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Fantasy Firebrand [[ Pokeking + sspky ]]
- Thread starter sspky
- Start date
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- Tags
- adventure high fantasy
sspky
ooof my bones
Skilled fingers plucked on taut lute-strings, the melody uplifting and fair. The Raven’s Rest was a busy establishment, flush with all manner of patrons. Through the din, the bard played on, only half-pleased with the coins the drunkards tossed into the bowl at his feet.
This was a tavern just like any other -- two stories, with a single large, open first floor and rooms up on the second. There was a long bar counter, with an open kitchen behind it. There was a second hearth on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by benches and drunkards on benches.
It was located in the small port-city of Ganymede; along the northern coast of the Bastion Sea. Although it was the middle of winter, and the sea was half-frozen, the port-city still saw countless travellers.
Wren came and went, from this tavern and from a dozen others like it. He was friendly, talkative, and courteous; though only when it suited him to be so. Nice didn’t come naturally to him, but he prided himself on his skills as a thespian. Most of the strangers he met were none the wiser to his secret, more misanthropic nature.
The elf was ashy-skinned, with features as sharp as a knife. Long ears were adorned with silver jewellery, and the near-white hair on his head was cut short on the top and shaved completely on either side. There was a semi-symmetrical set of scars on his face; three down each cheek, running from his temple down to his chin. Without those scars, he might have been handsome. With them? Well, he’d learned how to work them into his persona.
Dressed in blue and black and silver, he was clearly rather stylish, his tunic well fitted and his trousers rather tight. Scuffed boots came to mid-calf, and a thin sword hung from his hip. On his back, he had a simple, short mages staff. There was an air about him: a bard, obviously, but something more, as well. The knife half-concealed in his boot wasn't just for show, after all.
This was a tavern just like any other -- two stories, with a single large, open first floor and rooms up on the second. There was a long bar counter, with an open kitchen behind it. There was a second hearth on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by benches and drunkards on benches.
It was located in the small port-city of Ganymede; along the northern coast of the Bastion Sea. Although it was the middle of winter, and the sea was half-frozen, the port-city still saw countless travellers.
Wren came and went, from this tavern and from a dozen others like it. He was friendly, talkative, and courteous; though only when it suited him to be so. Nice didn’t come naturally to him, but he prided himself on his skills as a thespian. Most of the strangers he met were none the wiser to his secret, more misanthropic nature.
The elf was ashy-skinned, with features as sharp as a knife. Long ears were adorned with silver jewellery, and the near-white hair on his head was cut short on the top and shaved completely on either side. There was a semi-symmetrical set of scars on his face; three down each cheek, running from his temple down to his chin. Without those scars, he might have been handsome. With them? Well, he’d learned how to work them into his persona.
Dressed in blue and black and silver, he was clearly rather stylish, his tunic well fitted and his trousers rather tight. Scuffed boots came to mid-calf, and a thin sword hung from his hip. On his back, he had a simple, short mages staff. There was an air about him: a bard, obviously, but something more, as well. The knife half-concealed in his boot wasn't just for show, after all.
Pokeking
Member
Homeward. What was home? Was it in Orinoco where Xenophon was born and raised? Was it in the Aldebaran region of Dreema where his people settled? Although his people came from the Republic of Asterion, that could not be home again. Not ever.
Two hundred years, give or take a few years, there was an unthinkable schism among the minotaur people. An overture of an alliance from Garene was brought forward. Their reptilian neighbors were similar in outlook on life. There was nothing grander that the art of battle and the honing of battle technique. Many welcomed the envoy and the seemingly genuine offer.
Here is a dissenting voice. Ixion yios Aldebaran stood before the Senate and gave a passionate speech. Although his clan were originally beekeepers, he carried much sway. He recognized the Senate’s wisdom in declaring his grandfather Lord Aldebaran when the previous noble died with no heirs. The Senate, in turn, recognized that Ixion was no fool. His words were strong and there was much debate. He warned that the Garenians were false and not to be trusted, “There are those in the wider world who consider us beasts. We are not beasts. We are minotaurs, proud and true. If you agree to this alliance, they will make you the brutes that they say that we are.”
Realizing that his influence was not strong enough, he relented and yet his mind looked to the future. He and his supporters made no attempt to hide what they were doing. In fact, those that agreed to the alliance were incredibly supportive. Cull the weak and make way for the strong.
