From inside one could hear a horse getting near, hoofs stumbling through the puddles outside, a nicker pierced the air, drowning out the sound of constant raining for a second.

A few minutes later, a rider entered, dressed in thick layers of wet clothes.
He went straight to the innkeeper, ordered a wine, paid and withdrew to a lonely table.
He waited untill he suspected the other patrons to have changed their attention away from him and back to whatever occupied their minds before he entered. He then opened the clothes that covered his chest and unbaged a little newborn baby. Cautiously he put the girl on the chair next to him.
When he left, his pitcher remained untouched on the table, his clothes less plump than when he came.

Bor watched as Sevar entered. "Hi Sevar. I hope you are allright." Then he turned to the innkeeper. "Your beer is very good. The storys are right about your beer."

The strange conversation between the silk-clad fellows continued:

"No reason to get excited," the Bandit kindly said
"There are many here among us, whose life hangs by a thread
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and it is not our path
So let us not talk falsely now, the fire's low in the hearth."

Sevar took the pants, and thanks to his incredible sewing skills he was able to unstitch the royal emblem. And remembered the old days when he was a little boy and his grandmother teached him to sew, embroider, cook, knit, raise pigs, wrestle and drink. "What a wonderful woman she was!", he thought...

A shadow fell briefly over the tavern entrance as the door opened, and then slammed shut. The man who had entered was swathed in his dark cloak, the hood of which was pulled up to hide his gentle features. Quietly, arousing little attention, he moved into the shadowy depths of the noisy tavern, and sat down at a table where a man of similar garb already sat.

He lifted the rim of his hood briefly, so that the man before him could see his eyes. Then he reached into his cloak and pulled out a wrapped bundle, no less than three feet in length, and dropped it with a thud onto the table.

"Wird das Ihren Meister befriedigen?" he asked quietly, gesturing at the bundle.

Will that satisfy your master?

He waited for a reply.

The Templar turns his head, squeezing his face to the rough surface of the table, and opens one eye to look around. He tries doing a mental check, of something it means a crowd to him: a funny looking guy, sitting next to him, a strange traveler clad as for war, an even stranger guy with a small child in his arms, a Viking (which rather says all about him), two very odd people talking amongst themselves in rhymes, one wearing a funny multi colored hat, a cat and a dog.

The Templar burps and tries to lift from the chair. Wobbling to the door, he opens it wide, and shouts outside: Someone help me out this madness! Someone young and fresh, preferably! Then he shuts it, and moves with difficulty to the table of the most intriguing character around.

Patting the man's shoulder vigorously, the Templar laughs drunkardly at the sound of the metal sounding at his pat:

Heya, good fellow! Would you mind giving a drink to a poor servant of the Church? Hips!

The silk-clad fellows fell silent, and the world moved on...

All along the Watchtower, Strategoi kept the view
While all the consorts came and went, servants, eunuchs, too

Outside in the distance, a feral goat did gnaw
Two raiders were approaching, the snow began to thaw.

It was a rainy day, with dark clouds.
A tall man wearing a tunic with a surcoat over a linen shirt enters in a strange tavern, yet a beautiful one.

'Damn it... I'm so wet...' he said more for himself. 'Bartender, give me a good wine, and [i]b]do not[/b][/i] mix it with water!'

'As you wish sir...'

After saying this, the strange man taked a seat in a dark corner and started to sing something.

The man leaned forwards, out of the shadows, and opened the bundle carefully. Though his visitor could not see his face, shrouded as it was by a large hood, the soft hiss of surprise when he folded back the soft cloth and revealed the bundle's contents was easily audible. The man stared for a long moment, and then sat back in his chair, melting back into the shadow as if he were nought but a shadow himself.

"You have done well," he said in German, his Hessian accent hanging on the air. "My master will be most pleased."

"The work must be credited to my own master, I'm afraid," said the visitor wistfully. "He did teach me the art, after all."

"Monsieur Amaury is certainly a fine craftsman. But you, Pierre, have learnt well from his teachings. This is most definitely the finest work I have ever laid eyes upon."

Pierre smiled his thanks. There was a brief moment of silence, before the man in the shadows leaned forwards and placed a small wax candle on the table, and lit it. He then pulled back his hood, and leaned back.

Pierre's eyes widened as he saw the man's face.

"Your journey here must have been long, my friend. Can I buy you something to drink?"

2 knights conversing at a corner table.

"So Engeland have gone to those Crustos people, Aye, I fear we are going to have our hands full the way the Crusters have been marauding in Europe and towards the Moor."
"The fighting I dont mind, we have been doing the same for generations. But their sloppy thinking, now that is going to be the end of civilization, mark my words."
"You are too young to be such a gloom-sayer, my lady. Surely they are as sensible as we northerners. Hey, they make betters swords, even if few of them know how to use it."
"I know, They have a lot, given to them by the past. But they dont know it. Socrates expanded the world, but look at them now, preferring faith over logic, throwing it all away. Did I tell you about that Chrustus Knight I met ?"
"You have had civil converse with one ?"
"Aye, Civil enough, as long a he though he might get into my pants that way. We conversed, and I got to ask several questions. The important one was about the children and even a Crustos priest I had seen them dispatching earlier in the day. I Wondered how that could be right for a Crustos Night."
Reaches up a hand "4 beers here !"
"I too have wondered about that on occasion, Guess they have their factions, same as we."
"I suppose they do. But he gave this over-polished answer about how it did not really matter if friends and innocents got killed, cause if they were Crusters they would go live with the High Crust up in the sky, and that was wonderful. And if they were enemies they deserved to die. Imagine what Socrates would do with such an argument, wouldnt take him 5 seconds."
"Well it is pretty ridiculous. Did he really think that meant anything ?"
"He surely did." Glug, Glug. "So I killed him and left that place."