Fantasy The Northern Wilds

[Tom-Pen]

You have left behind the Southern Shores of your home, crossed the great North Sea, and come to the doorstep of the unfamiliar land that is,

The Northern Wilds.

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(Do not post until after you have been accepted and the "Intro post" has been put up, thank you)

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[Tom-Pen]

"Ships, Seas, and Ports Afar"

(Introduction Post) Part 1
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Late in the crossing - after what had been, until then, a relatively easy and peaceful journey - the ocean put forth an impressively large and violent storm that continually took the ship and her crew - and the few passengers she carried - high atop the rolling waves (thrusting her bow up into the air with a mist of spray) and quickly down again with a monstrous splash. Over and over again, she tossed and turned in the swelling sea, unceasingly, without respite for ship or sailor. The wind blew hard and angry from the heavens, ripped at the sails, and stung - with an icy pain - the faces of all who looked unto to it. It was a storm - a true Northern storm - unlike anything the Southern travelers had ever known.


The ship - Nightswake, for which she was named - and the sailors aboard did battle with the storm for what seemed an eternity; the crew about her deck - facing the cold and wet fearlessly - her captain at the helm bitterly cursing and swearing at the sea itself with a strained, hoarse voice. The battle raged and the storm grew, waves swelling and wind howling - but then (quite suddenly) - when it seemed to be at its worst, the storm ended; the waves shrunk, the winds calmed, and sky opened up to let down the light of the day upon the sea.


Never had the men of the Nightswake experienced such a thing before ( a storm so viscous, yet so short lived and sudden in departure), not on land or sea. The captain looked skeptically at the sky with a furrowed brow, then in the same way at the sea. For a brief moment he thought of what might have happened - and where the storm might have gone - but he was not a man who thought much (or for long, when he did at all) - to him it seemed more of a bother than anything else - and so, naturally, the moment was only brief (and quickly passed). His mind returned to the business at hand - the business of sailing, or captaining more specifically (which he saw as a much less bothersome thing). Some of the crew however, who were more apt to thinking - and speculating (And speaking there speculations aloud) - suggested that perhaps some strange magic was about the waters of the North, or in the very least, about the storm itself. Rumors began to spread through the ship like wildfire, and in a short time tales of mystery and magic came to every ear. From mermaids to Gods every magical - supernatural - possibility gained its own rumoring story and number of supporters.


Luckily, for those less interested in stories - and unfortunately, for those more interested - the talk of the storm (and all the accompanying rumors) drifted from the minds of the crew as they labored on over the course of the passage across the sea. The sailors sailed, the captain captained and all the passengers eagerly waited for land - feeling that once again - all was normal (and safe)...

*

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Land, Ho!

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The captain called - in a bellowing rasp - from atop the forward deck, "Land's before us lads, give 'er more sail and we'll be in by nightfall!" The crew obeyed with hoots and hollers, scrambling about the ship to let loose the mast lines and open the sails. The sails unfurled wide and the winds blustered noisily -giving great speed to the ship - and making a quick truth of the captains words, blowing them into port that very night.

**

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"The Choices of Lastport"


(Introduction Post) Part 2
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Under a blanket of darkness - on a night with no stars - Nightswake glided into port, her sails drawn and oars out. Through the mist and fog, like a phantom ship, she came. Men watched on from the dock, undaunted by the ghostly image, ready to cast her lines when she at last neared. The captain stood on the main deck - his arms folded behind him and his face scowled - as the crew worked to dock the heavy ship. Something was in the air - something beside the smell of salt and mold that Lastport stank of - something the captain did not like (though he didn't have the words or knowledge to say what it was).

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The city of Lastport was dark, and shrouded in a misty fog. Its docks were cracked and broken - splintered and creaking with every motion of ship and sea- and its stone buildings were crumbling (though still fully intact). It was an old decrepit looking place, left to itself and forgotten by the rest of the world long ago.


beneath the faint glow of lamp light - moving about the city streets and alleyways - cloaked and coated figures could be seen. Most of those out and about had their faces covered, bound in woolen scarves or shadow cast beneath heavy hoods, and most seemed harmless as well - however - huddled in small groups away from the lamp light, more sinister looking sorts congregated together, whispering amongst themselves.

