Arms folded, head leaned down, Godfrey had decided to escape the wilderness for a short amount of time, after learning of the Bureau of Abyssal Defense and Investigation from the Guardian of Water, he had decided that he might as well check it out. Though he knew where to find it, he didn't feel like showing up just yet. He needed some time to relax. Almost every day that had passed for the last few weeks had involved violence, and it was starting to take its toll. Though Godfrey loved battle, hungered for it at times, he had been worn out. First it was that loathsome beast, Batith, then the horde of elephant demons that had almost killed him, his encounter with the red dragon, Alastair, and his most recent encounter with none other than Lady Darkness, and when it wasn't demons or dragons, it was those infernal Paladins that still hunted him. Though they passed it off as justice for his crimes, the way they hunted him made it seem like vengeance, something that the holy knights had apparently been taught to look down upon.
The pale warrior sighed as he ordered an ale, then looked around. He had been given a lot of funny looks for his appearance. It wasn't every day that a man as white as Godfrey walked into a bar with nothing but a kilt, some woolen bracers, and dirty old sandals walked into the pub. Though he was rediculed for his foreign appearance by the males - quietly to themselves of course, as he was still an intimidating man, despite his choice of clothing - several of the barmaids didn't seem to mind the unusual man.
Nathaniel hadn't been doing much that day. It was a relaxation, after many days of hard work. Though not quite as laborous as fighting elephant demons or severing the wings of dragons, it'd been difficult in its own right. Training a creature as stubborn as a snow drake how to deliver letters was hard; especially when it had a taste for the ink and would far rather devour the parchment. Then again, what more could he expect from something as dim-witted as a cousin to the mighty dragon? Bah. It was fortunate it had proven its use before, or he'd have done away with it long ago.
For now, though, he was content. He wasn't busy dealing with Jakabok right now -- rather, the beast was locked away in its room, slumbering peacefully. The most important men to get ahold of had been, and already one of his most valuable allies had arisen. Skertin, his war general of ages long past, was at last standing by his side again. Though he didn't approve of his old friend's latest form, he was sure that would be righted in time. For now, he was happy to have the lieutenant back, and eagerly anticipated making full use of him.
Besides that? He'd made allies with the Shadovar, with the chaos elemental Tithdaeron and even worked briefly with the crazed lupine Ita. The flea-monger claimed to be a fallen deity, and whether or not she was mattered little. Others believed it, and so long as they did she would prove a valuable asset. There were other allies, scattered all over and with varying levels of productivity, but they weren't fearsome enough to contemplate at the moment. Instead, he acknowledge the whole of them combined, and pondered on the magnificence of such a feat. Soon his goals would know fruition, and everything truly would be right.
Grasping his drink from the counter, he drank deeply of the mead within. Then he let his eyes scan the crowd, looking for any other useful faces. A few drow, a few orcs; all things to memorize so that he could later hunt them down like the dogs they were. However, what his eyes eventually settled on was not inhuman at all. In fact, the man was rather simple, if not slightly exotic compared to the other participants of the pub. Pale white flesh that stood out even in the dim atmosphere, and broad shoulders that spoke of years of battle. He spotted no hair on the other's head, but imagined that with such a frame it was not from age.
On its own, the incident may have been noteworthy. But combined with the fact he knew such a face, he couldn't let the opportunity pass him up. Nathaniel didn't know this figure personally, and he doubted even more that the other would know of him. But he'd heard tales of suffering weeping at the pale man's feet, and the blood he'd commanded forth with his bare hands. Such a figure would be useful in any army. If not, then certainly one to mark for death.
Standing slowly, he finished what was left of his drink then headed over. Nathaniel didn't sit, but rather nodded politely at him. "Don't I know you?" His words were as honey-sweet as the mead, the trained diplomacy in his tone enough to soothe many a warring heart. It was such a subtle tone few even realized they were being manipulated before it was too late. For now, he offered an unsure smile, playing the part of a friendly, if somewhat uninformed noble. An easy role, even if it was far from the truth.
Godfrey snorted after downing the rest of his beverage, then looked to Nathaniel. Caring not for the friendly disposition the other man was in, nor was he in the mood to speak with anyone, save perhaps one or two of the barmaids later on. After another drink he sighed, then glanced at the man again. "You know nothing of me, you must have me confused with someone else." He muttered. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going. I have business elsewhere." The pale warrior continued as he stood up, popping his neck muscles and rolling his massive shoulders.
As Godfrey stood up, a small group of the orcs did as well. They too had heard of the warrior, and they had decided that they would claim the bounty on his head. The creatures drew their various weapons and bellowed, then hopped forward, taking positions on either side of the warrior, one to the right, one the the left, and one right in front of him. The leader, a lean, sinewy Uruk-Hai, took a step closer to Godfrey. His muscles were enormous, and the look in his eyes hinted that he was intent on crushing the warrior's skull. His ebony breastplate and rusted chain mail shirt and leggings were spattered with the blood. He was as muscular as Godfrey, and looked to be as skilled with a weapon, judging from the way he was holding his crude cutlass. He snarled, then took another step forward.
"You... You are the one known as Godfrey, are you not?" He barked. The former Paladin narrowed his eyes and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, then took a step forward. "What if I am?" He snarled. The Uruk bared his yellow pointed teeth, saliva dripping from his mouth. "Then you are marked for death..." Godfrey narrowed his eyes as the Uruk stepped closer, then spat. "Then I am marked for death." He growled in a dark tone. The orc to his right leaped towards him and shrieked, only to find his throat slit open and then impaled by the warriors indestructible crystal sword.
The demon slayer yanked the mystical blade from the orc's gut, then ducked a high swing from his left and quickly drew his dagger, digging it into the other orc's side. The monster yelped in pain and fell back, drawing the small weapon from his side as he did so. The Uruk growled and muttered something, causing his comrade's wound to seal, leaving a crude scar. "Nothing a simple spell can't fix, now bring me his head!" The orc leader roared as he stepped back, ushering in a band of bounty hunters composed of both men, orcs, and Uruk-Hai. He had came here hoping he could have a brief, well deserved moment of peace. Guessing I was wrong... He thought to himself. He knew that soon the city guard would come bustling into the tavern, swords and spears in tow, and that he had to get out before it happened.