Though the Legendary Flask tavern and inn did not possess any beverages quite deserving of the title "legendary", Kumoru sipped at a mug of their house brew as he leafed boredly through the blank leather-bound book on the table in front of him. He was more enjoying the new leather smell than anything else; there was no need to wonder what he was going to write in this new book. The necromancer's old notebook was in his bag of belongings on the floor right beside his chair, filled with all manner of things copied down from other older books. Gathering spells and information was far easier than he had originally thought it would be when he first set out from the Tower of Wings, and Kumoru now rarely regretted leaving his hometown and his old school behind.

When his studies were further along, perhaps he would return, but for the moment, he was not completely sure it would be safe. The Tower of Wings was no doubt already keeping an eye on him for continuing in what they saw was an unsavory field of study.

In truth, Kumoru could never be totally sure he was safe, which was why he was considering hiring a strong arm with a sword to accompany him into the next city. The place had extensive libraries which would no doubt hold numerous books of interest to the necromancer, but at the same time, it was a big enough city that the Tower would likely have agents there, to keep an eye out for Kumoru and the other wizards it had quietly branded as deviants over the years. For the moment, the mage continued to flip through the blank book and sip his ale, but his bright blue eyes scanned the other patrons in the tavern, searching for someone who looked both strong and trustworthy.

... And perhaps the food he had ordered would arrive sometime in the near future, too.

The day was muggy and unforgiving; it was the kind of day where everybody stayed inside to wait out the strange heat wave uncharacteristic of the season. However, peculiar weather or not, life never stopped for minor temperature discomfort. That was the case for a few hard working people who had basked out in the sun all morning and afternoon, picking vegetables for the harvest. A few had fainted from the heat, and Haraldur agreed to lend a hand wherever he could. The work was a test of endurance for many, but he honestly didn't mind the exertion. He was used to weather in many of its extremes, and work, in any context, was mostly a rewarding experience for him. He loved always having a job to carry, whether it was paid or not. He realized that made him somewhat of a workaholic, but what else could he do to while away the time?

He entered the Legendary Flask after a hard but successful day, his hair wet and matted against his head and his beige shirt soaked all the way through. It was unpractical for him to wear his armor on such a day, but he still wore his leather bracers and carried his longsword, which stayed attached to his hip. He just wanted to head upstairs, take a refreshing bath and unwind for a little while, but he figured while he was at the bar, he'd get a drink or two. He sat at the bar front and called over the bartender.

"Rough day, eh?" The bartender smirked one-sidedly as he gave Haraldur a once-over.

"An ale, please. And yes," Haraldur commented, wiping the sweat dripping from his forehead, "it was just a little hot outside,” he downplayed with a smile, “but we got a lot done out there."

"A little?" the bartender chuckled and shook his head incredulously. "Looks like you took a bath in your own sweat. Anyway, ale coming right up, Haraldur."

Haraldur was on good terms with the bartender, having paid him a little extra to promote his mercenary services while he was staying at the inn. He was a friendly fellow and the two became fast friends. He always liked to acquaint himself with people wherever he went; connections were important to one who didn't have a fixed home, and those connections were vital for finding equal footing and opportunity in strange towns and cities.

He slid a coin on the countertop once he received his ale and, after taking a long, thankful swig, sat back on the bar stool and looked around the tavern idly.

The smell of people filled the whole room, really; how could it not after how the weather had been? Even the necromancer, who had spent the majority of the day poking through this village's tiny library, had worked up a bit of a sweat returning here from the other building. A good part of why he had ordered steamed vegetables with a bit of chicken, rather than his usual choice of stew. The thought of soup on a day like today made Kumoru vaguely ill.

After a few minutes, the waitress came by with his plate and set it on the table, and Kumoru obliglingly shut his blank book and stowed it in his bag to make room for it. Steam rose from the plate, though, and so before he started eating, he murmured a few words as though praying before blowing gently over the food. The spell cooled it off, but as the long-haired man started to eat, the last curls of steam directed his eyes up to a particular man, who was seated at the bar and sipping from a mug.

He looked strong, and carried a sword, which Kumoru noted. More importantly, however, he looked familiar. And so the mage studied him furtively, his bright blue eyes scrutinizing the details of the other man's features, as he worked on his meal, trying to recall where he had seen him before. And the name, more importantly. Really, a necromancer should remember such details, as names could hold a good deal of power.

Still, he remembered being able to trust that man, and, as he was in need of a bodyguard anyway, the slender mage decided he would speak to the much stronger-looking fellow once he had finished his supper. If nothing else, he could figure out if the man could still be trusted. And so, once he swallowed the last of the vegetables, Kumoru sucked at his teeth and bent to pick up his bag, then brushed his ponytail forward over one shoulder to fiddle with his fine black hair a little as he went to join the brown-haired man at the bar.

"Is what you're drinking any good?" he inquired with a small smile as he sat down.

While Haraldur waited for his ale, he watched the door as it opened and closed repeatedly. More people were storming into the tavern, no doubt wanting a safe haven from the elements. Between the regular crowd and the weather-evading crowd, the bar was nearly full within a few short minutes. By then, Haraldur received his ale and began drinking as he glanced at the empty seat beside him. Well, it wouldn't be empty for long.

After taking another few sips, Haraldur looked around again, noting a few familiar faces from earlier and smiling in acknowledgement as they passed him by. He leaned an elbow against the counter and began to relax a little, despite the gradually growing crowds milling about the bar around him. He didn't mind crowds so much, and he knew this bunch, who delivered him friendly smiles as they made their way to the tables in the back. But with the rate at which people were entering the tavern, it'd be warmer outside than in here, Haraldur mused.

As he turned back to his ale, he had the feeling that somebody was staring at him. He cocked his head in the direction of where he felt the stare and then slowly shifted his eyes toward the general area. Whoever had been staring wasn't doing it any more, but Haraldur wasn't too concerned about it anymore when he noticed somebody familiar. A man with long black hair was sitting a few seats down from him, feasting on his food. The man was familiar, all right, but Haraldur was certain he didn't know this man from the town. He didn't live here. No, Haraldur knew him from elsewhere...and it was a long time ago.

He creased his brow in concentration, trying to remember the face and where he'd last seen him, but he didn't mull over it for long. The black-haired man, after finishing his meal, stood up and walked right toward him. Haraldur found himself nodding knowingly, when the man sat at the still empty bar seat beside him; this was the man who had been staring at him.

Haraldur returned the man's smile and tried to be polite by not staring as much as he would have liked--but he still did get a good look at him. There was something about those bright blue eyes that jumpstarted something of a memory, but he shook it away once the man addressed him.

"Not bad, not bad," he commented, taking another sip before setting the mug back on the counter. "Mullen there," he pointed to the bartender, "knows it's not all that great, but for the region we're in, it's a surprise they can get decent ale at all." Haraldur looked the man over again, but what jogged his memory the most were those eyes. "I'm Haraldur," he announced, bringing his hand out for a shake. If he couldn't remember the name on his own, he'd just have to do it the normal way.