***

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The captain called for his passengers and had them brought before him on the deck. There he stepped to each and shook their hands with a sturdy lock-tight grip, then backed away and - after a short pause and uneasy glance toward the city - said

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"Welcome to Lastport, the last city of the South, and the first of the North. If you don't like it well enough here, you best keep going North, because there's no going back South now, not with me anyway." He had decided before they had even started on their journey that he would keep going North - along the coast - rather than go back (though he had not told his passengers until that very moment). "Any of you who so desire are welcome to continue on with my crew and I, but know we leave on the morrow, with the tide," The captain then nodded to them and added shortly, "Well - that's it - be off now," He and his crew then turned from the passengers - he going bellow deck - and his crew returning to their busy work.

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****

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Each passenger had a choice to make, a direction to go, unless they sought a bitter scolding from captain and crew...


There was likely an inn not far from the docks (in fact I know for certain there was). It was as ramshackle a looking place as the rest of the city - but within - one could almost certainly find a warm room for the night, a bite of something good to eat, and a hearty drink or two to lighten the mood.


One could instead, however, go east, along the rocky shores of the coast and find a large - seemingly abandon - lighthouse. It had been visible from the ship as they came into port, though it couldn't be seen presently from where they had docked. There hadn't been a lantern burning in it when they passed, and it had appeared weather-worn and severely unkempt, but nonetheless - to curious eyes - appealing.


If one was set on going into the city though, but didn't wish to rush to the inn, they could wander down the winding roads of the shopping district, the way clearly marked by splintered hanging signs. All sorts of stores could be found there, and for anyone wanting of supplies it was a must. The usual places - such as a weapons smith and armorer - whose sign read "Daggers and Chain" to the unusual - such as one particularly mysterious shop filled with odd trinkets and old books - whose sign read "Enter at Your Own Risk," which could have been either a name or a warning (as to which I couldn't say).


@Bawadaboo


@Kenjinx


@RiahB


(Feel free to group up, or go your way alone. You can take multiple posts to get your character where they are going - or spend some time to group up with another - just tag me in the final post you wish for me to continue your story from.)

 

[Bawadaboo]

Killian Cornwall stepped into the grime and dust of Lastport with a disconcerted heart. The smoke stacks, billowing chimneys, grimy streets, and violent ne'erdowell behavior was doing it's best to convince the young chef that he had made the wrong decision. He'd left the city to explore everything there was about flora and fauna in this new land, only to be dumped into a cesspit of what looked like crime and punishment. He had decided before he left the gangplank that he would not linger in Lastport.


He threw his bag over his shoulders and adjusted his cooking satchel as the captain met with him to tell him the news. 'All for the best, I wasn't headed back anyway.' The captain went off and left the three arrivals to their own devices. Killian had not spent much time getting to know the others during the cruise, but that was mostly because he intended on going off alone. They seemed like fine people in any regard. Killian nodded a salutation and walked away promptly. He had a task-list of things to do before it got dark... well, darker.


First off he would need some more supplies, fresh bread and water mostly, so he headed to what looked like a bread vendor nearby. The large man who's belly all but spilled over the counter he stood behid greeted Killian with a bright and rotten smile. "Nice day isn't it my boy?"


Killian nodded with a friendly smile and looked at the bread laid about haphazardly on the table, nothing like he'd ever seen before. Most of the bread was loaf shaped, but some was more circular. Nearly every loaf had spots all over, every color of the rainbow. Killian would have guessed it was all rotted, but the man behind the desk saw the quizzical looks.


"New to town my boy? Ill bring ya up to speed." He gestured to a circular cut of dark bread with red spots all over the rim. "This is bloodloaf, on account a the red spots." He bellowed a big fat belly laugh. "Don't let the colors fool ya, ingrediants in the north are much different than you southrons use. It's all fresh."