Aboard the Silver Hammer, a fine seacraft, and other vessels, the dissenting minotaurs left the only home they had ever known. After searching for a new homeland for many months, they were welcomed to live in Dreema which was lauded news. King Matthias of the House of Jecong cautioned the leader of the exiles. There would be a compromise. The king wanted to welcome the refugees but his counselors, with good reason, were reluctant to accept them as countrymen. He informed him that Dreema had recently acquired land won in their recent war with Retsuji. Those living there had fled back to Retsuji leaving vacant land, land which needed settling. It would be rough living, but they would have a home they could call their own. They would be semiautonomous, only answerable to the Crown or to Parliament, same as other provinces. Offer accepted.
For a hundred years, the exiles crafted a new life in that strange land. Life was indeed rough but they accepted the burden. It was home. In a faraway land, they had recreated what they had lost. Over the succeeding decades, and as the other Dreemans moderately accepted the minotaurs, a few ventured out of Aldebaran. One such person was Titus yios Calix who was appointed to be Captain of the Guard for Duke Waldemar Mercer. To Orinoco, he went with his pregnant wife Naomi. There were two sons born in this predominantly human town. First was Altair in the spring after their arrival and Xenophon seven years later.
Xen, a young male of twenty-five, considered the Republic as far removed as the stars above. He had no emotional attachment to a land that they left two hundred years before he born. He had never been to Aldebaran and yet it held a special place in his heart. He had not seen his brother in seven years since he was married to Lady Carmina kori Aldebaran. The Praxis Games, a tournament among minotaurs every five years, would be held in spring. He would be spending the rest of the rest of the winter with his family while he trained and then participate in the Games before heading home to Orinoco.
Xen, clad in dark brown britches and light beige tunic with forest green travelling cloak, walks along the streets of Ganymede. Several people look at him as he passes. Some are curious but a few are wary. He was considered attractive among his people with his tan fur and bluish green eyes. He is six feet tall when not accounting for the horns. Although not as broad-shouldered as Altair, he was fairly muscular for a male of his race. He was Calix's bloodline after all. Although he did not see himself as a warrior like his father and brother, he was a capable fighter. He was proficient with the two-part Batris staff and in the art of grappling. Among a mostly illiterate populace of minotaurs, he was a certified scribe, and he was skilled with the lyre. In a pouch, he carries his lyre as he walks with his staff. Pewter binding on the ends and in the middle where the two halves can separate. He seeks food and lodging. After searching, he comes across a place called The Raven’s Rest. He opens the door and steps inside.
Two hundred years, give or take a few years, there was an unthinkable schism among the minotaur people. An overture of an alliance from Garene was brought forward. Their reptilian neighbors were similar in outlook on life. There was nothing grander that the art of battle and the honing of battle technique. Many welcomed the envoy and the seemingly genuine offer.
Here is a dissenting voice. Ixion yios Aldebaran stood before the Senate and gave a passionate speech. Although his clan were originally beekeepers, he carried much sway. He recognized the Senate’s wisdom in declaring his grandfather Lord Aldebaran when the previous noble died with no heirs. The Senate, in turn, recognized that Ixion was no fool. His words were strong and there was much debate. He warned that the Garenians were false and not to be trusted, “There are those in the wider world who consider us beasts. We are not beasts. We are minotaurs, proud and true. If you agree to this alliance, they will make you the brutes that they say that we are.”
Realizing that his influence was not strong enough, he relented and yet his mind looked to the future. He and his supporters made no attempt to hide what they were doing. In fact, those that agreed to the alliance were incredibly supportive. Cull the weak and make way for the strong.
Aboard the Silver Hammer, a fine seacraft, and other vessels, the dissenting minotaurs left the only home they had ever known. After searching for a new homeland for many months, they were welcomed to live in Dreema which was lauded news. King Matthias of the House of Jecong cautioned the leader of the exiles. There would be a compromise. The king wanted to welcome the refugees but his counselors, with good reason, were reluctant to accept them as countrymen. He informed him that Dreema had recently acquired land won in their recent war with Retsuji. Those living there had fled back to Retsuji leaving vacant land, land which needed settling. It would be rough living, but they would have a home they could call their own. They would be semiautonomous, only answerable to the Crown or to Parliament, same as other provinces. Offer accepted.
