"Whatya think?" He let out a mighty laugh, spitting a few specks of bacon across the table. He sweeped his mouth with the back of his hand and ordered another pint by gesturing at the bartender.
"Sorry for that." He murmered and he pointed at huge lump of bacon stuck on Wylie's collar. He then too show a genuine smile. He was glad to be with Wylie again. This was more than the comeradeship he had known with his mercenary friends. They fought for money and against easy victims. This was saving the world together with a trustworthy mate. This was friendship.
He slapped Wylie on the back again, as he always did and grinned at him again. Ha, why couldn't he stop smiling? With Zeiss and Tobias gone, Crowley felt more at ease. He didn't have to be 'hero' anymore, or try his best to look as if he was worth something. Wylie knew him and he knew Wylie.
"I think we're going to have a few days of relaxation, and then we'll leave for Etruria. This'll be dangerous. So we might as well spend a few days, living the life."
(OoC: Are we in a lone inn somewhere? Or a town? I'm gonna assume a town, for the purposes of rping)
Wylie, still smiling, wondered how Crowley could possibly drink in the morning. But then again... Wylie considered, we have got a few days here. He ordered a morning pint for himself.
"After this one, I think I'll go check out this town. See what there is," Wylie said. "In fact, I need to head over to the church and see about getting a new staff. This one's about had it," he said, pointing to the cracked orb at the tip.
"For now though," he said. Further words were unnecessary as he kicked back, leaning his chair against the wall, and grabbed another fork-full of bacon.
Wylie winced and laughed at Crow's joke. He knew he should be used to them by now, but Crow still kept coming up with new ways to destroy the 'heroic' stereotype. He couldn't help but admire Crow's energy as well.
He grinned and drank his morning beer, a new thing for him, and forked the last of the bacon. "Alright, let's get out of here."
They stepped into the street and made their way to the church. Looking at his staff, he realised he could manage one, maybe two more heals before it was truly dead, and he didn't want to waste them by throwing the staff out before its time.
"Hey Crow," he said. "Before I get a new staff, I want to fully use up this one. Any ideas where I could do that?"
Crowley followed Wylie out, and together they travelled towards the church. Crowley saw that something was bothering Wylie, and then he told him that he wanted to use up his staff.
"Wha? You want me to start a fight or something?" Crowley grinned, but then realised Wylie was probably serious. He was a healer after all. Pretty courageous to do the healing in a world where hurting someone was a profession. He admired the young bloke for it.
"I think we have a good chance at finding wounded men in the church. Somehow they always go there to find salvation." He laughed at that. And then gently led Wylie towards the church.
The blue light emanating from the orb on Wylie's staff finally died out for the last time. He'd just restored the use of his arm to a wounded soldier when it became clear the staff was devoid of any further magic. Wylie felt a small satisfaction at this. It meant he'd healed a fair few people, and it also meant he was significantly more skilled than when he started.
He wasn't sure what to do with it when an elderly priest came over. "I can take that off your hands," he said to Wylie with a friendly smile. "Please allow me to replace it for you. It's the least we can do, for someone in your noble profession."
Wylie wasn't sure about 'noble' but it was definately nice that his skills were appreciated. The priest came back, bearing a new staff. Slightly longer than the previous one, with an intricate blue vine pattern along the shaft. It felt comfortable in his hand, and he thanked the priest kindly.
"Well Crow, the day is ours," He said as they exited. "What do you feel like doing?"
"Whadaya think I feel like doing?" He grinned once again. It might be their last chance to enjoy life. After all, they might die if some fella in Etruria recognises them. It was a huge reward. This was going to be one hell of a mission.
"Heh, noticed that he called you 'noble'? Aaah, I remember you being drunk after one pint. That was great. You're great with the girls, though. I gotta admit that. But just wait until age kicks in. Then you'll be as dull and ugly as me." Crowley smiled and laughed. Then he took Wylie by his arm and dragged him to an inn.
"Don't worry, mate, drinks on me." He winked and gestured at the bartender.
(OoC: don't worry, it won't be only drinking again! )
"It's never too early!" Crowley said, and he emptied the content of one of his purses in front of the bartender.
"Bartender, my good man, you think this will be enough to buy drinks for us for the entire day?" Crowley smiled as the man's eyes widened and when he saw the greed in his eyes. The bartender quickly nodded and tried to pour a pint, but his hands were shaking at the sight of so much gold. Crowley hummed a little song, and while the bartender was busy, he answered to Wylie's question.
