Mark of Amilmar

[OMG PONIES]

Caedmon & Mialee (Middle Menthis Plateau)

A round of feeble applause emerges among the refugees as Caedmon finishes the last stanza of a song and takes a bow. As much as he hated working for the House anymore these days, he was grateful that they often stuck him with reconaissance jobs that allowed him the opportunity to pass plenty of downtime. Today, he was assigned to monitor the influx of Brelish refugees and make sure order was maintained. In all his years, Caedmon had learned that the best way to get upset people to behave was to take their mind off the task at hand, and this was why he sang: to give the refugees an escape. The officer excuses himself from the crowd, promising to continue upon his return. "I'm getting some tea, Mialee," he lets the dancer know. "Can I get you anything?"

Caedmon waits patiently at the bar for his tea, sipping gingerly at it and cursing under his breath with a satisfied smile as it burns his tongue. He didn't care much for warm tea, but it was rare to find a place that took the time to boil it anymore. He'd have to add this one to his list. As he makes his way back to the makeshift stage, his wandering mind causes him to bump into a stranger in a black coat, sending boiling tea spilling everywhere.

"Son of Siberys!" Caedmon curses as the hot liquid spills over his hand and onto the floor. His gaze meets with the strangers, and Caedmon realizes that, beneath the black cloak, the man is armed and armored. "Apologies, sir," he bows to Wolf, "I should have seen you there. Allow me to buy you a drink to set things right?"