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Fantasy The Kingsword Will Stand (OPEN)
- Thread starter viloxii
- Start date
viloxii
Vis Per Mare
(Important Side Note: Everyone needs to meet up at this tavern for the mercenary group job posting. Either you have a posting, or you found out about it while at the tavern. ALSO, the minimum length for posts are 2 paragraphs with at least 4-6 sentences in eachh
Nimue - "The Oracle"(Nim-wey)
I Am Here: Tiamat, Morava. And Eventually The Gold Rose Tavern. Nimue - "The Oracle"(Nim-wey)
With: N/A
Nimue trudged up to the threshold of Tiamat, her tummy grumbling. Her feet were sore as they pressed against the soles of her beaten shoes. It was raining. Nimue loved the rain. It reminded her of the summers at Logres Lake when the rain would create thousands of ripples across the lakes surface. Pushing forward, Nimue navigated her way through the many other common folk channeling through the streets of the city. Why am I even here? She thought to herself for a moment. Nimue had never left home before. She had only maybe walked a few miles away to follow the streams and rivers from Logres Lake in search of food. Here she was, hungry once more. Perhaps she should have stayed at home.
Nimue had come to Tiamat, in search for an individual. Now she remembered. All the voices in her head muddled and distorted her memory since... well, before she could remember. Her stomach growled once more. The rations Nimue had brought with her had ran out days ago. Being an orphan most of her life, even she hadn't felt this starving before. With a sigh and a pep in her step, Nimue raised her head looking for a place where she could find sustenance.
As she walked, Nimue grew even hungrier. She was willing to steal at this point. She was no thief, except when it came to food. The thought alone of being hungry and finding a tavern caused her mouth to water. Looking to her left and right, she found nothing. But then, there was a little sign hanging above the street, attached to a warm looking building. Nimue used the back of her hand to wipe the rain off of her eyelashes. "The Gold Rose Tavern" It read. The sign's letters were in gold paint and the wooden sign itself was painted a light sage green.
Nimue's pace quickened as joy filled within her. To her own surprise, this was the first time she had ever gone hungry. It was not something she wanted to experience again. Nimue sprinted up the wooden steps, underneath the porches overhang. Men and women alike, solicited outside. They smoked their pipes and talked about the news of the world. Nimue ignored; it wasn't like she didn't know all of what they had to say already. Approaching the door, she pushed it open to be welcomed with the smell of well-seasoned food and hearth.
"What is a lovely lady like you doing here. Sit with me." An old pathetic man asked Nimue as she walked towards the tavern bar. It was clear in his tone of voice that he didn't mean it in a respectful way. Nimue swiveled around to make eye contact with the man. She focused very hard looking deep into his eyes. Quickly, the old man's demeanor changed. "Here, you must be hungry." The man said quickly, grabbing his plate of meat and bread with both hands and presenting it to Nimue. A warm smile glided across her face as she took the offering. "Thank you, sir. Be sure not to talk to lovely ladies like that ever again." Nimue warned kindly. The man remained silent and slowly nodded as Nimue walked away.
Nimue walked her way through the crowd to a back table. She set her plate on the table and plopped down onto a wooden chair beside it. Quickly she dug into the bread, like a bird. Relief washed over her. Then, confusion. Nimue had really forgotten why she was here in the first place. (due to usage of her powers, she suffers from memory loss)
As she ate, a skittish barmaid frantically placed a beer down in front of here. "O-On the house." The maid said, scurrying off to her duties. Perhaps the maid had seen what Nimue did. It didn't matter. What mattered was the mission. Chewing on the bread, Nimue tried to recall the reason why she had travelled all this way. It HAD to be important.
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Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
I am here; Tiamat, Morava, arriving at The Gold Rose Tavern
With: His own thoughts and memories
Vail drew the hood of his cloak tighter around his face as the wind picked up, blowing rain straight at him. He cursed under his breath. He hated the rain. It got in every crack and crevice it could find in his armour and, if he wasn’t careful, he would find it rusting off his body. This armour belonged to his father, along with the sword at his hip and the intricate pendant at his neck. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost any of them. Deep in his bag was the ragged remains of the deep blue shirt he wore on the day he fled his village, made from fabric woven by his mother, and stitched by her hand. He couldn’t bear to give it up, either, so he started using it as a rag to clean his armour and sword once he could no longer wear it. Once upon a time he’d have given anything to travel the 3 kingdoms. Now he’d do anything to go back home, if there was a home there to go back to. It had been almost 3 years since his village had been razed to the ground. Did anyone ever bother to rebuild?
It would be good to get off the road and have a hot meal. He rolled his shoulders to ease some of the stiffness from them and grimaced. Perhaps a hot bath as well. “How do you think Myara is faring, Whisper? Do you think she’s graduated to string two full sentences together?" He asked his horse, a black Andalusian he’d spent good money on as soon as he’d had it to spend. She snorted softly, flicking an ear back in response to his voice.
They had met each other on the road a number of months ago. He was travelling to a merchant escort job, when he heard the sounds of decidedly one sided combat not too far off the road he was travelling on. It had been a simple thing for him to dismount and lead Whisper silently through the trees to find a group of bandits so thoroughly focused on the woman they were attacking, they didn’t bother to notice the fully armoured elf coming up behind them.
For a moment he froze in place, his thoughts carrying him back to the day his village was attacked, and he, at his father’s insistence, fled, leaving everyone behind. He’d run, feeling like a coward, promising one day he’d find them and…and…
Vail felt his heart hammer in his chest, and his throat tighten. For a moment, it felt like every drop of air bled from his lungs, and a looming, terribly overwhelming pressure was pushing up through his throat. Suddenly, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl of raw hatred. His sword slid out from its sheath with the soft singing of finely crafted metal, and he leapt in, his body instinctively moving through the forms taught by his father.
If pressed, Vail wouldn’t be able to say exactly what happened past that point. The next thing he recalled clearly was blinking his eyes at the carnage around him. He and the woman had naturally fallen into a defensive stance with one another, slightly back to back. Most of the blood…no all of the blood on him was not his.
“Well, that was new.” He muttered to himself, before turning to look at the short woman who he had just fought along side. She was short, but a definitely formidable looking woman. He had the distinct impression people underestimated her at their peril. “Are you allright?” He asked, then took a step back when she suddenly fell to one knee and swore to remain at his side until her debt was paid, or death took her. Thinking about it, it really was quite a dramatic scene. They had travelled together since, until recently, their individual responsibilities took them to separate cities. Myara hadn’t been too thrilled about the idea of Vail marching off to anywhere without her, but she had relented, since they both needed the money they could each get from their respective jobs. They agreed to meet up at The Gold Rose Tavern in Tiamat when they were done.
The sound of a cart wheel splashing in the mud ahead jolted him out of his reveries. He gently eased whisper to the side of the muddy roadway to let the cart by, nodding at the driver as they passed.
“Excuse me, driver!” He hailed, pulling his horse to a stop.
The driver stopped his cart, clucking loudly at his horses, and cast a raised brow at Vail. “What can I do fer ya, young…” the man squinted at him, “…elf?”
Vail smiled. “It’s been a while since I was last in Tiamat. Is The Gold Rose still doing business? I need a reliable place to rest myself and my horse.”
“Aye, ‘tis. No matter how bad things get, people’ll always need a place ter drink.” The driver nodded. “Just don’t let th’ young lad with the lazy eye near yer fine horse. You’ll ne’er see it again. Give it ter Hollace. He’s th’ one in th’ stables with th’ hair black as yers, lad, and ears not quite as pointed. He’ll take good care o’ yer lot.”
Vail bowed in his saddle, and reached into his bag for a few copper coins. “Thank you, driver.” He tossed the coins over.
The driver grinned and snatched the coins out the air. “Welcome, kind sir! Welcome, indeed. One more piece ‘o advice, if yer don’t mind, sir. Careful who you bless with yer generosity. Some folk have no morals an’ nothing but greed in their hearts. You need sommat while yer in Tiamat, send someone fer me. Edwin Bybrook, sir.” He held out a work roughened hand.
Vail removed his gauntlet and accept Edwin’s handshake with an easy grin. “Edwin. Well met. I am Vail Fairfax.”
They parted ways, but only after Edwin drew a promise from Vail to have a drink together before he left town. He nudged Whisper into a light canter, eager to get off the road and out of the rain. He smiled as he reigned in close to the tavern and dismounted, shaking his head as the boy Edwin warned him of, a stocky, tow-headed youth, ran out of the stables. “Hollace?” he called, “Hollace, are you in the stables?”
A lean, half elf boy half-tripped and half-ran out to meet him, pausing only a moment to take in the sight of Vail and his horse. “Sir? Yes, sir?”
Vail handed the reigns to Hollace, and then grabbed his bags from the saddle. “You come highly recommended. Take good care of her. Her name is Whisper.”
“Whisper.” Hollace echoed. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” Vail smiled and headed toward the tavern door. “She’s earned a fair bit of pampering, I’d say. Thank you, Hollace.”
He pulled his hood back as he stepped inside, looking around for Myara’s white hair. He shook himself off at the entryway, so as to not track too much water inside, and strode in to take a blessedly empty table near the fire at the back, looking around the room as he went. Most people her seemed to be local types drowning their sorrows, with the exception of a quite soaked woman sitting alone at a table, tucking into a plate of bread and meat with quick, birdlike gestures. She seemed…Vail wasn’t sure. She looked a bit lost, like she was looking for something, and also a bit familiar. He was tempted to get up and ask her if she was OK, but decided not to right away. Edwin’s warning wasn’t too far off the mark. More than once, his inclination to care about the people around him had landed him in trouble. He tore his gaze away and smiled at a server, lifting his hand to get her attention, then pantomimed eating and drinking. The server nodded, casting a nervous glance at the lone woman he’d noticed earlier.
Well this is interesting, he thought to himself.
With: His own thoughts and memories
Vail drew the hood of his cloak tighter around his face as the wind picked up, blowing rain straight at him. He cursed under his breath. He hated the rain. It got in every crack and crevice it could find in his armour and, if he wasn’t careful, he would find it rusting off his body. This armour belonged to his father, along with the sword at his hip and the intricate pendant at his neck. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost any of them. Deep in his bag was the ragged remains of the deep blue shirt he wore on the day he fled his village, made from fabric woven by his mother, and stitched by her hand. He couldn’t bear to give it up, either, so he started using it as a rag to clean his armour and sword once he could no longer wear it. Once upon a time he’d have given anything to travel the 3 kingdoms. Now he’d do anything to go back home, if there was a home there to go back to. It had been almost 3 years since his village had been razed to the ground. Did anyone ever bother to rebuild?
It would be good to get off the road and have a hot meal. He rolled his shoulders to ease some of the stiffness from them and grimaced. Perhaps a hot bath as well. “How do you think Myara is faring, Whisper? Do you think she’s graduated to string two full sentences together?" He asked his horse, a black Andalusian he’d spent good money on as soon as he’d had it to spend. She snorted softly, flicking an ear back in response to his voice.
They had met each other on the road a number of months ago. He was travelling to a merchant escort job, when he heard the sounds of decidedly one sided combat not too far off the road he was travelling on. It had been a simple thing for him to dismount and lead Whisper silently through the trees to find a group of bandits so thoroughly focused on the woman they were attacking, they didn’t bother to notice the fully armoured elf coming up behind them.
For a moment he froze in place, his thoughts carrying him back to the day his village was attacked, and he, at his father’s insistence, fled, leaving everyone behind. He’d run, feeling like a coward, promising one day he’d find them and…and…
Vail felt his heart hammer in his chest, and his throat tighten. For a moment, it felt like every drop of air bled from his lungs, and a looming, terribly overwhelming pressure was pushing up through his throat. Suddenly, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl of raw hatred. His sword slid out from its sheath with the soft singing of finely crafted metal, and he leapt in, his body instinctively moving through the forms taught by his father.
If pressed, Vail wouldn’t be able to say exactly what happened past that point. The next thing he recalled clearly was blinking his eyes at the carnage around him. He and the woman had naturally fallen into a defensive stance with one another, slightly back to back. Most of the blood…no all of the blood on him was not his.
“Well, that was new.” He muttered to himself, before turning to look at the short woman who he had just fought along side. She was short, but a definitely formidable looking woman. He had the distinct impression people underestimated her at their peril. “Are you allright?” He asked, then took a step back when she suddenly fell to one knee and swore to remain at his side until her debt was paid, or death took her. Thinking about it, it really was quite a dramatic scene. They had travelled together since, until recently, their individual responsibilities took them to separate cities. Myara hadn’t been too thrilled about the idea of Vail marching off to anywhere without her, but she had relented, since they both needed the money they could each get from their respective jobs. They agreed to meet up at The Gold Rose Tavern in Tiamat when they were done.