"I think they'll be doing great. Fantastic, even." He grinned and thanked the bartender when he gave them a pint.
"Well, cheers!" Crowley said to Wylie.
A few hours later, it was past noon, Crowley was shouting to anyone he was the one who slayed Roland and that he was the one who killed a dragon and legions of Etrurian mages, hordes of Bern soldiers and vast armies of bandits. Luckily it was only morning and most people thought he was just an ordinary drunk. After a while, however, people started listening to him. And eventually some kid left the inn, started running through the streets, yelling:
"It's Crowley! Crowley the Magnificent! Hey! Everyone! It's Crowley!"
An hour later the inn was filled and people were -again- listening to Crowley's and Wylie's stories. Crowley knew this was a bad idea, and Wylie didn't like it at all, but Crowley was drunk and he wouldn't listen to anyone. Wylie had tried to stop Crowley, but he had laughed and said that 'he couldsh takesh -hic- anyoneezzz one!'.
Wylie was never one to swear. Nevertheless, a curse did manage to escape his mouth at this time.
"F***," he said softly.
He was completely unsure of what do do here. He couldn't fight. Especially not one of these guys. He looked at Crowley, hoping the adrenaline was sobering him fast. He couldn't tell.
"Whoa, slow down, friends. Let's not get violent here," Wylie said, trying to stay cool. He was really just trying to stall. Hoping an option would present itself. "I'm really sorry but we can't do that." He slowly reached for his staff as he talked. He could hardly use it as a weapon but maybe he could block an attack.
"So I think you should just walk away. Don't start anything with all these people around. It's not worth it," Wylie said, regaining some level of control over his voice.
"BRING IT ON, B*TCHES!" Crowley yelled, and some of the crowd cheered. Then he fell over, and almost impaled himself on his own sword.
"Woah, that was close." He mumbled but then he looked at the mercenaries again. He pointed at them and taunted them with some more mature gestures. He grinned.
He was the magnificent after all, he wouldn't back off for a few mercenaries. The first one launched himself at Wylie, and Crowley let him pass. The leader of the mercs, smirked and attacked Crowley, the drunkard. The merc barely defenced himself and went for an all open attack. He was dreaming of the reward when he suddenly felt something running over his thighs. His attack stopped, he had lost all strength in his arms and legs. And then he saw the sword stuck in his groin and the hand of Crowley around his throat. He panicked, and the last thing he saw was the grinning face of Crowley who whispered to him.
"Sh**!" Wylie breathed, as he caught the mercenary's massive, one-handed swing on his staff, held with both hands. Having a smaller, lighter weapon proved the advantage as Wylie then jabbed the staff forward into the merc's nose. Blood fountained from it and while he definately wasn't dead, he was certainly out of the fight. A situation that pleased Wylie, who naturally had an inclination against death and killing.
He looked up and saw a second mercenary roar in challenge.
Crowley let out a wild laugh and charged at the second mercenary. The mercenary fended off some of Crowley's attacks but then died with Crowley's blade through his throat. Crowley whooped and turned around to help Wylie.
And then he noticed the crowd was just... watching. They should be helping! He was a hero! All of the sudden he realised something. He blew it. He shouldn't have talked. Money was something people valued more than heroism. They needed to get out of here.
Crowley quickly moved towards Wylie and stabbed his sword in the back of the mercenary that attacked Wylie. He yanked his sword out and grabbed Wylie by his arm.
"C'mon, we need to get out of here!" Crowley wanted to go for the door, only to find it blocked by a whole lot of villagers armed with clubs and rusted iron bars. The villagers formed a circle around the two men. The circle was five men deep. They couldn't fight they way out of this. But he sure as hell was going to try.
The moment Crowley lifted his sworded he felt a several blunt weapons coming down on his skull and back. And then he passed out.
Seeing Crowley go down made the world slow down for Wylie. In that tiny space of time, he felt rage against these people, for valuing their precious gold over loyalty or bravery. He felt fear, in his only real friend in the world being struck down, leaving him in this situation alone. In truth, he felt a lot of things, but mostly, it was the rage.
He lashed out, swinging every limb in every direction. It was useless of course, Wylie was no fighter, and soon he too felt blackness suddenly take over his vision.