”
Nevvie just looked back over his shoulder to the elder Jvrillian.
“Well how were we supposed to be knowin’. Good eve lassie, are ye hitched to a bloke already? That goes about as well as kicking a merebeast and then asking for his pelt.”
He then returned his attention to Kadri,
“Ye aren’t a merebeast we just kicked, are yah, lass? Because we are still interested in thine tale.”
The two swordsmen nodded to each other and then to Kadri, awaiting her tale. And by its end she had a tall mug of beer sitting next to her, a hank of beef and a hunk of torn bread – all of which had kind of just appeared as she spun her tale. Indeed, half the commons had gathered around, making a circle around the Lady Korie. This included Kari, the minstrel listening to the adventure sharply, fingers moving on his instrument’s strings – not a sound coming out, but as of he were testing chords and melodies all ready.
And when she finished, it was he who spoke.
“Now mi’lady far-travelled. That leaves me with one question – is that a just weaving of fancy words, which seem to have entranced half the toughs here in Rory’s place, or...”
And he paused then, locking his eyes with hers.
“Are you telling us this is a story true and that it actually happened?
“Including the sky-falling horse?”
The minstrel’s sister, however, kept her attention to Cesare. She sipped her beer, nodding once as he identified the white horse.
“Dancer, eh? That’s a right proper name. She’s well cared for too, but then she’s keeping good company. And of course I do; it’s me life. I work with horses. Kari there, he’s going to wander; he’s our mustang. Me, I’m going to take up after Fa. He says I have the gift.”
She tapped her silver pendant with a single finger – it was a simple thing, a light chain from which hung the rune for Horse.
“And here, in Talesan’s, they take us seriously. Not like when you get to the Keeps and such. Kierkegaard, Amber, they think they know horses. But they got it backwards. Horses ain’t here for us.
“We are here for them.”
In the shadowed corner, the swordsman tuned a bit, as Mikal approached, tugging the cowl of his cloak further down.
“The sheriff wouldn’t even ask a question, laddie. All he’d need to know about the whole lot of you being on the stone pavers is that I was on my way to the Waverider’s Market and someone broke tha one rule.
Kat seems genuine and must be well know if the minstrel here is her brother. Kadri seems to have diverted potential trouble as her story telling seems to be a major diversion.. and it is good that folks are not sure if it is true or not.
A chance for a small diversion of his own.
"The story teller over there was a lady of Amber. Certainly the two of you have a passion shared and maybe a point or two to debate on the subject. Maybe you should talk to her at some point?"
He takes a good draught of his ale, still needing to wet his whistle after working this afternoon.
He nods quietly to the man and sips at his ale. He notes the man's pulling of his hood to cover his face so he doesn't ask his name. Seemingly he doesn't want to be recognized, not that Mikal expects he'd recognize him anyway.
He puts the mug down and asks casually, without taking his eyes off Kadri, "Where did you hale from on your way to the market? Just wondering at the travel conditions."
"Now minstrel Kari, do you not already know the answer to that? All tales are true. But this tale really happened, if that is your meaning.”
She took a drink, then smiled again, her eyes twinkling.
"More or less, although more of the more and less of the less. One has to be a bit of a liar to tell a story in the right way. Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes your tale sound insincere. The best stories contain both lies and truth and leave the listener to decide which is which. And that is half the fun of a tale."
Last edited by Art in the Blood; Mon 31/08/1515:36 UTC.
The Heartwood Talesan’s Village Amber Inn Rameday, the Eleventh Day of Scholar
Mikal, Kadri, Cesare Rory, Ani, Twls, Dydd, Katshka Kirillsdotter, Zakariyya Kirillsson, a flock of merchants, a herd of teamsters and a passel of guards, some farmers and...
“Lassie, are ye sure you are in the right trade? Give you a gitar and teach you a few chords and you could melting merchants between here and Dawnview Castle.
“That’s the soul of a songmiester, what you ... what you...”
For Cesare, the conversation was a bit different.
“Hoi, we had the whole trip down the Highgaard Road to be talking horsecraft. And while I suspect she is a true horsewoman, she is still a Terilanquel. They serve Lloshad in a very different manner, for they have very different skills – how do you call it? A fortunate accci... acci acci....
“...oh, this may not end well. Wrong question to ask...”
Indeed, Mikal’s question brought a half silence across the room... and then a heartbeat or so later, complete. First it was the farmers who fell quiet, then the local townsfolk, and then everyone else, curious as to why the locals went quiet.
“Rory...”
The odd rough voice, from the corner, spoke up, the mug set to the side.
“All I wanted was a quiet night and a mug of apple cider. Are you going to ask me to leave now?”
From the bar came a quiet response.
“Probably for the best. Apologies, Broke. Ye can take the mug with you.”
The cowled warrior reached for the massive great sword and rose. The mug was taken with him. There was the shrush of metal upon metal as the guard walked out the door and into the dark night.
Only after the commons door shut did the barkeep continue.
“Ye had to make a point of it, didn’t ye laddie? The only folks who go to the Waverider’s Market are folks who call Waverider’s Watch home.”
Slowly the bar resumed its evening’s banter, which lasted until it was time to sleep – rooms were waiting, all snugly prepared by Twls. Somehow the tavern never quite recaptured its full reverie... perhaps because every now and then a single unexpected word got whispered.
(OOC - Is Waverider, Market or Watch, something Mikal is supposed to know about? He asked a simple question, "What did you see on your ride down here and which way did you come?", so he could learn about events on the road, and he is chastised like he purposefully tried to goad the man into a fight.