Talk of ingrediants rekindled Killian's fire. "What kinds of ingrediants do you use? Would you mind sharing? I'm a chef you see and I'd love to know how northern people prepare their bread." With a hearty laugh the man agreed and began listing off all the possible herbs and starches used to prepare his bread. Killian whipped out his journal and jotted everything down, needing to ask for spelling every so often. It looked like things would turn out alright for Killian here in the north.

 

[Kenjinx]

The barber stepped up to the end of the gangplank, taking in the sight of the pitiful city and with it, the smell. With the appearance of being nothing more than a broken, abandoned settlement, the people huddled like goblins or some other poor creatures from a story, and the idea that the structure beneath his feet could collapse at any moment, he simply smiled.


"Glad to know this journey has already paid off." Gratian kept his smile, letting out a sigh through his nose. Taking one last look at the ship, he gripped his bag (although not before fetching a comb from his pocket and slicking back his hair) and stepped onto the docks. He had gone most of the journey so far without good conversation, as the other passengers didn't seem to be as enthusiastic as himself about chatting. Stepping towards the city and almost stumbling over a gap in the planks, he pondered the question of what his next destination would be.


He needed supplies, yes, but he was worn out from the long cruise and decided that a bit of enjoyment or relaxation would better fit his current condition. Although most people seemed to be quickly avoiding him and going about their business, he was finally able to spot one person who didn't: an aged, grizzled old man wrapped in a dirty cloak. He sat upon a crate, gaze out towards the sea that the barber himself had just sailed in on.


"Hello, sir. My name is Gra-" His words were interrupted by the crotchety old man, obviously not receptive to the newcomer's polite greeting. He slowly shifted his gaze from the sea over to the one who had approached him.


"What is it you want? Come on out with it." The old man's voice was rough and hoarse, deeper in tone than most that Gratian had spoken to in his own city. It was his conclusion that this old man had seen many things throughout his years and had taken to skipping the niceties. Clearing his throat and attempting to keep the smile, the younger man resumed his sentence.


"I was just wondering where I could find somewhere to rest, and perhaps have a drink." A few moments after he finished speaking, the old man pointed to a worn-down building with a splintered sign hanging out front, returning his eyes to the sea immediately after. With a nod of thanks, the barber set off towards the inn in hopes of unwinding for the night. On the way, he noticed one of the other passengers speaking with a large man and eagerly jotting down notes. 'He certainly looks like he's found his place.'

 

[Tom-Pen]

"The Crackjaw Inn"


( @Kenjinx )

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One of the passengers from the ship left with a wobbly step - thanks to the broken boards beneath his feet - and a friendly smile on his face, despite the less than spectacular first impression of the city. The first to greet the happy (or perhaps naive) passenger - unfortunately for him -was an exceptionally wretched, stinky old man who had been perched atop a crate near where the ship had docked. After what I would call a "rude" interaction between the two - only rude on the part of the stinky old man of course - the passenger (who I will now call Gratian, for it was his name) found himself pointed in the direction of the nearest inn.

*

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The cracked and battered sign above the door, which hung loosely by two thin rusted chains, read





"Crackjaw."

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Within, much like one might guess by its outward appearance, things were in a poor state; only two - hardly stable - tables stood, and before each (on either side) sat splintery hard - ass stinging - benches. There was a hearth, and it was burning, but it was small (too small for the room) and left much of one side of the bar cold and dark - there, in the cold dark, two unsavory looking patrons sat speaking in hushed tones. At the table closest to the door, a group of rowdy men drank with - and cursed at - one another, drunkenly spilling their wine about the floor and occasionally breaking into fits of gruff laughter. At the farther table - looking as though he was angrily stewing about the outcome of some prior event (which he in fact was) - a young lad of no more than five and ten (15) sat alone, a sheathed sword on the table before him, his eyes bitterly burning (looking forward, but at the same time nowhere in particular, as one might when they're lost in thought). Standing, or leaning rather, against the bar was the bartender; he was a tall thick wasted man with a thin black mustache, short - greasy - greying hair, who appeared (at the time) completely disinterested in the happenings around him.