The sound of a cart wheel splashing in the mud ahead jolted him out of his reveries. He gently eased whisper to the side of the muddy roadway to let the cart by, nodding at the driver as they passed.
“Excuse me, driver!” He hailed, pulling his horse to a stop.
The driver stopped his cart, clucking loudly at his horses, and cast a raised brow at Vail. “What can I do fer ya, young…” the man squinted at him, “…elf?”
Vail smiled. “It’s been a while since I was last in Tiamat. Is The Gold Rose still doing business? I need a reliable place to rest myself and my horse.”
“Aye, ‘tis. No matter how bad things get, people’ll always need a place ter drink.” The driver nodded. “Just don’t let th’ young lad with the lazy eye near yer fine horse. You’ll ne’er see it again. Give it ter Hollace. He’s th’ one in th’ stables with th’ hair black as yers, lad, and ears not quite as pointed. He’ll take good care o’ yer lot.”
Vail bowed in his saddle, and reached into his bag for a few copper coins. “Thank you, driver.” He tossed the coins over.
The driver grinned and snatched the coins out the air. “Welcome, kind sir! Welcome, indeed. One more piece ‘o advice, if yer don’t mind, sir. Careful who you bless with yer generosity. Some folk have no morals an’ nothing but greed in their hearts. You need sommat while yer in Tiamat, send someone fer me. Edwin Bybrook, sir.” He held out a work roughened hand.
Vail removed his gauntlet and accept Edwin’s handshake with an easy grin. “Edwin. Well met. I am Vail Fairfax.”
They parted ways, but only after Edwin drew a promise from Vail to have a drink together before he left town. He nudged Whisper into a light canter, eager to get off the road and out of the rain. He smiled as he reigned in close to the tavern and dismounted, shaking his head as the boy Edwin warned him of, a stocky, tow-headed youth, ran out of the stables. “Hollace?” he called, “Hollace, are you in the stables?”
A lean, half elf boy half-tripped and half-ran out to meet him, pausing only a moment to take in the sight of Vail and his horse. “Sir? Yes, sir?”
Vail handed the reigns to Hollace, and then grabbed his bags from the saddle. “You come highly recommended. Take good care of her. Her name is Whisper.”
“Whisper.” Hollace echoed. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” Vail smiled and headed toward the tavern door. “She’s earned a fair bit of pampering, I’d say. Thank you, Hollace.”
He pulled his hood back as he stepped inside, looking around for Myara’s white hair. He shook himself off at the entryway, so as to not track too much water inside, and strode in to take a blessedly empty table near the fire at the back, looking around the room as he went. Most people her seemed to be local types drowning their sorrows, with the exception of a quite soaked woman sitting alone at a table, tucking into a plate of bread and meat with quick, birdlike gestures. She seemed…Vail wasn’t sure. She looked a bit lost, like she was looking for something, and also a bit familiar. He was tempted to get up and ask her if she was OK, but decided not to right away. Edwin’s warning wasn’t too far off the mark. More than once, his inclination to care about the people around him had landed him in trouble. He tore his gaze away and smiled at a server, lifting his hand to get her attention, then pantomimed eating and drinking. The server nodded, casting a nervous glance at the lone woman he’d noticed earlier.
Well this is interesting, he thought to himself.
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Ayama
Enthusiast
Idiots, Myara thought as the three bedraggled-looking bandits burst out of the treeline. She'd seen this a thousand times before- people were poor but, eventually, if they got poor enough, they got desperate enough and then hatched up some half-baked plan to rob travelers on the road in hopes of getting enough coin to fill their starving bellies.
She knew what it was like, being that poor- she'd seen it up-close and personal; she'd lived it. Her parents had struggled her entire childhood to get enough food into their own mouths every day- let alone hers-, and though of course the day they'd given her to the Torrential Army wasn't exactly a happy memory, it had clearly been the right thing to do.
They'd managed to get themselves to a slightly more stable position in life (so she'd heard), and she got three square meals a day, courtesy of the greatest military force in Kalais. When you spend every day of your life hungry and then suddenly wind up being fed like that, there's almost nothing that can be done to you that will make you think you're worse off than you were.
Sure, the army was brutal, but that wasn't exactly something new for her, except now she was clothed, she was fed, she was housed, and she was trained. And boy, say whatever else you wanted about the Torrential Army, but they sure knew how to train. Strength, endurance, resistance, strategy, and more hours of armed and unarmed combat than most people could cram into a lifetime.
Any soldier who made it through the Academy was a fighter, a survivor, and a highly trained killer and, once she was done paying her bloody dues, she'd turned those skills to the only job that made sense outside of a military life: selling them to the highest bidder.
As a mercenary, she was never lacking in job offers, and as assignments ranged from score settling to monster hunting to bodyguarding to escorting to straight up assassination and everything in between, she could pick whatever she felt like in the moment, and never get bored.
Well, never say never. These kinds of semi-long-term assignments were the ones she hated the most; rich merchants who were worried for their safety and their gold and their oh-so-precious cargo hired her to stick by them for weeks on end, day and night, through sun and rain.
She hadn't wanted to do it, but the pay was good for doing very little work on her part and, as Vail had pointed out, they needed the money.
As she parried a clumsy blow from a rudimentary wooden club, of all things, she flashed back to the day they'd met, under circumstances much like this one, except without the tedious merchant and without the rain.
She'd been walking on the road heading back into town when, all of a sudden, several brigands had burst out of the treeline and surrounded her. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, except that these guys were skilled, well-prepared and well-armed, and they were pissed. Turns out she'd foiled one of their biggest robberies on a job the week before, and they were not happy about it.
Caught unusually off-guard, she'd been kept alive for the first few minutes of the fight only out of sheer reflex and skill. But even her training couldn't produce a miraculous solo victory when the odds were stacked so thoroughly against her and, just as she was beginning to wonder if this was really how she died, she'd heard an animalistic snarl, followed by the familiar sound of a sharpened sword sliding from its sheath.
Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, a dark-haired elf in full plate armor had come rushing towards her with his sword drawn and murder in his eyes. She'd tensed, thinking he was attacking her, before realizing his gaze was on the bandits. They'd fluidly fallen into stance with their backs to each other as he cut them down with the mad energy of the berserk and she dealt with any remaining men on her side.
Within a few frenzied moments, the fight was over and the pair was surrounded by bodies and blood. She'd turned towards the elf just in time to see the crazed red light fade from his eyes as he regained his senses. He'd blinked at the carnage around them, as if awakening from a trance.
She'd seen this many times in battle before- had even experienced it herself once. The bloodlust got so strong that it overtook you completely, and no amount of pain or injury would cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze to the rational part of your brain until it was over.
Still, she'd never seen an elf go berserk before (there were no elves in the Torrential Army) and, as he'd turned to her and asked if she was all right, she'd wondered what on earth could have prompted such a response.
Her curiosity as short-lived as ever, she'd planted her sword into the ground and dropped to one knee. Based on the quality of his armor, she had to assume he was of noble birth, and she wanted to respect the protocol.
"Thank you for saving my life," she'd said, head bowed. "I am now bound to protect you until I have repaid this debt, or died in the attempt."
He'd stared at her in wide-eyed consternation and with no little amount of uncertainty, but to her such things were simply self-evident. In the army, if a fellow soldier saved your life in battle, you owed them a life-debt, and while Myara had saved others' lives more often than the other way around, and though she was no longer in the army, the same principle applied.
When she was done explaining this in as few words as possible, Vail had agreed to have her accompany him, and they had travelled together ever since. Now, though, they had been parted for weeks, and she was uneasy being away from him for so long- what if something happened to him in her absence? She'd never be able to repay her debt.
All these thoughts were going through her mind as, mechanically and reflexively, she dispatched the three ill-equipped and ill-prepared bandits attempting to attack the merchant she was accompanying. After this short delay, it was a small matter to get the merchant to market, finish her assignment, and get paid.
With two weeks of coin now jangling happily in the pouch at her waist, she made her way through the busy streets of Tiamat to the Golden Rose Tavern. She glanced up at the sign as she walked in, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards ever-so-slightly at the simple painted plaque, before resuming her usual taciturn expression as she gazed around for her (for lack of a better term) employer.
She spotted him at an empty table near the back and, with a small but silent sigh of relief, made a beeline to join him. She took the seat beside him with characteristic lack of communication and waved down the server much the same way he had done- absent the smile, of course.
"Coin?" she asked, by way of enquiring if his task had gone according to plan while the server set down two plates of roast lamb and potatoes and two flagons of ale.
She knew what it was like, being that poor- she'd seen it up-close and personal; she'd lived it. Her parents had struggled her entire childhood to get enough food into their own mouths every day- let alone hers-, and though of course the day they'd given her to the Torrential Army wasn't exactly a happy memory, it had clearly been the right thing to do.
They'd managed to get themselves to a slightly more stable position in life (so she'd heard), and she got three square meals a day, courtesy of the greatest military force in Kalais. When you spend every day of your life hungry and then suddenly wind up being fed like that, there's almost nothing that can be done to you that will make you think you're worse off than you were.
Sure, the army was brutal, but that wasn't exactly something new for her, except now she was clothed, she was fed, she was housed, and she was trained. And boy, say whatever else you wanted about the Torrential Army, but they sure knew how to train. Strength, endurance, resistance, strategy, and more hours of armed and unarmed combat than most people could cram into a lifetime.
Any soldier who made it through the Academy was a fighter, a survivor, and a highly trained killer and, once she was done paying her bloody dues, she'd turned those skills to the only job that made sense outside of a military life: selling them to the highest bidder.
As a mercenary, she was never lacking in job offers, and as assignments ranged from score settling to monster hunting to bodyguarding to escorting to straight up assassination and everything in between, she could pick whatever she felt like in the moment, and never get bored.
Well, never say never. These kinds of semi-long-term assignments were the ones she hated the most; rich merchants who were worried for their safety and their gold and their oh-so-precious cargo hired her to stick by them for weeks on end, day and night, through sun and rain.
She hadn't wanted to do it, but the pay was good for doing very little work on her part and, as Vail had pointed out, they needed the money.
As she parried a clumsy blow from a rudimentary wooden club, of all things, she flashed back to the day they'd met, under circumstances much like this one, except without the tedious merchant and without the rain.
She'd been walking on the road heading back into town when, all of a sudden, several brigands had burst out of the treeline and surrounded her. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, except that these guys were skilled, well-prepared and well-armed, and they were pissed. Turns out she'd foiled one of their biggest robberies on a job the week before, and they were not happy about it.
Caught unusually off-guard, she'd been kept alive for the first few minutes of the fight only out of sheer reflex and skill. But even her training couldn't produce a miraculous solo victory when the odds were stacked so thoroughly against her and, just as she was beginning to wonder if this was really how she died, she'd heard an animalistic snarl, followed by the familiar sound of a sharpened sword sliding from its sheath.
Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, a dark-haired elf in full plate armor had come rushing towards her with his sword drawn and murder in his eyes. She'd tensed, thinking he was attacking her, before realizing his gaze was on the bandits. They'd fluidly fallen into stance with their backs to each other as he cut them down with the mad energy of the berserk and she dealt with any remaining men on her side.
Within a few frenzied moments, the fight was over and the pair was surrounded by bodies and blood. She'd turned towards the elf just in time to see the crazed red light fade from his eyes as he regained his senses. He'd blinked at the carnage around them, as if awakening from a trance.
She'd seen this many times in battle before- had even experienced it herself once. The bloodlust got so strong that it overtook you completely, and no amount of pain or injury would cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze to the rational part of your brain until it was over.
Still, she'd never seen an elf go berserk before (there were no elves in the Torrential Army) and, as he'd turned to her and asked if she was all right, she'd wondered what on earth could have prompted such a response.
Her curiosity as short-lived as ever, she'd planted her sword into the ground and dropped to one knee. Based on the quality of his armor, she had to assume he was of noble birth, and she wanted to respect the protocol.
"Thank you for saving my life," she'd said, head bowed. "I am now bound to protect you until I have repaid this debt, or died in the attempt."