For a hundred years, the exiles crafted a new life in that strange land. Life was indeed rough but they accepted the burden. It was home. In a faraway land, they had recreated what they had lost. Over the succeeding decades, and as the other Dreemans moderately accepted the minotaurs, a few ventured out of Aldebaran. One such person was Titus yios Calix who was appointed to be Captain of the Guard for Duke Waldemar Mercer. To Orinoco, he went with his pregnant wife Naomi. There were two sons born in this predominantly human town. First was Altair in the spring after their arrival and Xenophon seven years later.
Xen, a young male of twenty-five, considered the Republic as far removed as the stars above. He had no emotional attachment to a land that they left two hundred years before he born. He had never been to Aldebaran and yet it held a special place in his heart. He had not seen his brother in seven years since he was married to Lady Carmina kori Aldebaran. The Praxis Games, a tournament among minotaurs every five years, would be held in spring. He would be spending the rest of the rest of the winter with his family while he trained and then participate in the Games before heading home to Orinoco.
Xen, clad in dark brown britches and light beige tunic with forest green travelling cloak, walks along the streets of Ganymede. Several people look at him as he passes. Some are curious but a few are wary. He was considered attractive among his people with his tan fur and bluish green eyes. He is six feet tall when not accounting for the horns. Although not as broad-shouldered as Altair, he was fairly muscular for a male of his race. He was Calix's bloodline after all. Although he did not see himself as a warrior like his father and brother, he was a capable fighter. He was proficient with the two-part Batris staff and in the art of grappling. Among a mostly illiterate populace of minotaurs, he was a certified scribe, and he was skilled with the lyre. In a pouch, he carries his lyre as he walks with his staff. Pewter binding on the ends and in the middle where the two halves can separate. He seeks food and lodging. After searching, he comes across a place called The Raven’s Rest. He opens the door and steps inside.
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sspky
ooof my bones
When his set concluded several minutes later, the grey-skinned elf lowered his lute, rose one hand, and began to utter a simple incantation. An ethereal songbird appeared above his head, and spread its wings wide and wider still, until it was collapsing outwards in a wave of pleasant blue and green light. It was a run-of-the-mill illusion; unintimidating and pretty to look at, and it was met with a chorus of applause and a few more coins.
Wren hated when they threw coins. They'd land outside the hat, and he'd have to crouch down to collect them. It was undignified.
Once he had his haul, the bard left the makeshift stage in front of the hearth and strolled off to the bar. One shot of cold, clear liquid went down the hatch, his eyes watering a little at the sting of alcohol. Tucking the rest of the coins safely away, he turned to the bar to find his next mark.
He’d already helped himself to the pockets of several of the drunker patrons. It was easy, poaching from the inebriated; but easy meant boring, and easy could lead to a stagnation of his skill-set. So he kept an eye out for harder marks.
It was hard not to notice the hulking minotaur in the room.
Wren hated when they threw coins. They'd land outside the hat, and he'd have to crouch down to collect them. It was undignified.
Once he had his haul, the bard left the makeshift stage in front of the hearth and strolled off to the bar. One shot of cold, clear liquid went down the hatch, his eyes watering a little at the sting of alcohol. Tucking the rest of the coins safely away, he turned to the bar to find his next mark.
He’d already helped himself to the pockets of several of the drunker patrons. It was easy, poaching from the inebriated; but easy meant boring, and easy could lead to a stagnation of his skill-set. So he kept an eye out for harder marks.
It was hard not to notice the hulking minotaur in the room.
Pokeking
Member
Serving staff seemed busy among the sea of patrons. His eyes scanned for sign of the proprietor. Near the back, he spotted a walrus of a man. It was a portly man with brown hair and a greying moustache which drooped over his brown beard mimicking the appearance of the sea mammal. The man was giving gestures to staff and barking orders to the kitchen. Xen's cloven hooved feet clad in sandals make their way to the man.
The human looked at him, “Yes? What can we do for you?” Xen knew a few languages. He knew Cretan, his people’s own tongue, the language of Dreema, and the dialect of the region he was travelling through. He found his words, “I desire food and lodging. Master..?” The middle-aged man, “I am Alabaster Cobb. Lodging? He took looked at his register which was being used as a bed for a ginger cat, “Tobit. Tobit. Get off. Didn’t you hear that he wants a room.?” The cat just picked up his head briefly and yawned before returning to its nap.” Cobb or the Captain as some referred to him as gritted his teeth and then lifted the cat and placed in the basket behind the counter where he ought to sleep. “Room 8, that will be. Name? I will sign you into the register for you.”