 

[RiahB]

MATTHIA

Matt felt weak and despicable. The life she held before her escape had not equipped her with the necessary tools to take the voyage without unpleasant consequences such as sea sickness. Her sun colored hair hung in wet tangles around her pale face and dripped down her slim back. She knew, without a doubt, she looked like a drowned cat, but she held no desire to fix her appearance. The less she appealed to those around her, the better.


The call of land had Matt's heart beating like the weightless wings of a humming bird. She really did it. She escaped, but for how long?


When the Captain released them to their own endeavors, Matt patted herself down for the comforting bulge of her money bag. Satisfied, she left the ship on shaky legs. The land felt solid underneath her feet and she was glad for it. The ocean was never something that Matthia longed for, but the lands beyond it. She could hear the sounds of the city close to the docks and prayed there be an inn to welcome her for a good nights rest. As she walked, she found herself in a bustle of a place, with stands and shops on every corner. They were hardly appealing to the eye with their shabbiness and the dark held no fault in masking their ugliness, but she was sure they held all that she might need.


Just like a spoiled princess, she thought at herself, to judge the exterior rather than the goods within. With that, she stopped outside of what seemed like a bookstore. She was sure she would need some sort of entertainment. Matt bit her lip and then stepped inside.



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@Francis Stickmin

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[Kenjinx]

Finally reaching his destination, Gratian squinted to better make out the words on the old, worn-out sign. "Crackjaw..." He muttered to himself, chucking lowly before turning his head to gaze at the door. "Sounds like a fine establishment." His sarcasm was not lost, even when speaking to himself. Stepping forth and placing a hand on the doorway, he prepared himself. 'Hopefully they have something good to drink.' And with that, he stepped into the old inn.


Immediately greeted by rough and rowdy men close to the door, he took care not to let his gaze linger too long on them. After all, should they decide to react (and the state they were in surely encouraged it) he would be out of luck. Quickly stepping towards the bar, Gratian's eyes could not help but focus on the greasy-haired man who he took to be the bartender. "My good man, would you care to serve me some of the cheapest drink you have?"


Immediately realizing his mistake, he reworded his request into more straightforward terms, taking a lesson from the old man he had spoken to just prior. "Cheap." Reaching into his pocket, he fetched a bit of coin and flashed it to the bartender, hoping that would cover most of the speaking.


Gratian hadn't noticed the young man until standing against the bar and turning, where he realized a peaceful and empty seat would likely not be an option. Keeping his gaze on the seemingly troubled boy, his curiosity was quickly displaced to the sheathed sword he had before him. 'Where did he get that, I wonder?' The barber's eyes remained on the sword and the boy who was seated at the table, although no words were spoken towards him. He hadn't been in the business of being run through, and he wasn't interested in starting so soon after arriving at Lastport.


@Francis Stickmin

 

[Bawadaboo]

The bread-maker (whose name Killian found to be Cranston) and Killian stood for a long while gushing about culinary procedures, and spices, and what different herbs affected the dough in which way. Killian really was having a nice time, but it was getting late. He knew that if he did not head out now things would become much more dire out in the wild. He had gotten all the supplies he needed from Cranston, and was ready to go. He shook the bread-makers hand with a grin.


"It has been a great time my friend, I hope to see you again some day. Good luck with your bread."


"Likewise my boy." The pillow of a man answered with his signature hearty laugh. With one inal wave goodbye Killian was off.


He'd noticed a lighthouse on a far bank of the land mass as the ship came to port. It seemed abandoned, and a fair enough spot to set up for the night. He could not see it now, but he would follow the general bearing to get him there. He figured he would follow the trail leading out of town as far as it lead him in the correct direction, at which point he would veer through the woods. The town gate lay a miles or so across town, so Killian set out on his hike.


Twenty minutes of uneventful walking lead Killian finally to a large and ornate wooden arch. The words "Lastport, Abandon Hope Ye Who Exit Here." were burned into the arch roughly. Killian chuckled at the turn-of-phrase and made to leave town, but was interrupted by a small man sitting on the ground against the gate.