He'd stared at her in wide-eyed consternation and with no little amount of uncertainty, but to her such things were simply self-evident. In the army, if a fellow soldier saved your life in battle, you owed them a life-debt, and while Myara had saved others' lives more often than the other way around, and though she was no longer in the army, the same principle applied.
When she was done explaining this in as few words as possible, Vail had agreed to have her accompany him, and they had travelled together ever since. Now, though, they had been parted for weeks, and she was uneasy being away from him for so long- what if something happened to him in her absence? She'd never be able to repay her debt.
All these thoughts were going through her mind as, mechanically and reflexively, she dispatched the three ill-equipped and ill-prepared bandits attempting to attack the merchant she was accompanying. After this short delay, it was a small matter to get the merchant to market, finish her assignment, and get paid.
With two weeks of coin now jangling happily in the pouch at her waist, she made her way through the busy streets of Tiamat to the Golden Rose Tavern. She glanced up at the sign as she walked in, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards ever-so-slightly at the simple painted plaque, before resuming her usual taciturn expression as she gazed around for her (for lack of a better term) employer.
She spotted him at an empty table near the back and, with a small but silent sigh of relief, made a beeline to join him. She took the seat beside him with characteristic lack of communication and waved down the server much the same way he had done- absent the smile, of course.
"Coin?" she asked, by way of enquiring if his task had gone according to plan while the server set down two plates of roast lamb and potatoes and two flagons of ale.
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Ayama
Enthusiast
"Get the hell out of here, and don't you dare ever come back!" the loud and irate voice yelled into the early-morning air as a tall, handsome, and very naked man was tossed out onto the street wrapped in nothing but a coarse linen sheet.
Gathering up the sheet with more dignity than a man in his position should be able to muster, he straightened up to his full pretentious height and said, without an ounce of embarrassment, "You can't just throw me out like this- I paid for the full night! And what about my breakfast?!"
To which the infuriated inkeeper replied "I'd say you got more than what you paid for, you scoundrel! Now get out of here before I call the guard!"
Behind the inkeeper, a red-faced and attractive young woman who shared his straw-colored hair and upturned nose was silent, wrapped in an identical sheet and clearly mortified.
"Look sir, your inn is famous for its welcoming spirit and hospitality- I'm certain your daughter was just trying to make you proud," the thief unashamedly suggested.
"PROUD?!" the man roared, turning an ugly shade of purple as the girl jumped and scurried back a few feet. "She's a slattern and a tramp, and you're a scoundrel and a thief! If she weren't my daughter I'd say you two deserve each other, but even with this she's still too good for the likes of you!" he venomously spat.
The rogue's cheeks colored for the first time.
"I'll have you know that I am of noble birth, and heir to the House of Valerius!" he said with a dignified tone completely at odds with his current situation.
The innkeeper gave a sharp bark of laughter.
"Ha! The House of Valerius hasn't been noble in over a decade- they're shameless and they're broke and you're the worst of the lot. Now begone with you, or I'll have the guard make sure you spend the night in jail!"
And with that the man turned and slammed the door in Julian's scandalized face. The sounds of the innkeeper stomping up the stairs and the daughter crying could be heard as curious neighbors and passerby stopped to gawk at the naked man in the middle of the street.
"And what about my clothes?" Julian called stubbornly though the closed door. There was a moment's silence, then the first story window opened and a mixed pile of clothes and personal effects rained down on the unfortunate thief's head, followed lastly by his boots.
"Oww..." Julian moaned, angrily rubbing his scalp, "so much for that famed hospitality then I guess."
And with that, he dropped the sheet and proceeded to get dressed right in the middle of the street with no apparent trace of discomfort. If there was one thing Julian Valerius the IIIrd was supremely confident in, it was his physical appearance.
And with his long, luscious brown locks, tall, toned physique and handsome facial features, it had to be said this was not without reason. If there were three things Julian was known for in the city of Tiamat, it was his illustrious and disreputable family history, his talents as a thief and first-class rogue, and his excessive vanity and the danger he represented to the virtue of women everywhere.
After pulling on his boots and gathering the remainder of his belongings, he set out in search of that breakfast. Finding his purse sadly empty of coin, he made a detour by the marketplace where, several discreet and well-executed swipes later, the merry jingle of newly acquired silver indicated a successful morning's work.
He made his way to the cozy and well-known Golden Rose tavern, where he sat himself down at the bar and examined his reflection in a spoon while he waited to be served, critically adjusting strands of hair and muttering under his breath about uncivilized savages tossing people out onto the street without so much as a comb.
Gathering up the sheet with more dignity than a man in his position should be able to muster, he straightened up to his full pretentious height and said, without an ounce of embarrassment, "You can't just throw me out like this- I paid for the full night! And what about my breakfast?!"
To which the infuriated inkeeper replied "I'd say you got more than what you paid for, you scoundrel! Now get out of here before I call the guard!"
Behind the inkeeper, a red-faced and attractive young woman who shared his straw-colored hair and upturned nose was silent, wrapped in an identical sheet and clearly mortified.
"Look sir, your inn is famous for its welcoming spirit and hospitality- I'm certain your daughter was just trying to make you proud," the thief unashamedly suggested.
"PROUD?!" the man roared, turning an ugly shade of purple as the girl jumped and scurried back a few feet. "She's a slattern and a tramp, and you're a scoundrel and a thief! If she weren't my daughter I'd say you two deserve each other, but even with this she's still too good for the likes of you!" he venomously spat.
The rogue's cheeks colored for the first time.
"I'll have you know that I am of noble birth, and heir to the House of Valerius!" he said with a dignified tone completely at odds with his current situation.
The innkeeper gave a sharp bark of laughter.
"Ha! The House of Valerius hasn't been noble in over a decade- they're shameless and they're broke and you're the worst of the lot. Now begone with you, or I'll have the guard make sure you spend the night in jail!"
And with that the man turned and slammed the door in Julian's scandalized face. The sounds of the innkeeper stomping up the stairs and the daughter crying could be heard as curious neighbors and passerby stopped to gawk at the naked man in the middle of the street.
"And what about my clothes?" Julian called stubbornly though the closed door. There was a moment's silence, then the first story window opened and a mixed pile of clothes and personal effects rained down on the unfortunate thief's head, followed lastly by his boots.
"Oww..." Julian moaned, angrily rubbing his scalp, "so much for that famed hospitality then I guess."
And with that, he dropped the sheet and proceeded to get dressed right in the middle of the street with no apparent trace of discomfort. If there was one thing Julian Valerius the IIIrd was supremely confident in, it was his physical appearance.
And with his long, luscious brown locks, tall, toned physique and handsome facial features, it had to be said this was not without reason. If there were three things Julian was known for in the city of Tiamat, it was his illustrious and disreputable family history, his talents as a thief and first-class rogue, and his excessive vanity and the danger he represented to the virtue of women everywhere.
After pulling on his boots and gathering the remainder of his belongings, he set out in search of that breakfast. Finding his purse sadly empty of coin, he made a detour by the marketplace where, several discreet and well-executed swipes later, the merry jingle of newly acquired silver indicated a successful morning's work.
He made his way to the cozy and well-known Golden Rose tavern, where he sat himself down at the bar and examined his reflection in a spoon while he waited to be served, critically adjusting strands of hair and muttering under his breath about uncivilized savages tossing people out onto the street without so much as a comb.
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saxon
One Thousand Club
Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
It was raining. Hel, at this point, pouring was a better description. Like a draining nose, the very skies were sobbing at the injustices of life. Or maybe Aenwyn was just getting tired. In case it needed to be said, she hated the rain. Sure, like any elf she knew it was necessary, plants and trees, etc. But all Aenwyn knew from experience was weakened systems of idiots who weren’t prepared for the weather. Tugging her waxed cloak’s hood further over her brow, Aenwyn wondered if she counted as one of them.
Originally, she planned to save coin by curling up in a tree for the night. Originally, her plan was to stop an hour ago. Instead, just as she was slowing to study the forest for the best spot to use the remaining daylight in search of herbs, it started raining. Oh, there were only a few irritating drops at first, but she could read the skies (now that she bothered to look up) and the storm was heading her way, coming straight at her. Promising a wet night of little sleep and too much cold.
As she’d retrieved her waxed cloak from her satchel, buttoning up the double layers to keep her and her stuff dry, she’d known what she had to do. The town she was heading for wasn’t far ahead. Morava might be just as bad a place as any other, but it was one she’d traveled the most. So after an hour, she entered Tiamat tired and irritable a night, instead of rested and irritable tomorrow morning. She’d stepped in a deeper puddle than she’d realized and had spent the past ten minutes with a wet sock to dampen her mood further.
The streets were crowded with idiots who would be better off inside and those forced to continue their duties despite the rain. She waved at a driver whose son’s arm she’d healed on her last visit, knowing him to be a kind man. Though with most of her face concealed by her hood, she likely wasn’t recognized. The town was not large enough to be considered a city, but it was still good-sized. Though she traveled the streets easily, knowing her destination on her own, it took her a few minutes to reach it (her right foot squelching with each step.) The Gold Rose Tavern. It was the cleanest of a bad lot here. All taverns were cesspools. Strangers crammed together, sharing drinks and stories, leading far too many to share spit and other bodily fluids. But without the daylight to find a better place to stay, to see if this town even had need of a healer again, Aenwyn had to take it. Catching sight of the gold lettering, she sighed in relief. Speeding up at the thought of a warm hearth, she reached the large door quickly. Pushing the heavy thing open, she was pleased by the rush of warm air that welcomed her. Enough to tune out the noise of local chatter. Removing her cloak, she shook the waxed fabric off, causing a small puddle to join the others formed on the floor. She folded it over her arm: it would go back into her satchel after it dried. The cloak revealed that she carried a large bag on her back, which carried her herbs, bandages, splints, and the like. Though her magic could heal, she would often leave those she treated with the knowledge of what to do if it happened without her there. Plus if an idiot hurts themself, they deserve to heal themself.
Aenwyn was pulled to the fire like a moth, choosing the table nearest its warmth and ignoring that it was already occupied by two mercenaries1. She could deal with their kind in a minute. Dropping her bag beside the chair, then draping her cloak on it, she turned the seat, so that her back was to the couple and her front to the fire. Sitting, she leaned down to remove her shoe and sock, grimacing at the wet feel. The sock she draped on top of her cloak, while she dropped the shoe to the ground. It would take a bit for her foot to dry regardless. Reaching in her satchel, she rummaged through her change of clothes, pulling out another sock to replace the wet one. Laying that on her thigh, she sighed, allowing herself to relax in the warmth. She’d worry about food and getting a room in a minute. Her sock wouldn’t take that long to finish drying.
Originally, she planned to save coin by curling up in a tree for the night. Originally, her plan was to stop an hour ago. Instead, just as she was slowing to study the forest for the best spot to use the remaining daylight in search of herbs, it started raining. Oh, there were only a few irritating drops at first, but she could read the skies (now that she bothered to look up) and the storm was heading her way, coming straight at her. Promising a wet night of little sleep and too much cold.
As she’d retrieved her waxed cloak from her satchel, buttoning up the double layers to keep her and her stuff dry, she’d known what she had to do. The town she was heading for wasn’t far ahead. Morava might be just as bad a place as any other, but it was one she’d traveled the most. So after an hour, she entered Tiamat tired and irritable a night, instead of rested and irritable tomorrow morning. She’d stepped in a deeper puddle than she’d realized and had spent the past ten minutes with a wet sock to dampen her mood further.
The streets were crowded with idiots who would be better off inside and those forced to continue their duties despite the rain. She waved at a driver whose son’s arm she’d healed on her last visit, knowing him to be a kind man. Though with most of her face concealed by her hood, she likely wasn’t recognized. The town was not large enough to be considered a city, but it was still good-sized. Though she traveled the streets easily, knowing her destination on her own, it took her a few minutes to reach it (her right foot squelching with each step.) The Gold Rose Tavern. It was the cleanest of a bad lot here. All taverns were cesspools. Strangers crammed together, sharing drinks and stories, leading far too many to share spit and other bodily fluids. But without the daylight to find a better place to stay, to see if this town even had need of a healer again, Aenwyn had to take it. Catching sight of the gold lettering, she sighed in relief. Speeding up at the thought of a warm hearth, she reached the large door quickly. Pushing the heavy thing open, she was pleased by the rush of warm air that welcomed her. Enough to tune out the noise of local chatter. Removing her cloak, she shook the waxed fabric off, causing a small puddle to join the others formed on the floor. She folded it over her arm: it would go back into her satchel after it dried. The cloak revealed that she carried a large bag on her back, which carried her herbs, bandages, splints, and the like. Though her magic could heal, she would often leave those she treated with the knowledge of what to do if it happened without her there. Plus if an idiot hurts themself, they deserve to heal themself.