If this is something Mikal should know about I would appreciate the DM telling the player the background in advance. If it is not, then the locals should know foreigners don't know these things and take that into account. Either way I disliked that series of posts.)
[[I would hope so. It's the Manor, owned by Kadri's husband, that Mikal and Kadri were going to use to gather this troop Mikal wants to create; both Mikal and Kadri had a long talk with Tray about available manners.
Later, after asking Mikal where to send possible recruits, and being told by Mikal to send them to Waverider's Watch ... Dandy specifically warned them against bothering the locals on Marketday.]]
[OOC: Except that nobody bothered to tell anyone that one shouldn't question folks about Waverider's Watch or the Market or really anything to provoke the reaction Mikal got. Just don't go to the Market on Marketday. And even Dazi wouldn't infer from that statement the conclusion that curiosity will get you treated like a pariah. If we, as players make faux pas... and we do... then it's fair that we deal with the consequences. An honest mistake is an honest mistake.
But Mikal seems to have just broken some unspoken rule that only Rory knows about. Sure, that's fair. NOT.]
(OOC - It's really the whole sequence in the inn, culminating in that last post, that is upsetting. Yes, now that you mention it, I think Waverider's Watch was mentioned as a place to send recruits, back months and months of real-time ago. Or the small, innocuous comment to not go to Waverider's Market on market day.
I am sorry, but expecting me to remember a comment like that from before the summer (I just checked and it was March 16th when Waverider's Watch was mentioned for gosh sakes) without a small OOC reminder in the post. example:
("Note: Waverider's Watch was the place Mikal was told to send recruits, and he was told to avoid the market on market day for some reason he doesn't understand yet") is simply not going to happen. I do not have time to search through months of posts to find every reference that might apply, no matter how small. And I do need to be reminded of the big ones when they are 6 months old. I am NOT Super OCD Woman.
Then lets add this. Mikal, in his role as contracted bodyguard for Kadri, places his hand on his sheathed sword hilt when it appears some drunken Jvrillians might try to assault her. Let's forget the fact that almost no one should have noticed that small movement, or that he did not draw his sword or say anything out loud, but simply that it is a natural resting place for one's hand when wearing a sword. However half the inn notices and everyone starts making comments about his starting a fight.
Then let's add that apparently there is some obscure rule in the inn that there is no fighting. A rule that everyone knows, but which no one bothered to tell Mikal, an armed Jvrillian. So he is called out about that.
Then, after the GM makes a point of highlighting the cloaked man with the large sword, and after Mikal was told that there could be Jvrillian recruits in the inn, and then Mikal makes an innocent opening comment asking how the road is nearby so he can get news, the entire inn over-reacts, and effectively calls him an imbecile.
I really did not appreciate that whole sequence. If I want to be called an imbecile I'll go hang out with my wife.)
I am sorry you feel that way and I apologize if it has made you feel bad. It wasn't meant to.
Yes, Mikal stumbled into a very odd cultural situation, one that he obviously was unaware of the rules. Should he have understood the rules? In truth probably not - which also happens to be a staple of small town roleplay. Were there hints? Littered throughout the series of posts there were.
Did Mikal ask the wrong question at the wrong time? Yes. Was it a legitimate question to ask? Yes. Should Mikal have known it was the wrong question at the wrong time? Probably not. Has Mikal been in any way negatively effected by the results?
Absolutely not.
The only result was a very strange person decided to leave the bar. Rory wasn't too pleased, but he hasn't tossed Mikal out, cut his drinks or taken away his room. Rory will get over it. The shadow cast over the bar was not because of Mikal or his actions, but speculation on just who this person was ... maybe this person didn't belong in the tavern in the first place. Is this Mikal's fault? No.
All in all it was a plausible incident, and something that could quite easily happen to folks who have never spent the night in a town - one that has its fair share of quirks, mysteries and prejudices. Was it fair or not fair? That is dependent on if one expected Mikal to have an intimate knowledge of Talesan's Village, the people who live near it, the people who pass through and the personal relationships between the non player characters.
Did it go as well as it could have? Obviously not. But that happens.
Is it something that could be looked into, even if it was a "what the hell just happened?" - Yes. Heck, Mikal could even go and follow if he wanted to. The person seemed to to be a fighter type after all, and definitely not a thug.
Could this person have been useful or a good contact? That is still left to be seen - it is important to note that Broke simply got up and left; Broke didn't seem to hold it against anyone, even Mikal.
So if Mikal got blindsided, while unfortunate, it wasn't malicious and it it is not something that is going to be held against him. Chalk it up to small town bar politics. If that has bothered you, I am truly sorry it has.
I felt railroaded into a situation where no matter what I did the outcome was predetermined. I was told to go to the bar to look for recruits. I was pointed at this person by the GM, and when I tried to talk to him I was smacked for it.
Actually there's a whole horde [sic] of Jvrillians in the commons, and being at the Amber Inn, probably the more reputable ones.
And, as has been mentioned a couple times, a Jvrillian at Talesan's Village tends to be between Contracts between arrival and the day after Marketday.
Now Broke may have been a very interesting one, but, obviously, Broke has issues.
It's definitely not railroaded nor predetermined ... good or bad, it is Mikal's interactions with the other patrons that determine what happens or what not happens. If you wish to use the railroad analogy, you are definitely not on the tracks, but you may be at Grand Central Station.
Right now no one even suspects Mikal is looking for folks.
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