"You'll die." The small one declared. Killian's quizzical look prompted another comment from the man. "If you go out there unprepared you young fool. You'll die real quick-like." Killian had no time for this, he was sure there was nothing in those woods he wouldn't be able to handle.


"I appreciate your concern sir, but I will be just fine thanks." He turned away to exit the town once more. As he stepped through the gate he heard the man say one last thing.


"When you find me correct, you may want to visit the Crackjaw Inn." It was said with an air of arrogance, but Killian figured the man was just a little bit too much in the bottle this evening. He scoffed and headed out onto the trail, leaving behind all semblance of civilization.


@Francis Stickmin

 

[sunshineintoveins]

Mira Jones pushed her way through the sea of of passengers as she stumbled down the large wooden plank ascending to the dock. She stood on the wooden platform in awe of the dark dingy city that looked too dead to house so much life. Her mother always reminded her how fortunate they were compared to the people who barely survived in the slums, but she still had trouble fathoming that this gruesome city as a reality. Mira recalled a worn down lighthouse from the last moments of her journey and decided that it would be a decent shelter if she couldn't find any in town. It's grand demeanor stood out to her from the ship looking out of place far at the rocky shores of the coast of the grim city, yet it's broken light seemed to fit right in.


"Move it, lady!" a large man called shoving past her almost knocking her down.


Mira grimaced as she regained her balanced wanting to do nothing more than to shout at the man for being so rude. She adjusted her pack on her shoulder and with a deep breath she ventured into the streets of Lastport. As she strolled down the busy streets, Mira noticed a few cloaked figures huddled against a street corner. They weren't begging or talking, they were just there. She found this odd and unsettling but settled on blaming poverty and continued. Her stomach growled as she walked, reminding her that she didn't eat breakfast. Mira was trying so hard to eat less in order to conserve the money she had left but she was just too used to three full meals a day. She journeyed on, scanning for a general store and ignoring the low grumbled. She sighed when she reached a dank tavern stating the name "Crackjaw" and gave into her stomach's demands.


Mira stepped into the inn immediately regretting her decision. The tavern was busy and loud, very loud. Laughter rang out from a few men by the door, they lifted their drinks spilling all over the floor nonchalantly. One drunkenly stumbled into Mira knocking her down this time. She was getting very tired of men not watching where they were going. Fortunately, this one had manners even though he was intoxicated.


"Woah, sorry bout that, little lady," he said offering a hand to help her up.


"I'm fine," she insisted refusing his assistance, brushing herself off of tavern floor filth.


"Hey, ya look familiar. I know ya?"


Mira's eyes widened and her heart started pounding as she turned back to the man. She just got to this new land and someone already recognized her.


"No, you don't. You must be mistaken."


"Yeah I do, you're Caleb's niece!" he exclaimed slurring his words.


"What?"


She wasn't expecting this accusation.


"I haven't seen ya since you were this high," he laughed gesturing with his hand to show the height of a small child.


Mira didn't know how to react, she was sure that this man had recognized her but she didn't know a Caleb and she certainly wasn't his niece.


"Uh, I don't have an uncle named Caleb. You've got me confused with someone else."


"Wait, so ya ain't Patsy?" he sounded perplexed trying to grasp his mistake.


Mira shook her head.


"Are you sure?" the hammered man pestered some more.


"I'm sure," Mira insisted getting annoyed.


"Well ok then," he said stumbling back to his rowdy friends.


Mira collapsed onto a bar stool with an unnecessary heavy sigh of relief. Maybe this really was a new start, someplace where no one would know her or be able connect her to her family. She waited for the bartender to finish taking the order of a scruffy man with a long ponytail. The bartender looked irritated when he turned to Mira who immediately demanded any hot meal that he had to offer, ready to satisfy the gnawing ache in her belly.


@Francis Stickmin

 

[Tom-Pen]

"The Old Crone's Bells"


(@RiahB ) Part 1

Upon Matthia's entrance into the small shop there came a "Dingaling!" from above the door, where tiny bells hung. Inside, the shop was filled with a cluttered labyrinth of dusty book covered shelves, teetering crates (poorly stacked) and scattered miscellaneous oddities. There was a relatively straight path through some of it - which helped to lead one from the door to a counter in the back (behind which the entrance to another room stood) - but even so, one would still need to squeeze and duck there way along.