Aenwyn was pulled to the fire like a moth, choosing the table nearest its warmth and ignoring that it was already occupied by two mercenaries1. She could deal with their kind in a minute. Dropping her bag beside the chair, then draping her cloak on it, she turned the seat, so that her back was to the couple and her front to the fire. Sitting, she leaned down to remove her shoe and sock, grimacing at the wet feel. The sock she draped on top of her cloak, while she dropped the shoe to the ground. It would take a bit for her foot to dry regardless. Reaching in her satchel, she rummaged through her change of clothes, pulling out another sock to replace the wet one. Laying that on her thigh, she sighed, allowing herself to relax in the warmth. She’d worry about food and getting a room in a minute. Her sock wouldn’t take that long to finish drying.
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HumbugPie
My brain has too many tabs open
Marnie strolled down a side street in the city, trying to avoid the stares of passers by. Her blue skin and webbed ears often brought lots of attention and whispers, which almost always made Marnie nervous, if not a tad angry. The end of the street was coming up and she could see a much busier one up ahead. The hustle and bustle, patter of footsteps and hooves on cobbles and shouting of stall owners trying to sell their goods sent a shiver of nerves down her spine. She gulped, closed her eyes and took in a big gasp of air before slowly releasing it and walking towards the hoards of people.
Marnie walked with haste, looking at the floor to avoid the staring eyes of gossiping strangers. She tried her best to hide in her head, thinking of the warmth of the fire at The Golden Rose and the table at the back that she always sat at to get away from even more prying eyes of the other patrons. Just as she had tuned out from the sound of hushed voices, a cobble in the road that stuck out from the rest caught the soul of her boot, sending her flying. Everything went in slow motion, the gasps of the surrounding people, the ”ugh!” that escaped from Marnie’s mouth as she outstretched her arms to try and lessen the pain of the fall. And, of course, she landed slap bang in the middle of a large puddle that had been mixed in with the mud from horses hooves and grass from the wheels of carts.
She laid there for a moment or two, the world and sounds around her mingling and making a strange buzzing sound. The fall had disoriented her. Slowly, she pushed herself up with her hands, wiping the muddy, grassy puddle water off of her face. She hadn’t even noticed that it was raining, being half waterelf and all, but there was no missing this gross liquid soaking the front of her hair and clothing. Feeling tears starting the well up in her eyes, she looked around her, only to see a crowd of people that had gathered around her. Snickers and pointing made the tears run down her face. None of them had helped her, but they had enough time to mock her and find humour in her pain. Marnie wiped her eyes and cheeks and ran to push her way through the crowd. Two teenagers in the middle of the group shouted at her as she tried to escape, ”oi, bluey! I thought you lo’ didn’t mind a bit of water!” The waterelf sped away with no hesitation, sobbing and wiping down her clothes as she made her way to the tavern.
Marnie barged her way through the tavern’s doors, no longer worrying about how the presence of her blue self would make people stop and stare. She stomped over to the fire, dropping onto the floor on her knees and letting out a big huff of air.
Marnie walked with haste, looking at the floor to avoid the staring eyes of gossiping strangers. She tried her best to hide in her head, thinking of the warmth of the fire at The Golden Rose and the table at the back that she always sat at to get away from even more prying eyes of the other patrons. Just as she had tuned out from the sound of hushed voices, a cobble in the road that stuck out from the rest caught the soul of her boot, sending her flying. Everything went in slow motion, the gasps of the surrounding people, the ”ugh!” that escaped from Marnie’s mouth as she outstretched her arms to try and lessen the pain of the fall. And, of course, she landed slap bang in the middle of a large puddle that had been mixed in with the mud from horses hooves and grass from the wheels of carts.
She laid there for a moment or two, the world and sounds around her mingling and making a strange buzzing sound. The fall had disoriented her. Slowly, she pushed herself up with her hands, wiping the muddy, grassy puddle water off of her face. She hadn’t even noticed that it was raining, being half waterelf and all, but there was no missing this gross liquid soaking the front of her hair and clothing. Feeling tears starting the well up in her eyes, she looked around her, only to see a crowd of people that had gathered around her. Snickers and pointing made the tears run down her face. None of them had helped her, but they had enough time to mock her and find humour in her pain. Marnie wiped her eyes and cheeks and ran to push her way through the crowd. Two teenagers in the middle of the group shouted at her as she tried to escape, ”oi, bluey! I thought you lo’ didn’t mind a bit of water!” The waterelf sped away with no hesitation, sobbing and wiping down her clothes as she made her way to the tavern.
Marnie barged her way through the tavern’s doors, no longer worrying about how the presence of her blue self would make people stop and stare. She stomped over to the fire, dropping onto the floor on her knees and letting out a big huff of air.
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viloxii
Vis Per Mare
The Oracle - Nimue
I am here: The Gold Rose Tavern, In The City of Tiamat, In The Kingdom of Morava, In The Realm of New Kalais
Nimue slowed her eating as she saw that everyone who walked in afterwards, seemed to notice her in particular. They didn't seem to really care for the other patrons in the building besides the white-haired woman who came into meet the dark-haired elf. Suspicion arose within her, as she stopped eating. Ever since Mahgra died, her last words had been echoing in her mind.
"Don't let anyone hurt them. But don't let anyone catch you. They will use you for their own gain. And your true purpose will be wasted on the charlatans. The charlatans trying to hide the truth."
Remember seeing her adopted mother's life leave her eyes. She recalled holding her hand until the warmth of it had completely fled. Nimue's life had always been filled with uncertainty. She was always one to hold onto something until it was lost for good. Nimue shook the thought off of her mind. She had already lost Mahgra. She wasn't going to lose sight of her goal, whatever it was. Nimue pressed her fingertips into the table as to keep her cool. The pressure was almost enough to cause injury. For months now, Nimue had tried to guess what Maghra meant by her last words.
Nimue had been plagued with paranoia since then. She didn't want to leave Lake Logres, but she felt as if it was time after all the years she had spent there. It was a very peaceful originally, but once Mahgra died it became a place of sorrow. On her way out, she had a dream. Now, the dream is all she had to remember.
Nimue surveyed the people who recently entered the tavern once more. The suspicion turned to concern as well as a feeling of sympathy when a water elf entered the tavern covered in mud, bawling. Poor thing Nimue thought to herself. She immediately got up from the table, forgetting how scared she was before, and weaved through the crowd to get to her. Nimue approached the water elf as she plopped down next to the fire. She fought back tears. Often times, Nimue felt the pain of others on a whole other level. She neared the water elf very timidly. She didn't want to frighten her in any way. Keeping her distance, Nimue knelt down. "Hey are you okay?"
Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
The Female Druid - Antigone (an·ti·guh·nee)
I am here: The woods just outside Tiamat, travelling to The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Agathon (her brother) Luna (the bear), Barrow (the white wolf), Clover (the mouse)
Antigone closed her eyes and listened to the sound of rain falling on the leaves, letting it sooth her. She always felt a little nervous about going into any city; the chance Agithon and she would run into someone from their old, long dead lives was a little too high for her taste, but sometimes it was unavoidable. There was always some small village without a healer who had an ill or injured field worker needing their knowledge of herbs, or someone needing to be consulted on the state of their crops. Agathon’s gift with the elements wasn’t as large as he felt was useful, but even a small spark could start a fire, just as a drop of water could ease thirst. It was more than enough to help people in need of it. His gift, she was fond of pointing out to him, was more than many had themselves.
She opened her eyes and rested a hand on Luna’s back, burying her fingers in the heavy dense fur, and then shot a smile over her shoulder at Agathon. Barrow, perhaps feeling a bit envious of the attention Luna was getting, chuffed and shoved his nose under Agathon’s hand. To this day, she couldn’t manage to forgive herself for running away from Fletchborne Castle without him. All she could think of at the time was getting out, and then, when able, returning to rescue him. It didn’t ever occur to her he would follow her, a thought that instilled such a strong mixture of pride, amazement and worry, no matter how grateful she was he managed to escape with her. She remembered hearing him on the other side of her self imposed tree root prison, but couldn’t bring herself to remove it enough to let him in. Truthfully, she didn’t think she could. Back then, her magic controlled her, more than she controlled it.
Antigone pushed her hood back and raised her face to the sky, letting the forest canopy filtered rain wash over her face . She honestly didn’t think she would have had the strength to survive those days if her brother hadn’t been there. First thing every morning, and again at the end of night, he had crawled over her root enclosure and they had talked, whispering to each other of the things they imagined each other doing when they were well and truly free. Neither of them knew enough to recognize what was safe to eat or not, but she had been able to at least get some water from the rain that dripped through the roots, or the dew that gathered in the morning. By the time she relaxed enough to allow the twisting knot of tree roots to sink back into the earth, she barely had the strength left in her body to crawl over to Agithon’s hiding space and hold him close.
If the druids hadn’t shown up, both of them would have starved to death, or died from eating something poisonous. There were 3 of them, following, they said, the echoes of distress her magic cast, and came to see what they needed to do to help. She remembered both of them being picked up off the ground as if they weighed nothing. She didn’t fight it. She was too tired, too hungry, and too emotionally worn thin. She craned her neck around to make sure her brother was safe, and upon seeing him secured in the arms of another druid, sighed and fell asleep in her rescuers arms.
The Grove consisted of 6 druids, 8 once they were initiated. Their chief, an elderly woman named Moira, listened to their tale, and took both of them under her wing, giving them both the parental guidance and affection they had been lacking. She helped Antigone hone her gifts, and assured Agithon his was there, but buried deep. It would make itself known, and grow, if he let it.
A few years ago, she had started to feel the earth become unsettled. It varied from an urgent need for...something, to a burgeoning feeling of anticipation and frantic want. Some of the other druids in her Grove, and neighbouring ones, felt it too, though it was never determined what they should do. A few months after Moira, who it seemed to nearly everyone would live forever, passed away, Antigone announced she was going to follow the feeling to its source and do what she could to help it. It had been a huge relief to her when Agathon announced he would too.
“We have to leave the woods now, Aggie.” She said to her brother, casting him an anxious glance. Tiamat was certainly a lot more than stone’s throw from their old home, but it was still the closest they’d been to Fletchborne Castle in 19 years, and the sounds of the town, dampened by the trees and rain, caused worry to gnaw at her belly. Luna huffed and gently bumped her shoulder against Antigone’s side, while Clover climbed out of the folds of her cloak to snuggle close to her neck. Barrow whined softly, nudging her fingers.
She stepped out of the trees and onto to the road just outside of Tiamat, and continued into the town, ignoring the openly curious stares of people around her. She took a deep breath as they approached a tavern with a sign proudly proclaiming it as “The Gold Rose”. They would need to rest.
A tow-headed boy peered out of the stables, his eyes wide with mixture of fear and awe. “HOLLACE!” he yelled, “I ain’t stabling these animals, you git out here and do it yerself!”
This is when it occurred to her the tavern owners wouldn’t appreciate her bringing a wolf and a bear inside his business. She glanced between Barrow and Luna, who each cast her a look of dramatic suffering and rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ll both be fine.” She looked at the thin half elf boy approaching them nervously, and felt her heart go out to him when she spied the bruise under his eye.
“It’s OK.” She said softly. “They won’t hurt you unless you hurt us. Just hold out your hand, palm up – that’s right – and let them smell you.”
She smiled when Hollace inched closer. The boy giggled in surprise when Barrow ignored his outstretched hand and pressed his cold nose against his cheek. “What do I feed them?” He asked, his voice filled with awe.
“They ate earlier. They’ll be fine.” Antigone glanced toward the tavern door. “The wolf is Barrow, and the bear is Luna. Give them a place to sleep, and they’ll keep you and the horses safe.” She placed her hand on each of the animals and they looked over their shoulders at her, acknowledging her request. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
She looked up at Agathon and sighed. “Let’s just rip the bandage off and go in, shall we? Clover, stay hidden in my cloak.”
Bolstering her nerves, she stepped up to the door and opened it, then stepped inside and immediately fought the urge to turn around and leave. The place was packed.
