With Barkeeps and Boredom [Open]

Up, left, right, center, sweep. The motions had started out slow, a warm up of sorts. So deliberate were the movements that even a child could easily see how they were done. The old weapon creaked slightly from the ever increasing amount of force being put into every strike. Yet he didn't stop and every strike that followed simply became faster and faster, deadlier than the last. The lancer, after striking the imaginary chest of his opponent, extended his footwork more than usual and deftly changed his hold on the shaft. Where the strike should have gone straight, the spear in his hands went backward. The blunt end of his weapon then found itself crashing against another invisible target that was creeping behind him.

The motions continued for a while longer before the white haired spearman gave one last final sweep around him and leveled the weapon around his shoulders. A deep breathe escaped him as Lawrence forced his breathing to steady. The exercise had always been updated to suit his needs, different moves being incorporated into it to ensure his survival. The only trade off there was that it took quite a while longer and it tired him out more the more complex the movements became.

Another breath and his steel blue eyes found themselves closing as a gentle breeze swept about him. The plains were as open as he remembered them to be and he hated it. No where to hide, no where to prepare a strike force. Having to pillage a settlement in the middle of the plains was something he disliked enough that burning it from the inside was his preferred method. Still, the settlement that was half an hour's work was in plain sight was his home for the time being. He doubted that the other mercenaries with him would enjoy a Hero knows how long trip to the next town. Lawrence shrugged off the spear and moved it back to its holster across his back. There was nary a monster in sight, and every other sign of life in the vicinity could only be found in groups.

This close to the village too, he'd have his head on a pike if he dared do anything against the law. Shaking his head, the silver locks that framed his face swayed with the motion, Lawrence decided that he might as well head back to the settlement. Maybe they inn would at least have some good ale in stock. He could definitely use one to stave off the boredom.  Adjusting the patchwork armor he wore, the spearman spied the sinking sun on the horizon and proceeded to increase his pace. Durable leather boots crunched against the lively green grass beneath his feet and the mercenary soon found the dirt path that lead directly to the settlement's entrance.

Moving onwards again, passing a couple of travelers behind and even catching up to a small merchant's caravan, the silver haired male found little to nothing with respect to entertainment. Of course, it wasn't like he had been expecting much. Steel blue eyes made contact with honey brown hues and the patrol guard that had been posted by the lacklustre gate gave an indifferent shrug. Lawrence moved on by without so much as losing a beat. The dirt path that he had been soon gave way to something just a bit more solid as the mixture of straw and wooden houses began to line his vision.

The settlement wasn't that big, and others may have even deemed it a backwater sort of place, but there really wasn't much of a choice. Hearing the blooming nightlife, the silver haired mercenary felt his eyebrows crease together when the noise level began to escalate. Annoying chitter chatter, ridiculous embellishments, and even the occasional rowdiness that one could expect were already beginning to grate on his nerves. Nonetheless, Lawrence did his best to ignore them. Hefting up the spear that had been holstered on his person into a more comfortable position, the sellsword took a right turn in the central-most intersection and was soon met face-to-door to the Inn that he had been staying for the past week.

He opened one of the double doors in front of him and slinked into the bar. Already, as far as the eye can see, the place was filled to the brim with people who probably came from all walks in life. Except for those Elves. There were barely any of them in the establishment at the moment. The twenty year old mercenary drew some looks when he had entered, and he in turn simply looked back. He doubted that the patrons of the bar were inebriated to the point where they'd start fights already. Moving among the crowded tables, the mercenary eventually managed to snag himself a seat along the counter. He gave a nod towards the barkeep, a portly old man whose grey hair had began to vacate the crown of his head, and received a jolly old smile.

Catching the mug of ale that had been slid along his place, the silver haired male took a heavy gulp before setting the container down. Reasoning that there was not much to do until his meal came along, Lawrence chanced a glance towards the double doors from where he had entered and wondered if anything new would be happening tonight. Heroes knew he could use the change of pace.