Xen’s eyes narrowed and he diplomatically declared, “I can read and write too.” Cobb lets out a puff of air, “As you wish.” The registered is turned around and Xen takes the pen. First, he signs Xenophon yios Calix in the glyphic script of his people. Next to it, he writes it in the alphabet of the area. He passes the register back and presents the coinage requested for a night’s lodging and a meal.
Xen sits down at a free table not too far away from the elf. He has entered just as he saw the illusion. Long ago, magic mystified his people for it was unknown in the Republic. It was something now familiar to the minotaurs of Dreema since the House of Jecong were known practitioners of magic. He recalled the 13-year-old king Jojin visited the Duke the previous summer accompanied by a golem that he had spent the previous year meticulously fashioning. It was a heavily reliable bodyguard for it neither needed rest nor sustenance.
Here comes a human female of about his own age. Too sultry for his tastes but commonplace in an establishment such as this, a person offering nourishment for the body and the eyes. The woman did nothing for him. Even if it were a female of his own race, his body wouldn't be excited by her presence for he only fancied other males. His reaction was just an appreciative nod as he was presented a plate with a turkey leg, a handful of roast potatoes, and small roll. He was asked what he wanted to drink and Xen asked for Aldebaran mead. It was not available so he just as for beer. The server departs to get him his drink. Before he starts to eat, he raises his hands with open palms facing the sides of his head. He offers a prayer in his language. First, he honors Praxis the first minotaur who was born of the Primordial Flame and then he honors his ancestor Calix. A frothy mug is lowered onto the table and he begins his meal.
Here, Xen sits along with only his thoughts for company. He keeps his eyes on his food but maintains a sense of alertness around him. One night, maybe another, and then it would be time to journey on.
The human looked at him, “Yes? What can we do for you?” Xen knew a few languages. He knew Cretan, his people’s own tongue, the language of Dreema, and the dialect of the region he was travelling through. He found his words, “I desire food and lodging. Master..?” The middle-aged man, “I am Alabaster Cobb. Lodging? He took looked at his register which was being used as a bed for a ginger cat, “Tobit. Tobit. Get off. Didn’t you hear that he wants a room.?” The cat just picked up his head briefly and yawned before returning to its nap.” Cobb or the Captain as some referred to him as gritted his teeth and then lifted the cat and placed in the basket behind the counter where he ought to sleep. “Room 8, that will be. Name? I will sign you into the register for you.”
Xen’s eyes narrowed and he diplomatically declared, “I can read and write too.” Cobb lets out a puff of air, “As you wish.” The registered is turned around and Xen takes the pen. First, he signs Xenophon yios Calix in the glyphic script of his people. Next to it, he writes it in the alphabet of the area. He passes the register back and presents the coinage requested for a night’s lodging and a meal.
Xen sits down at a free table not too far away from the elf. He has entered just as he saw the illusion. Long ago, magic mystified his people for it was unknown in the Republic. It was something now familiar to the minotaurs of Dreema since the House of Jecong were known practitioners of magic. He recalled the 13-year-old king Jojin visited the Duke the previous summer accompanied by a golem that he had spent the previous year meticulously fashioning. It was a heavily reliable bodyguard for it neither needed rest nor sustenance.
Here comes a human female of about his own age. Too sultry for his tastes but commonplace in an establishment such as this, a person offering nourishment for the body and the eyes. The woman did nothing for him. Even if it were a female of his own race, his body wouldn't be excited by her presence for he only fancied other males. His reaction was just an appreciative nod as he was presented a plate with a turkey leg, a handful of roast potatoes, and small roll. He was asked what he wanted to drink and Xen asked for Aldebaran mead. It was not available so he just as for beer. The server departs to get him his drink. Before he starts to eat, he raises his hands with open palms facing the sides of his head. He offers a prayer in his language. First, he honors Praxis the first minotaur who was born of the Primordial Flame and then he honors his ancestor Calix. A frothy mug is lowered onto the table and he begins his meal.
Here, Xen sits along with only his thoughts for company. He keeps his eyes on his food but maintains a sense of alertness around him. One night, maybe another, and then it would be time to journey on.
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