I am here: The woods just outside Tiamat, travelling to The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Agathon (her brother) Luna (the bear), Barrow (the white wolf), Clover (the mouse)
Antigone closed her eyes and listened to the sound of rain falling on the leaves, letting it sooth her. She always felt a little nervous about going into any city; the chance Agithon and she would run into someone from their old, long dead lives was a little too high for her taste, but sometimes it was unavoidable. There was always some small village without a healer who had an ill or injured field worker needing their knowledge of herbs, or someone needing to be consulted on the state of their crops. Agathon’s gift with the elements wasn’t as large as he felt was useful, but even a small spark could start a fire, just as a drop of water could ease thirst. It was more than enough to help people in need of it. His gift, she was fond of pointing out to him, was more than many had themselves.
She opened her eyes and rested a hand on Luna’s back, burying her fingers in the heavy dense fur, and then shot a smile over her shoulder at Agathon. Barrow, perhaps feeling a bit envious of the attention Luna was getting, chuffed and shoved his nose under Agathon’s hand. To this day, she couldn’t manage to forgive herself for running away from Fletchborne Castle without him. All she could think of at the time was getting out, and then, when able, returning to rescue him. It didn’t ever occur to her he would follow her, a thought that instilled such a strong mixture of pride, amazement and worry, no matter how grateful she was he managed to escape with her. She remembered hearing him on the other side of her self imposed tree root prison, but couldn’t bring herself to remove it enough to let him in. Truthfully, she didn’t think she could. Back then, her magic controlled her, more than she controlled it.
Antigone pushed her hood back and raised her face to the sky, letting the forest canopy filtered rain wash over her face . She honestly didn’t think she would have had the strength to survive those days if her brother hadn’t been there. First thing every morning, and again at the end of night, he had crawled over her root enclosure and they had talked, whispering to each other of the things they imagined each other doing when they were well and truly free. Neither of them knew enough to recognize what was safe to eat or not, but she had been able to at least get some water from the rain that dripped through the roots, or the dew that gathered in the morning. By the time she relaxed enough to allow the twisting knot of tree roots to sink back into the earth, she barely had the strength left in her body to crawl over to Agithon’s hiding space and hold him close.
If the druids hadn’t shown up, both of them would have starved to death, or died from eating something poisonous. There were 3 of them, following, they said, the echoes of distress her magic cast, and came to see what they needed to do to help. She remembered both of them being picked up off the ground as if they weighed nothing. She didn’t fight it. She was too tired, too hungry, and too emotionally worn thin. She craned her neck around to make sure her brother was safe, and upon seeing him secured in the arms of another druid, sighed and fell asleep in her rescuers arms.
The Grove consisted of 6 druids, 8 once they were initiated. Their chief, an elderly woman named Moira, listened to their tale, and took both of them under her wing, giving them both the parental guidance and affection they had been lacking. She helped Antigone hone her gifts, and assured Agithon his was there, but buried deep. It would make itself known, and grow, if he let it.
A few years ago, she had started to feel the earth become unsettled. It varied from an urgent need for...something, to a burgeoning feeling of anticipation and frantic want. Some of the other druids in her Grove, and neighbouring ones, felt it too, though it was never determined what they should do. A few months after Moira, who it seemed to nearly everyone would live forever, passed away, Antigone announced she was going to follow the feeling to its source and do what she could to help it. It had been a huge relief to her when Agathon announced he would too.
“We have to leave the woods now, Aggie.” She said to her brother, casting him an anxious glance. Tiamat was certainly a lot more than stone’s throw from their old home, but it was still the closest they’d been to Fletchborne Castle in 19 years, and the sounds of the town, dampened by the trees and rain, caused worry to gnaw at her belly. Luna huffed and gently bumped her shoulder against Antigone’s side, while Clover climbed out of the folds of her cloak to snuggle close to her neck. Barrow whined softly, nudging her fingers.
She stepped out of the trees and onto to the road just outside of Tiamat, and continued into the town, ignoring the openly curious stares of people around her. She took a deep breath as they approached a tavern with a sign proudly proclaiming it as “The Gold Rose”. They would need to rest.
A tow-headed boy peered out of the stables, his eyes wide with mixture of fear and awe. “HOLLACE!” he yelled, “I ain’t stabling these animals, you git out here and do it yerself!”
This is when it occurred to her the tavern owners wouldn’t appreciate her bringing a wolf and a bear inside his business. She glanced between Barrow and Luna, who each cast her a look of dramatic suffering and rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ll both be fine.” She looked at the thin half elf boy approaching them nervously, and felt her heart go out to him when she spied the bruise under his eye.
“It’s OK.” She said softly. “They won’t hurt you unless you hurt us. Just hold out your hand, palm up – that’s right – and let them smell you.”
She smiled when Hollace inched closer. The boy giggled in surprise when Barrow ignored his outstretched hand and pressed his cold nose against his cheek. “What do I feed them?” He asked, his voice filled with awe.
“They ate earlier. They’ll be fine.” Antigone glanced toward the tavern door. “The wolf is Barrow, and the bear is Luna. Give them a place to sleep, and they’ll keep you and the horses safe.” She placed her hand on each of the animals and they looked over their shoulders at her, acknowledging her request. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
She looked up at Agathon and sighed. “Let’s just rip the bandage off and go in, shall we? Clover, stay hidden in my cloak.”
Bolstering her nerves, she stepped up to the door and opened it, then stepped inside and immediately fought the urge to turn around and leave. The place was packed.
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luxnoctis
clarissimum tempus diei.
Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
The True Sovereign - Vail FairfaxI am here: The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Myara, Aenwyn
Vail smiled as Myara came in and wove her way through the growing crowd of people escaping the weather. He nodded at her in acknowledgement, and waited for her to signal the server for her order before offering a cheerful greeting, which she, of course, didn’t respond to. It was nice to see some things didn’t change, though he did enjoy teasing her good-naturedly when he had the chance. She didn’t ever take it personally – at least he didn’t think she did. He pulled his gauntlets off and set them on the table, rubbing his hands together as the server set their food and ale down in front of them. The smell reminded him of how hungry he was, and he lost no time in spearing a potato and shoving it into his mouth.
He nodded at Myara, washing his food down with a swallow of ale. “Glib as ever, I see.” He teased. “Yes. Coin, and a welcome bonus, but not much information. I don’t know what I’m missing. My father was retired military. He retired almost 100 years before I was born, and he didn’t ever say which military (he didn’t really say anything about his past, mind you), but still, there should be some record of him, somewhere. Anyone who could fight like that, you’d think someone would remember at least hearing about.” He cut into the roast lamb, “Oh, and speaking of bonus, you will never guess what happened to the poor –“
Vail turned his head, his dark blue eyes glittering like sapphires in the firelight, as a thoroughly soaked elven woman pulled out the extra chair at their table and sat down, shifting until her back was to them and she faced the fire. She busied herself with pulling off her shoe, followed by her sock, which she set draped across her equally wet cloak, and after searching through her satchel, she produced a single sock, sat up, and sighed.
He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a smile he couldn't stop if he wanted to, and set down his utensils. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and cleared his throat softly. “Hello, miss. I’m Vail, and my companion is Myara. Care to join us?”
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Ayama
Enthusiast
Though the expression on her face never changed, Myara chewed slowly and with relish- the food at the Golden Rose was good, and she'd earned it. She surveyed the tavern as she ate, noticing the arrival of the long-haired rogue and the armored mercenary with the halberd slung over his back.
They were followed by a rain-drenched elf who made a beeline for them and sat down at their table, of all things. Myara narrowed her eyes, but the elf didn't appear to represent any kind of threat, merely changing into fresh garments and setting the wet ones out to dry.
This arrival was followed by that of a waterelf who, covered in mud and face wet with more than rain, made a beeline for the fire and merely slumped down in front of it, clearly distraught. The woman who had been eating at a table nearby weaved through people and chairs to kneel down next to her.
Finally, a redheaded pair of what she assumed were siblings appeared, framed in the doorway and wearing the mismatched, earthy type of garments traditionally associated with nature magic users. Druids, Myara thought with some interest.
She couldn't help but reflect that, if it got much more crowded in here, she and Vail would need to adjourn to the stables merely to have some space but, as none of the new arrivals seemed to present an immediate threat, she shrugged and went back to her food.
While Vail rambled on as usual (he always talked more than enough for the both of them), she took a swig of ale, nodding appreciatively- not bad. She glared at him when he introduced them both to the sockless elf- she didn't give out her name to anyone unless she had to, but he was too open and friendly for his own good (not to mention hers).
When he blithely invited the elf to join them, Myara glaring metaphorical daggers into the back of his head, she turned the glare on the elf instead, the message that she had better not accept Vail's invitation quite clear in the openly hostile lines of her face.
They were followed by a rain-drenched elf who made a beeline for them and sat down at their table, of all things. Myara narrowed her eyes, but the elf didn't appear to represent any kind of threat, merely changing into fresh garments and setting the wet ones out to dry.
This arrival was followed by that of a waterelf who, covered in mud and face wet with more than rain, made a beeline for the fire and merely slumped down in front of it, clearly distraught. The woman who had been eating at a table nearby weaved through people and chairs to kneel down next to her.
Finally, a redheaded pair of what she assumed were siblings appeared, framed in the doorway and wearing the mismatched, earthy type of garments traditionally associated with nature magic users. Druids, Myara thought with some interest.
She couldn't help but reflect that, if it got much more crowded in here, she and Vail would need to adjourn to the stables merely to have some space but, as none of the new arrivals seemed to present an immediate threat, she shrugged and went back to her food.
While Vail rambled on as usual (he always talked more than enough for the both of them), she took a swig of ale, nodding appreciatively- not bad. She glared at him when he introduced them both to the sockless elf- she didn't give out her name to anyone unless she had to, but he was too open and friendly for his own good (not to mention hers).
When he blithely invited the elf to join them, Myara glaring metaphorical daggers into the back of his head, she turned the glare on the elf instead, the message that she had better not accept Vail's invitation quite clear in the openly hostile lines of her face.
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Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
A water elf barged through the doors with the force of a flood, storming through the tables to halt at the fire, where she seemed to collapse. It was obvious she was crying, and the mud dripping from her was likely the culprit. But, more importantly, was she hurt? Aenwyn squinted at the sobbing woman, a frown on her face. She’d most likely fallen into a puddle--though a rather large one, so maybe just the full street. No, she decided. Her pain was all emotional. Her knees were covered with pants that did not seem torn, and while her hands may be scraped, a water elf could clean them as well as she could. So when a very pretty brunette intervened, Aenwyn decided to let it be; she hated dealing with tears anyway.
Returning her attention to herself, she stuck her leg out, wiggling her toes, pleased that they were almost dry. Hearing an introduction, she turned halfway, an eyebrow raised at the invitation from the coup--nope only the man. Wow, that was a searing glare. Too bad her eyes were pretty enough to distract from the hatred she seemed to be trying to stab Aenwyn with. For two seconds she considered politeness before she brushed it off. The two of them were unlikely to be a part of this town, she had no need of a good reputation with a couple of mercenaries. “Join you? In what? Eating at this, admittedly fine table, which is obviously not yours to claim?” She rolled her eyes, “Then yes, I’ll catch a barmaid for dinner and an ale, and join you in enjoying my meal in the warmth of the fire. But nothing short of death is going to make me leave this tavern tonight, regardless of what scheme you might be cooking up.” Mercenaries are always looking to group up into troupes.
Shaking her head, she turned her back to them--they were unlikely to attack in this crowded of a bar--and pulled her dry sock on. It matched her other sock, as all her socks were the same. Why waste effort on variety? Her shoe followed quickly, before she stood up, turning her chair to face the couple. “I’m Aenwyn, a healer, and unless you’re injured I don’t need conversation.” She waved down a barmaid and managed politeness for that interaction. Ordering her dinner with a please and a smile, she turned back to the couple, her hands immediately rising to rub away the oncoming headache of dealing with people.
Returning her attention to herself, she stuck her leg out, wiggling her toes, pleased that they were almost dry. Hearing an introduction, she turned halfway, an eyebrow raised at the invitation from the coup--nope only the man. Wow, that was a searing glare. Too bad her eyes were pretty enough to distract from the hatred she seemed to be trying to stab Aenwyn with. For two seconds she considered politeness before she brushed it off. The two of them were unlikely to be a part of this town, she had no need of a good reputation with a couple of mercenaries. “Join you? In what? Eating at this, admittedly fine table, which is obviously not yours to claim?” She rolled her eyes, “Then yes, I’ll catch a barmaid for dinner and an ale, and join you in enjoying my meal in the warmth of the fire. But nothing short of death is going to make me leave this tavern tonight, regardless of what scheme you might be cooking up.” Mercenaries are always looking to group up into troupes.
