--------------- A Disclaimer---------------
OOC: This particular event is being written at this time because me, the player of Korvynn, have found some inspiration to do so, and don't want it to spoil while I wait for the right moment. Please feel free to take a look at it and tell me what you think :) However, this specific event in game time isn't going to happen for another week or two in real time. If you know the character, you can assume it occurs when he begins acting a little different.
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Korvynn has, for whatever reason, taken a break from his frequent visits to the Prancing Pony, perhaps too preoccupied with shattering one pattern that he did not realize he was following another. Or perhaps, despite all the went wrong in Combe, it still called to him
He yearns for to break his habitual drinking patterns, having noticed it becoming more frequent since his arrival in town.
He doesn't realize that he's still running.
He slips into The Comb and Wattle an early afternoon, hoping to beat the rush of the evening. All quiet but for the subtle cluck-foolery of some wayward little rampaging chickens. Why ever do the townsfolk allow them in here?
Tonight is a drink night. He had been good for some time, wary of habits becoming more frequent, and for whatever reason, he reckons the trip to Combe from his stay in Bree town proper, will contribute to good mannerisms, or reconditioning, as his father would have put it.
Ale acquired. Now to find a seat. Ah!- Aha! Just there, sitting alone at a smaller table in a darker corner, a woman of short cut dishwater blonde hair and a dirty complexion. Just the perfect candidate for a conversation. Confidently, Korvynn strides over. He looks at the woman and his friendly smile falters. Hm. Curious.
The woman looks up at him and smiles back, a lackadaisical and nonthreatening smile. She seems welcoming to him, or even to the idea that he may join her. Something about that cleft chin, that angle of her ears gives him pause. A memory perhaps? No no, that makes no sense. He is more than careful to black out alone, in locked rooms after hiding the key, keeping his more embarrassing moments contained. And if he had 'redded' out...she likely would not be smiling at him. Or walking, at least.
He chuckles and shakes his head. Nothing he is sure. He sits across from her and speaks with some calm confidence, "Apologies, lass. You look fair and familiar. Did not want to think I had forgotten someone so eye catching." Shamelessly flirting and winking as ever. It's an awkward one, for sure, but it's what people had recently taught him was how to communicate, and this woman was a stranger.
The woman speaks in an almost snake like tone to him, but in an oddly pleasing way, "Oh, I think you would remember me."
What an odd way to phrase that, considering he may actually have forgotten.
He breezes past it, lifting the ale to his lips and sipping before nodding, "I do so think that I would." He says with a smile, "Might I have your name?"
"Is that really what you want from me? We can cut to the chase if you're interested in something a bit more...substantial."
Oho. A fellow flirt. He straightens and chuckles, "Well now...I do hope you aren't implying we skip all the fun bits and get straight to the other.." He trails off and wrinkles his nose, displeased with the idea. He hides it behind a wave of his hand and offers, politely, "Bah! I'm Korvynn, lass. There my manners are."
The woman reaches her hand over the table like a noble lady, offering for him to peck it, "Charmed, Korvynn. You can call me Dyntym. Say, Korvynn...you've come after my last drink. If you are insistent on the 'fun bits' before the other..." She giggles, "Think you could do me a gentleman's courtesy and buy me a round? Just this once?"
He responds by smiling brightly, "But of course! Clumsy I remain. Back in a jiff." He stands and leaves his mug behind to fetch her one. He gets a look from the tavern keep, a sort of sultry scold, but it sours his mood not.
He returns triumphantly, none the wiser. He hands the mug over the table to her, scoops his own up and takes a big, long swig. That doesn't taste nearly as bad as it did on the first pull.
"So Dyntym, you lived in Combe long?"
She shakes her head, not drinking her ale yet, it seems. How strange. Perhaps she needed a breather. It was supposed to be her last afterall. She responds as she watches him keenly, "No. I'm new here. Came from a little place not far."
Maybe she means Staddle, or one of the neighborhoods. but why come here then? He lifts his ale, and before he takes another drink he asks, "Well, not sure why anybo-"
It's the last memory of that night that remained.
