Crossroads

Things had gotten tense for Jericho in the days after meeting Floran - the realisation that they had failed to stop Miriam's vile attempt at a power grab had hit hard, but not as hard as he, the day that man raised a sword to his chest. He would laugh at the situation fondly around the fires of the Nest afterwards, but truly, there was no humour in what it meant for the future of mages. He wasn't scared, he was infuriated, sickened with rage and gasping for a chance to make a change - Grace's sake, when was the last time he cared about politics?

Jericho scoffed to himself, quiet, and placed a ringed hand upon the near-empty cup of whiskey before giving it a light swirl, the ice audibly clinking against the sides; It was quiet. Awfully so, as the lack of Eamon's jovial music proved incredibly hard to disregard. His teeth ground together and fingers tapped the glass. Gods! He was bored! The tapping of the metal bands on glass joined the ice and idle chatter that reached his ears in the vacant room - might as well eavesdrop and pray for something to barge in on.

Luckily for him, the broad man who sat by the bar had quite the open conversation with the bartender, and the lack of noise in the Beggar came in handy for listening in a way that didn't appear so conspicuous. With his head propped up, he engaged his ears and remained silent as the pair continued their dispute. 'I'm not going to arrest him,' Curious - was this a case of criminality?

Oh, no, it was something far worse; It wasn't hard to clock on to what exactly the dreadful crisis was as Reynard belittled the stranger before him. Hunt people down for a living... There it was. A white-knuckle grip on the cup helped Jericho keep his tongue between his teeth (the metallic taste lingered, he'd bitten down with unnecessary force) and settled the urge to stand then and there, but it seemed as though there was much more to the story than given initially.

He should be thankful the man didn't spit in his direction at the reveal. Another drink in him, though... A quick flick of his hand upwards and Reynard was filling his glass with another round of something cheap and potent, Fuling the fire that threatened to rage within him.

'He’s my friend, Reynard.' It was clear to see that whoever this was, didn't possess the same spark for hunting that many witchfinders had. Surely he wasn't in it just because his friend was? Were people truly that fickle? For a moment, despite it all, things didn't appear quite so bleak - There was a way Jericho could make this situation benefit him... If he was that riddled with conflict and contrition, perhaps his mind could be swayed. The two had concluded their conversation, and Jericho took the chance to insert himself.

"Oh, dear... What a shame it is to see a man like you plagued with despair." He spoke carefully, a gentle smile upon his lips as he slowly moved to sit closer to the stranger. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, though, and,"

Jericho turned to him, a hand waving slowly as he carried on, "Reynard has an excellent point. Destroying mages for someone because he is 'your friend' seems quite dramatic, hm?" He had lent in slightly, testing the man's character in an effort to read him just right.

"Pardon my candour but... If you had the chance to make a change, would you even take it? Or would you continue down the easier path for you and allow your brothers to fall in the name of an egregious cause?" The question (though meant to poke and prod at the hunter,) was proposed sincerely, the inflexion of his voice genial and spirited. If it lead to another fight, so be it - but the chance to change one mind was enough to risk a black eye or busted ego.