Shaking her head, she turned her back to them--they were unlikely to attack in this crowded of a bar--and pulled her dry sock on. It matched her other sock, as all her socks were the same. Why waste effort on variety? Her shoe followed quickly, before she stood up, turning her chair to face the couple. “I’m Aenwyn, a healer, and unless you’re injured I don’t need conversation.” She waved down a barmaid and managed politeness for that interaction. Ordering her dinner with a please and a smile, she turned back to the couple, her hands immediately rising to rub away the oncoming headache of dealing with people.
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Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
The Female Druid - Antigone (an·ti·guh·nee)
I am here: Inside The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Agathon
Antigone quailed briefly at the thought of her brother leaving her side, but took a deep breath and nodded her head. It wasn’t like they could stand here blocking the doorway forever. More than a few people shot curious looks their way. It was normal, considering a tavern wasn’t necessarily a common haunt for any druid. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to ignore the press of people around her, and reached along her bond with Luna, drawing on her strength. Beneath her cloak, the intricate blue tattoos etched into her skin glowed softly. She felt her nerves steady, the fluttering of her heart ease, and her breathing even out.
She nodded again and looked up at Agathon with a smile. “OK. I will…” She looked around the sea of people and shrugged. “I will find somewhere in here to go. Be careful, Aggie.” She reach out to squeeze his arm lightly and eased herself through the crowd, doing her best to find the path of least resistance and mumbling an apology to anyone she jostled. She spotted two men at the bar, one in expensive looking full plate armour, and the other a roguish looking man who seemed far too pretty for his (or anyone else’s) good, and looked away quickly. Something about the rogue struck a cord of familiarity in her, and not in a good way. She felt a coil of anxiety threaten to work its way around her chest. Who was that man? She tried to catch Aggie’s eye, but he was no longer facing her. Oh, Aggie, be careful, she thought.
She continued to look around, spotting a cluster of people close to the roaring hearth. A beautiful brunette woman, strangely underdressed for the weather, knelt down beside a young water elf, who was clearly distressed. She wondered if it was anything she could help with, but shook her head against it as her gaze was drawn to a nearby table. An intimidating looking white haired woman cast her appraising gaze around the room, while a soggy, angry elven woman sat near her. Between the two of them, a black haired elven man in full plate looking to her to be of genuine old elven make, seemed to be singlehandedly maintaining an animated stream of conversation with them, pausing only to eat or drink. She could feel the anxious thrum of the earth under the chaos of the room give a triumphant surge. She was supposed to be here. But why? Who in here was the person she had to see?
I’m here! What now? Why bring me here if you’re not going to tell me anything?
I am here: Inside The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Agathon
Antigone quailed briefly at the thought of her brother leaving her side, but took a deep breath and nodded her head. It wasn’t like they could stand here blocking the doorway forever. More than a few people shot curious looks their way. It was normal, considering a tavern wasn’t necessarily a common haunt for any druid. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to ignore the press of people around her, and reached along her bond with Luna, drawing on her strength. Beneath her cloak, the intricate blue tattoos etched into her skin glowed softly. She felt her nerves steady, the fluttering of her heart ease, and her breathing even out.
She nodded again and looked up at Agathon with a smile. “OK. I will…” She looked around the sea of people and shrugged. “I will find somewhere in here to go. Be careful, Aggie.” She reach out to squeeze his arm lightly and eased herself through the crowd, doing her best to find the path of least resistance and mumbling an apology to anyone she jostled. She spotted two men at the bar, one in expensive looking full plate armour, and the other a roguish looking man who seemed far too pretty for his (or anyone else’s) good, and looked away quickly. Something about the rogue struck a cord of familiarity in her, and not in a good way. She felt a coil of anxiety threaten to work its way around her chest. Who was that man? She tried to catch Aggie’s eye, but he was no longer facing her. Oh, Aggie, be careful, she thought.
She continued to look around, spotting a cluster of people close to the roaring hearth. A beautiful brunette woman, strangely underdressed for the weather, knelt down beside a young water elf, who was clearly distressed. She wondered if it was anything she could help with, but shook her head against it as her gaze was drawn to a nearby table. An intimidating looking white haired woman cast her appraising gaze around the room, while a soggy, angry elven woman sat near her. Between the two of them, a black haired elven man in full plate looking to her to be of genuine old elven make, seemed to be singlehandedly maintaining an animated stream of conversation with them, pausing only to eat or drink. She could feel the anxious thrum of the earth under the chaos of the room give a triumphant surge. She was supposed to be here. But why? Who in here was the person she had to see?
I’m here! What now? Why bring me here if you’re not going to tell me anything?
Ayama
Enthusiast
So focused on his reflection was he, that Julian didn't notice the arrival of his friend and employer until the armored man was standing right next to him.
"Julian, isn't this place a little too fancy for you?" the familiar voice enquired. The thief turned to find himself facing the usual pair of brown eyes and an equally familiar smirk. He rolled his eyes as Aevar began to eat- the man was a black hole when it came to food.
"Hear any rumors recently?" the prince asked around a mouthful of bread, and Julian shrugged.
"Only the same one that's been floating around. Also that the hospitality at the inns in this town has severely deteriorated," he added irritably. He gave himself one last, critical look before desisting with the spoon, finally satisfied.
"And as for this place being too fancy, you clearly have that backwards. It is I who shouldn't be caught dead in a hole such as this but, being a kind and generous man I must, as usual, stoop to my friend's unfortunate level."
He was distracted from Aevar's retort and dry laughter by the arrival of his own food, and for a moment he sat and ate and simply people-watched. The clientele at this tavern wasn't exactly what Julian would call his class of people, but he had to admit they made an interesting if mismatched assortment.
He watched two elves rush in to shelter from the rain and make a beeline for the fire at the back of the room. Julian's desire to play savior to any obvious damsel in distress was dampened by the sight of the mud on their clothes- he wasn't about to get himself dirty unless there was a damn good reason.
He watched the pair by the fire with interest for a moment more before a large shadow obscured the doorway, and he turned in surprise to see two tall redheaded druids framed by the tavern entrance.
Imogen, he thought, astounded. If it hadn't been for seeing them both together like that, he would have doubted his conclusion- it had, after all, been 19 years-, but there was definitely no mistaking that pair of siblings.
Years ago, when they were all children in the court of Morava, he, Aevar, Imogen and Declan had been friends. Well, it was probably more accurate to say that he, Aevar and Declan had been friends. Imogen had never liked him- he'd never quite understood why.
Of course, as he reflected back on it now, there had been a lot going on under the surface. Aevar's mother, the capricious Queen Iselde, was one of those tyrannical rulers everyone constantly had to tiptoe around, and the noble houses she surrounded herself with were all messed up in one way or another.
Julian's parents had managed to piss her off somehow, and from one day to the next they'd lost everything and had spent every last cent of their considerable fortune trying to get it all back. A few years after that, Aevar was tossed out on his ear for daring to learn the truth about the history of Kalais and his place in the scheme of things.
But Imogen had had it worst of all. When they'd discovered her gift, her twisted, abusive parents had sought to use it for their own ends, essentially torturing their own daughter day in and day out. Declan had sat by helplessly as the person he loved most in the world was put through hell.
She ran away- twice-, but they always managed to bring her back. Until finally, on her third attempt, she'd succeeded in escaping, and neither she nor her brother were ever heard from again.
Rumors surfaced that they'd died, or joined the circus, or become traveling mercenaries, but nothing was ever confirmed. Julian had always hoped they'd gotten away clean, and were living out their lives somewhere in peace- no one could remain happy staying at the court of Morava.
And now, here they were, alive and well and, apparently, full-fledged druids. Julian's own wanderings had brought Aevar back into his life, full of freshly-minted fury and bent on revenge. Now, it seemed the second half of their little childhood band was destined to reunite with them as well.
As Imogen made her way through the crowd, their eyes met briefly before she looked away, and Julian wondered if she had recognized him. She'd stopped halfway through the room and seemed to be looking around for something or someone but, based on the fact that she hadn't moved, they either weren't here or hadn't yet arrived.
Shaking out his long hair out of pure habit, the rogue slipped off his barstool and made his way towards her with the fluid, practiced ease of one who was skilled at moving through crowds unnoticed. When he reached her, he tapped her on the shoulder and said in a quiet, disbelieving voice
"Imogen? Is that really you?"
"Julian, isn't this place a little too fancy for you?" the familiar voice enquired. The thief turned to find himself facing the usual pair of brown eyes and an equally familiar smirk. He rolled his eyes as Aevar began to eat- the man was a black hole when it came to food.
"Hear any rumors recently?" the prince asked around a mouthful of bread, and Julian shrugged.
"Only the same one that's been floating around. Also that the hospitality at the inns in this town has severely deteriorated," he added irritably. He gave himself one last, critical look before desisting with the spoon, finally satisfied.
"And as for this place being too fancy, you clearly have that backwards. It is I who shouldn't be caught dead in a hole such as this but, being a kind and generous man I must, as usual, stoop to my friend's unfortunate level."
He was distracted from Aevar's retort and dry laughter by the arrival of his own food, and for a moment he sat and ate and simply people-watched. The clientele at this tavern wasn't exactly what Julian would call his class of people, but he had to admit they made an interesting if mismatched assortment.
He watched two elves rush in to shelter from the rain and make a beeline for the fire at the back of the room. Julian's desire to play savior to any obvious damsel in distress was dampened by the sight of the mud on their clothes- he wasn't about to get himself dirty unless there was a damn good reason.
He watched the pair by the fire with interest for a moment more before a large shadow obscured the doorway, and he turned in surprise to see two tall redheaded druids framed by the tavern entrance.
Imogen, he thought, astounded. If it hadn't been for seeing them both together like that, he would have doubted his conclusion- it had, after all, been 19 years-, but there was definitely no mistaking that pair of siblings.
Years ago, when they were all children in the court of Morava, he, Aevar, Imogen and Declan had been friends. Well, it was probably more accurate to say that he, Aevar and Declan had been friends. Imogen had never liked him- he'd never quite understood why.
Of course, as he reflected back on it now, there had been a lot going on under the surface. Aevar's mother, the capricious Queen Iselde, was one of those tyrannical rulers everyone constantly had to tiptoe around, and the noble houses she surrounded herself with were all messed up in one way or another.
Julian's parents had managed to piss her off somehow, and from one day to the next they'd lost everything and had spent every last cent of their considerable fortune trying to get it all back. A few years after that, Aevar was tossed out on his ear for daring to learn the truth about the history of Kalais and his place in the scheme of things.
But Imogen had had it worst of all. When they'd discovered her gift, her twisted, abusive parents had sought to use it for their own ends, essentially torturing their own daughter day in and day out. Declan had sat by helplessly as the person he loved most in the world was put through hell.
She ran away- twice-, but they always managed to bring her back. Until finally, on her third attempt, she'd succeeded in escaping, and neither she nor her brother were ever heard from again.
Rumors surfaced that they'd died, or joined the circus, or become traveling mercenaries, but nothing was ever confirmed. Julian had always hoped they'd gotten away clean, and were living out their lives somewhere in peace- no one could remain happy staying at the court of Morava.
And now, here they were, alive and well and, apparently, full-fledged druids. Julian's own wanderings had brought Aevar back into his life, full of freshly-minted fury and bent on revenge. Now, it seemed the second half of their little childhood band was destined to reunite with them as well.
As Imogen made her way through the crowd, their eyes met briefly before she looked away, and Julian wondered if she had recognized him. She'd stopped halfway through the room and seemed to be looking around for something or someone but, based on the fact that she hadn't moved, they either weren't here or hadn't yet arrived.
Shaking out his long hair out of pure habit, the rogue slipped off his barstool and made his way towards her with the fluid, practiced ease of one who was skilled at moving through crowds unnoticed. When he reached her, he tapped her on the shoulder and said in a quiet, disbelieving voice
"Imogen? Is that really you?"
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Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
The True Sovereign - Vail Fairfax
I am here: The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Myara, Aenwyn
Mood: Amused and curious
Vail laughed, ignoring the daggers Myara shot at him with her glare, “I have no scheme. I’ve got nothing cooking, and I don’t plan on leaving this tavern tonight either. I was simply being sociable. You know – hi how are you? I’m fine, thank you. Boy, this is some weather we’re having, isn’t it? Stuff like that.” He speared a piece of lamb and ate it, closing his eyes briefly. “Either I’ve been eating my own cooking for too long, or this really is fantastic.”
He fell silent for a moment and took a swallow of ale while he looked around. The woman he spotted when he first came in, who he still swore looked familiar, was crouched down next to a chair behind their impromptu dinner guest, so he couldn’t get a clear view of who was in it. There were two other people of note in the bar. One was a human in full armour – but it was odd. He seemed comfortable in it, so it wasn’t that he was new to it, but something else. Like perhaps, his social circumstance had changed and he no longer had the funds of someone who would have such a suit of armour. He glanced down at his own armoured chest and shrugged. He wouldn’t be the first. Next to him, sat another human with long brown hair he was obviously overly proud of. He supposed he could understand that too, except Vail didn’t have to work half so hard at it.
The elf abruptly introduced herself as Aenwyn and a healer, and then she claimed she didn’t need conversation. He smiled and waved a hand between her and Myara. “Then the two of you should get along just fine!” He laughed at his own joke and glanced toward the door as it opened, and two humans with gloriously thick red hair stood in the doorway. His eyebrows raised as he caught the slight glow of blue from barely visible tattoos under the cuffs of her sleeve. “Druids. Interesting. You know. There seems to be a lot of that going on today. Interesting things. If I was the superstitious type, I’d say this was an omen.”
He watched her wander through the crowd, looking as if she was searching for something, or someone. Their gazes met for a brief second, and Vail felt something thrum in his chest. Now what was that? He tilted his head to one side slowly, and was about to get up to ask her if she needed help, when Mr. Proud of His Hair appeared behind her and touched her shoulder, whispering something in the druid’s ear. Whatever he said, she didn’t seem to find favour with. Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. Vail leaned forward.
“Ha. Now this is interesting.”
I am here: The Gold Rose Tavern
With: Myara, Aenwyn
Mood: Amused and curious
Vail laughed, ignoring the daggers Myara shot at him with her glare, “I have no scheme. I’ve got nothing cooking, and I don’t plan on leaving this tavern tonight either. I was simply being sociable. You know – hi how are you? I’m fine, thank you. Boy, this is some weather we’re having, isn’t it? Stuff like that.” He speared a piece of lamb and ate it, closing his eyes briefly. “Either I’ve been eating my own cooking for too long, or this really is fantastic.”
He fell silent for a moment and took a swallow of ale while he looked around. The woman he spotted when he first came in, who he still swore looked familiar, was crouched down next to a chair behind their impromptu dinner guest, so he couldn’t get a clear view of who was in it. There were two other people of note in the bar. One was a human in full armour – but it was odd. He seemed comfortable in it, so it wasn’t that he was new to it, but something else. Like perhaps, his social circumstance had changed and he no longer had the funds of someone who would have such a suit of armour. He glanced down at his own armoured chest and shrugged. He wouldn’t be the first. Next to him, sat another human with long brown hair he was obviously overly proud of. He supposed he could understand that too, except Vail didn’t have to work half so hard at it.
The elf abruptly introduced herself as Aenwyn and a healer, and then she claimed she didn’t need conversation. He smiled and waved a hand between her and Myara. “Then the two of you should get along just fine!” He laughed at his own joke and glanced toward the door as it opened, and two humans with gloriously thick red hair stood in the doorway. His eyebrows raised as he caught the slight glow of blue from barely visible tattoos under the cuffs of her sleeve. “Druids. Interesting. You know. There seems to be a lot of that going on today. Interesting things. If I was the superstitious type, I’d say this was an omen.”
He watched her wander through the crowd, looking as if she was searching for something, or someone. Their gazes met for a brief second, and Vail felt something thrum in his chest. Now what was that? He tilted his head to one side slowly, and was about to get up to ask her if she needed help, when Mr. Proud of His Hair appeared behind her and touched her shoulder, whispering something in the druid’s ear. Whatever he said, she didn’t seem to find favour with. Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. Vail leaned forward.
“Ha. Now this is interesting.”
Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
Ayama
Enthusiast
Unusually enough, Myara's glare didn't seem to intimidate the elf in the slightest, as she peered with clinical interest directly into the mercenary's eyes.
Yes, I know, they're red, Myara thought, not appreciating being treated like an animal under observation.
When the elf responded to Vail's invitation with a barbed and ill-tempered refusal, Myara's lips twitched. Vail was overly friendly with everyone he met, and she'd had to endure more evenings of endless, inane chatter with random strangers than she could count. The elf's frankness and clear desire to be left alone were marvelously refreshing.
Vail, of course, didn't take the hint.
She gave her name and introduced herself as a healer, some of the mystery coming clear. In Myara's experience, there were two types of competent healer. The kindly, mothering type who knew what the hell they were doing, and the gifted kind who could save anyone's life but didn't give two shits about you beyond that.
This Aenwyn was clearly the latter type, and Myara couldn't help but reflect that, with all the scrapes Vail got into (and pulled her into along with him), it would be invaluable to have someone like this around.
As the elf gave a pleasant smile to the pretty barmaid while ordering her dinner, Myara realized that not caring much for the company of other people was not the only thing the two of them had in common.
When Vail declared the two of them should get along fine, she turned to glare back at him, dead-eyed, before returning her gaze to the healer, who raised her eyebrows at her as if to say How often do you have to put up with this shit?
To which Myara replied with an eyeroll and a shrug He saved my life- I don't have a choice.
When Aenwyn pointed out that, rather than being some mystical coincidence, the druids were just here because of the rain like everybody else, Myara's lips twitched again. She didn't like most of the people she came across in life, but there were always exceptions to confirm the rule, and she decided she liked this elf.
She narrowed her eyes a little as the healer pulled out a vial of yellow liquid and inhaled the contents- a faint scent of peppermint wafted over to her. Sorry about the headache, she thought sympathetically- Vail's neverending chatter had that effect on people.
She took another swig of ale and turned observe the scene in the center of the tavern, poised to get Vail out of harm's way if, as she suspected probable by the sudden tension in the druid's shoulders, she decided to send the long-haired rogue flying bodily across the room.
Yes, I know, they're red, Myara thought, not appreciating being treated like an animal under observation.
When the elf responded to Vail's invitation with a barbed and ill-tempered refusal, Myara's lips twitched. Vail was overly friendly with everyone he met, and she'd had to endure more evenings of endless, inane chatter with random strangers than she could count. The elf's frankness and clear desire to be left alone were marvelously refreshing.
Vail, of course, didn't take the hint.
She gave her name and introduced herself as a healer, some of the mystery coming clear. In Myara's experience, there were two types of competent healer. The kindly, mothering type who knew what the hell they were doing, and the gifted kind who could save anyone's life but didn't give two shits about you beyond that.
This Aenwyn was clearly the latter type, and Myara couldn't help but reflect that, with all the scrapes Vail got into (and pulled her into along with him), it would be invaluable to have someone like this around.
As the elf gave a pleasant smile to the pretty barmaid while ordering her dinner, Myara realized that not caring much for the company of other people was not the only thing the two of them had in common.
When Vail declared the two of them should get along fine, she turned to glare back at him, dead-eyed, before returning her gaze to the healer, who raised her eyebrows at her as if to say How often do you have to put up with this shit?
To which Myara replied with an eyeroll and a shrug He saved my life- I don't have a choice.
When Aenwyn pointed out that, rather than being some mystical coincidence, the druids were just here because of the rain like everybody else, Myara's lips twitched again. She didn't like most of the people she came across in life, but there were always exceptions to confirm the rule, and she decided she liked this elf.
She narrowed her eyes a little as the healer pulled out a vial of yellow liquid and inhaled the contents- a faint scent of peppermint wafted over to her. Sorry about the headache, she thought sympathetically- Vail's neverending chatter had that effect on people.
She took another swig of ale and turned observe the scene in the center of the tavern, poised to get Vail out of harm's way if, as she suspected probable by the sudden tension in the druid's shoulders, she decided to send the long-haired rogue flying bodily across the room.
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luxnoctis
clarissimum tempus diei.
THE DRUID
agathon.
coded by natasha.
HumbugPie
My brain has too many tabs open
Marnie held her hands out towards the fire, the muddy water slowly drying from them as she looked into the flames. In her already fragile state, the blaze brought back memories of the day that her home village was burnt to the ground. She looked away sharply, closing her eyes tightly shut and shaking her head to somehow try and rid her mind of the flashbacks. Inhaling deeply through her nostrils and out of her mouth, she opened her eyes.
As she did, her eyes met those of a kind young woman’s. Marnie wiped away the tears from her eyes that had caused a collection of water to form, distorting her vision so everything looked murky. When her vision returned to normal, with a few wipes and blinks, Marnie could see the woman’s features clearly - she was beautiful, but also had the look of sadness and worry on her face.
Marnie gently and softly reached out her hand toward the woman’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. ”Thank you for noticing me,” she said faintly, genuinely thankful for being seen as more than the blue girl and nodded to let her know that she would be okay eventually. Taking her hand away from the woman’s face, she turned her attention to her feelings, ”are you okay?,” she whispered softly, putting more emphasis on the word ‘you’ to show that she had noticed the woman’s emotions.
As she did, her eyes met those of a kind young woman’s. Marnie wiped away the tears from her eyes that had caused a collection of water to form, distorting her vision so everything looked murky. When her vision returned to normal, with a few wipes and blinks, Marnie could see the woman’s features clearly - she was beautiful, but also had the look of sadness and worry on her face.
Marnie gently and softly reached out her hand toward the woman’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. ”Thank you for noticing me,” she said faintly, genuinely thankful for being seen as more than the blue girl and nodded to let her know that she would be okay eventually. Taking her hand away from the woman’s face, she turned her attention to her feelings, ”are you okay?,” she whispered softly, putting more emphasis on the word ‘you’ to show that she had noticed the woman’s emotions.
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saxon
One Thousand Club
Caffeinated Joy
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee
The Female Druid - Antigone
I am here: Inside The Gold Rose Tavern, shortly to be in the stable
With: Julian, Barrow, Luna
Antigone stiffened when a hand tapped her shoulder, and she sucked in a lungful of shocked air when a familiar voice softy said, “Imogen? Is that really you?”
Her eyes narrowed. That voice. Mother Earth, it can't – no – but it's that voice. THAT voice. How did he even – why did he – Julian Valerius III.. Her hazel eyes narrowed. No. This isn’t going to happen. Absolutely NOT! Her first instinct was to forcibly toss him out of the tavern, but another, less…dramatic solution entered her mind. She carefully schooled her features and turned to face Julian. Yes. It was that same, pretty face, only 19 years older.
She reached out to take his hand and leaned closer so she could be heard. “Come with me, please. We really need to talk.” Her heart beat like a trapped bird in her chest as she led him outside, and, as soon as they were close enough to the stables, she let go of his hand and grabbed his arm in her strong grip, making sure to briefly dig her fingers into the pressure point on the inside of his elbow, then dragged him along.
After all this time. All this time!!! The effort we’ve gone through to hide themselves, and it’s Julian fekking Valerius III who finds us. She stomped through the rain-drench streets, mindless of the puddles and mud, Mud washed out, water dried. Her parents killed, and they would kill her and Aggie, if not for the crime of running away, then for the crime of refusing to use their gifts to “strengthen” the family. She would be damned if anyone was going to ruin all of their hard work.
The 2 young boys jumped went she strode through the stables. The human boy had Hollace in a head lock and was busily digging his knuckle into the half elf’s skull. ‘Young man, you release Hollace this instant!” She barked. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Now. Give us a moment, please. I need to talk to this man.”
The boy with the lazy eye dropped Hollace and scrambled back, eyes wide. “Ma’am.” He mumbled, yanking Hollace to his feet and dragging him out much in the same manner Antigone dragged Julian in. She unerringly strode to Barrow’s and Luna’s stalls, and flipped the latches to their stall doors open.
The while wolf and the bear stalked out, their heads low, hackles raised and gazes locked on Julian. Antigone pulled Julius close again. “Meet my friends, Barrow and Luna. Be careful not to make direct eye contact.” Her voice was soft and dangerous. “They understand us completely. So, listen to me. Very. Carefully. Imogen and Declan are dead. As far as Lord & Lady Fletchborne are concerned, Imogen and Declan are dead. As far as anyone else is concerned, Imogen and Declan are dead. You have no idea what we’ve been through to hide from them, and I will be thrust into eternal darkness before I let you, or anyone else, destroy the happiness we fought so hard for. If you whisper a single syllable to anyone to give them the slightest suspicion we are still alive, I will let Luna and Barrow end you.” She felt movement in her cloak and saw Clover emerge, staring steadily at Julian. “And Clover. Are we clear?”
Just outside the stables, the human boy twisted Hollace’s ear. “I know ye gots better hearin’ than most people. What’s she sayin’ in there?”
Hollace winced and pulled his head back. “I don’t know. I’m only half elf. I can’t hear everything. Just…” He paused. “Just something about endin’ him.”
“Shit!” The human boy shoved Hollace aside and ran toward the tavern as fast as he could. He slammed the door open and sucked in a deep lungful of air, then, with the enthusiasm and volume of the young, bellowed. “THE DRUID WOMAN IS GONNA LET HER BEAR EAT THAT GUY!”
“What guy?” Someone asked.
“I don’t know ‘im!! That…that GIRL guy! Hollace heard ‘er say it!”
I am here: Inside The Gold Rose Tavern, shortly to be in the stable
With: Julian, Barrow, Luna
Antigone stiffened when a hand tapped her shoulder, and she sucked in a lungful of shocked air when a familiar voice softy said, “Imogen? Is that really you?”
Her eyes narrowed. That voice. Mother Earth, it can't – no – but it's that voice. THAT voice. How did he even – why did he – Julian Valerius III.. Her hazel eyes narrowed. No. This isn’t going to happen. Absolutely NOT! Her first instinct was to forcibly toss him out of the tavern, but another, less…dramatic solution entered her mind. She carefully schooled her features and turned to face Julian. Yes. It was that same, pretty face, only 19 years older.
She reached out to take his hand and leaned closer so she could be heard. “Come with me, please. We really need to talk.” Her heart beat like a trapped bird in her chest as she led him outside, and, as soon as they were close enough to the stables, she let go of his hand and grabbed his arm in her strong grip, making sure to briefly dig her fingers into the pressure point on the inside of his elbow, then dragged him along.
After all this time. All this time!!! The effort we’ve gone through to hide themselves, and it’s Julian fekking Valerius III who finds us. She stomped through the rain-drench streets, mindless of the puddles and mud, Mud washed out, water dried. Her parents killed, and they would kill her and Aggie, if not for the crime of running away, then for the crime of refusing to use their gifts to “strengthen” the family. She would be damned if anyone was going to ruin all of their hard work.
The 2 young boys jumped went she strode through the stables. The human boy had Hollace in a head lock and was busily digging his knuckle into the half elf’s skull. ‘Young man, you release Hollace this instant!” She barked. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Now. Give us a moment, please. I need to talk to this man.”
The boy with the lazy eye dropped Hollace and scrambled back, eyes wide. “Ma’am.” He mumbled, yanking Hollace to his feet and dragging him out much in the same manner Antigone dragged Julian in. She unerringly strode to Barrow’s and Luna’s stalls, and flipped the latches to their stall doors open.
The while wolf and the bear stalked out, their heads low, hackles raised and gazes locked on Julian. Antigone pulled Julius close again. “Meet my friends, Barrow and Luna. Be careful not to make direct eye contact.” Her voice was soft and dangerous. “They understand us completely. So, listen to me. Very. Carefully. Imogen and Declan are dead. As far as Lord & Lady Fletchborne are concerned, Imogen and Declan are dead. As far as anyone else is concerned, Imogen and Declan are dead. You have no idea what we’ve been through to hide from them, and I will be thrust into eternal darkness before I let you, or anyone else, destroy the happiness we fought so hard for. If you whisper a single syllable to anyone to give them the slightest suspicion we are still alive, I will let Luna and Barrow end you.” She felt movement in her cloak and saw Clover emerge, staring steadily at Julian. “And Clover. Are we clear?”
Just outside the stables, the human boy twisted Hollace’s ear. “I know ye gots better hearin’ than most people. What’s she sayin’ in there?”
Hollace winced and pulled his head back. “I don’t know. I’m only half elf. I can’t hear everything. Just…” He paused. “Just something about endin’ him.”
“Shit!” The human boy shoved Hollace aside and ran toward the tavern as fast as he could. He slammed the door open and sucked in a deep lungful of air, then, with the enthusiasm and volume of the young, bellowed. “THE DRUID WOMAN IS GONNA LET HER BEAR EAT THAT GUY!”
“What guy?” Someone asked.
“I don’t know ‘im!! That…that GIRL guy! Hollace heard ‘er say it!”
Ayama
Enthusiast
The woman gasped and stiffened when he tapped her shoulder, and for a moment he worried that he'd made a mistake and it wasn't her. He saw her muscles tighten and a surge of adrenaline flooded his system- he'd pissed off enough people in his life to recognize the signs of impending bodily harm.
She seemed to calm down, however, as she turned to look at him. Those same beautiful amber eyes he'd loved to gaze into when he was a child (even though he usually only got to do so when she was close enough to beat him into a bloody pulp) bored into him- it was definitely her.
To his utter surprise, she took his hand and leaned in close so he would hear the urgent, breathless tone of her voice as she asked him to come with her. Only too happy to comply, he let her lead him outside without an ounce of suspicion- when it came to pretty girls, the rogue was entirely too mindless for his own good.
They'd only gone a few feet before she let go of his hand and grabbed his arm instead. He blinked at the sudden urgency before realizing he couldn't feel his fingers. As she stomped and dragged him along, much to Julian's horror, waves of muddy water splashed up onto his clothes.
"Uh, Imogen, can we slow down?" he asked, eyeing the new stains with disgust. "My clothes are getting soaked."
She ignored him, and within moments they had reached the stables, where she promptly scared the two stable boys out of their wits. She strode over to two of the stalls, flipping open the latches to reveal and bear and a wolf, of all things. They crept out slowly, hackles raised and looking none too friendly, and Julian instinctively backed away.
The druid pulled him back with an iron grip, looked straight into his eyes, and proceeded to threaten him, voice dangerous and low. Julian's eyes flickered nervously back and forth between her and the two animals, unsure which threat was greater and more immediate (though based on his experiences with her in the past, he knew full-well that if she wanted to hurt him, she would).
He nodded, swallowed, and attempted an unconvincing and nervous grin.
"Crystal. I would never reveal either one of you, you know that, right? I was just surprised- we all thought you were dead."
Her eyes seemed to glow with a menacing fire, and despite the situation Julian was, as always, captivated. The thief probably wouldn't have recognized or admitted this to himself but, when they were children, since he knew the only way she would ever get close to him was when he made her angry, he did it more often than not on purpose in the hopes of seeing them up close.
She'd always been beautiful, of course, but now with 19 years of added age, power, and strength, she was mesmerizing.
"For the record, I'm glad you're alive," he said, "I'd hoped you'd both gotten away clean. What have you been doing all these years anyway, Im-" He paused as the bear and the wolf growled low in their throats and the mouse shook its tiny little paw. "Uh, right. Dead. Got it."
There was a short, uncomfortable pause before he asked
"So, what do I call you then?"
She seemed to calm down, however, as she turned to look at him. Those same beautiful amber eyes he'd loved to gaze into when he was a child (even though he usually only got to do so when she was close enough to beat him into a bloody pulp) bored into him- it was definitely her.
To his utter surprise, she took his hand and leaned in close so he would hear the urgent, breathless tone of her voice as she asked him to come with her. Only too happy to comply, he let her lead him outside without an ounce of suspicion- when it came to pretty girls, the rogue was entirely too mindless for his own good.
They'd only gone a few feet before she let go of his hand and grabbed his arm instead. He blinked at the sudden urgency before realizing he couldn't feel his fingers. As she stomped and dragged him along, much to Julian's horror, waves of muddy water splashed up onto his clothes.
"Uh, Imogen, can we slow down?" he asked, eyeing the new stains with disgust. "My clothes are getting soaked."
She ignored him, and within moments they had reached the stables, where she promptly scared the two stable boys out of their wits. She strode over to two of the stalls, flipping open the latches to reveal and bear and a wolf, of all things. They crept out slowly, hackles raised and looking none too friendly, and Julian instinctively backed away.
The druid pulled him back with an iron grip, looked straight into his eyes, and proceeded to threaten him, voice dangerous and low. Julian's eyes flickered nervously back and forth between her and the two animals, unsure which threat was greater and more immediate (though based on his experiences with her in the past, he knew full-well that if she wanted to hurt him, she would).
He nodded, swallowed, and attempted an unconvincing and nervous grin.
"Crystal. I would never reveal either one of you, you know that, right? I was just surprised- we all thought you were dead."
Her eyes seemed to glow with a menacing fire, and despite the situation Julian was, as always, captivated. The thief probably wouldn't have recognized or admitted this to himself but, when they were children, since he knew the only way she would ever get close to him was when he made her angry, he did it more often than not on purpose in the hopes of seeing them up close.
She'd always been beautiful, of course, but now with 19 years of added age, power, and strength, she was mesmerizing.
"For the record, I'm glad you're alive," he said, "I'd hoped you'd both gotten away clean. What have you been doing all these years anyway, Im-" He paused as the bear and the wolf growled low in their throats and the mouse shook its tiny little paw. "Uh, right. Dead. Got it."
There was a short, uncomfortable pause before he asked
"So, what do I call you then?"
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Lost Echo
🏳️🌈
This lamb truly was excellent. Aenwyn was clearing her plate in quick, efficient bites. Based on his previous attempts: and his companion’s long-suffering look, she knew the longer she lingered, the higher the chances of…did he give his name?...the mercenary to try to speak again. Her headache had eased with the sharp scent of peppermint, and she was settling in to enjoy the peace.
Her attention shifted to behind her when another arrived to check on the crying water elf. She kept it there long enough to make sure concern was his only goal (the girl did not need to be humiliated further) then returned to her meal. The bucket of water, when not used in a cruel prank, was a good idea. That and a wash rag. She needed the mud off more than she needed a shoulder to cry on.
And the headache returns, heralded by a shouting boy. Apparently, she should not have trusted the hot girl to take care of it. No, she had to overreact. To the point of setting a bear on him. For touching her shoulder? Why were the hot ones always crazy?
Aenwyn knew her duty, even when she resented that the man had quietly followed the druid (what was he thinking, that she was happy with him? Surely no one could be that bad at reading women.) Aenwyn stood from her chair, calling to the room at large, “Someone’s gonna have to get the bear off him.” Because she certainly wasn’t going to fight it. She was a healer, let the idiots go first. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him back in one piece.” Not that she expected him to be ripped in two. She’d imagined that could only happen if someone was pulled in opposite directions, and she didn’t think bears had that grip strength. Sliced in two, well those warriors better hurry.
Picking up her cloak once more (and letting the sock just fall to the floor,) she heaved her weighted bag onto her back with a grunt. It took a moment for her to readjust her balance, but then she draped the cloak (which was mostly dry) over her shoulders and pack, not bothering to button it up. Grabbing her leftover piece of bread, she stormed her way through the crowd, radiating annoyance like static before a thunderstorm. The stables were obvious from sight, and she took a bite of her bread before arriving. “Alright, who’s bleeding?”
Her attention shifted to behind her when another arrived to check on the crying water elf. She kept it there long enough to make sure concern was his only goal (the girl did not need to be humiliated further) then returned to her meal. The bucket of water, when not used in a cruel prank, was a good idea. That and a wash rag. She needed the mud off more than she needed a shoulder to cry on.
And the headache returns, heralded by a shouting boy. Apparently, she should not have trusted the hot girl to take care of it. No, she had to overreact. To the point of setting a bear on him. For touching her shoulder? Why were the hot ones always crazy?
Aenwyn knew her duty, even when she resented that the man had quietly followed the druid (what was he thinking, that she was happy with him? Surely no one could be that bad at reading women.) Aenwyn stood from her chair, calling to the room at large, “Someone’s gonna have to get the bear off him.” Because she certainly wasn’t going to fight it. She was a healer, let the idiots go first. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him back in one piece.” Not that she expected him to be ripped in two. She’d imagined that could only happen if someone was pulled in opposite directions, and she didn’t think bears had that grip strength. Sliced in two, well those warriors better hurry.
Picking up her cloak once more (and letting the sock just fall to the floor,) she heaved her weighted bag onto her back with a grunt. It took a moment for her to readjust her balance, but then she draped the cloak (which was mostly dry) over her shoulders and pack, not bothering to button it up. Grabbing her leftover piece of bread, she stormed her way through the crowd, radiating annoyance like static before a thunderstorm. The stables were obvious from sight, and she took a bite of her bread before arriving. “Alright, who’s bleeding?”
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