​

"Coming, coming," a woman's, high pitched, voice complained, "I'm coming." Quick as a whip an old head popped out from the doorway behind the counter, "What do you want?" She snapped, "We're closed," she hissed. Her ugly face was wrinkled and pointy - especially at the nose - and her head was topped with a messy mop of thin white hair; her eyes - two small black eyes - looked on intently, almost accusingly (black as night, and fully so, with no color to be seen). Before Matthia could leave - or answer - however, the elderly woman suddenly shuffled - with speed - out from the other room and rushed to the counter. "Wait, wait, wait! I don't know you?" it was half a question and half a statement, "Do I?" she went on, her black stare terrifying, yet mesmerizing. "No," (the old crone) said in answer, not waiting for Matthia to respond, leaning close and looking hard at the bedraggled young woman, "What do you want?" She finally said again, her head tilting to one side with curiosity, her tone slightly less abrasive and slightly more intrigued.

The old woman, now fully visible in the dim light of the shop, stood before Matthia, slightly hunched, but obviously (when one considered her speed and energy) hardly hindered - her limbs long and bony, her body laden with a heavy (moss green) gown, her eyes (black as ever).

​

"The Crackjaw Inn"


(@Kenjinx @sunshineintoveins ) Part 2

The rowdy drunks had made no notice of Gratian's arrival - wholly content with their own matters, and their own wine - cursing one another and laughing in bursts (as they did near every night). The bartender hadn't noticed Gratian either (at least not when he had first entered anyway), or so he tried to make it seem, but the barber (for that is what Gratian was) easily got his notice when he reached out to the bartender with a hand full of coins. The bartender took the coins offered, with no thanks of any kind, and disappeared behind the counter. When he returned to Gratian he had a bottle of wine and a clean modest size cup; he filled the cup with the wine from the bottle (it was a deep red sort of drink, with a strong bitter scent and a similar taste) and left it before Gratian.




As the bartender turned away from Gratian, he found another patron already waiting to get his attention. She was clear about what she wanted,

food

, and made no attempt at pleasantries. The young woman went by the name of Mira (though the bartender neither knew or cared about the fact) and was - like the barber with the wine - another passenger from the Southern ship Nightswake.

The bartender tapped on the counter in front of him with two thick fingers,

"Ten gold,"

he said dryly to Mira, his look one of mild annoyance and slight arrogance. At his tapping the two shadowy figures in the corner of the room turned, and for the first time, saw Mira. Their scheming eyes looked her over - for an uncomfortably long time - before they finally turned away, once again whispering to each other.

​

While the bartender was seeing to his newest patron, the young lad at the table nearest the bar suddenly became aware of Gratian (who was looking at him and the sword intently). His angry eyes met Gratian's, and for a moment, stared back. The boy's face, and eyes, however, quickly changed - the anger evaporating away - into a look of hopeful joy. "Sir," the boy began, gesturing for Gratian to come over "there's room to sit 'ere." He sounded as hopeful as he looked, with an eagerness about him that he tried his best to hide (but couldn't).

"No Light at The Lighthouse"


(@Bawadaboo ) Part 1

Outside the gates - through the deep forests of the Northern Wilds - Killian set a course for the old lighthouse he had seen when first arriving to Lastport. It had appeared empty, abandoned, and - apparently to him - curiously appealing (as such places often do to certain types of people). It wasn't a far walk from the gate, but it wasn't a particularly easy one either. A cleared path through the thick wood had started Killian off in the right direction (the top of lighthouse just visible over the trees) but ended rather abruptly, near a quarter mile shy of his destination. From there he had to walk through the woods, over the mossy rocks, surrounded by utter darkness. From the dark - all around him - strange noises echoed, something that sounded like howling came from one direction, then what sounded like snapping twigs from another, and (of course) the ever present - always unsettling - rustling of leaves from each and every bush in sight.

At last though, unmolested by man or beast, Killian emerged from the wood and out onto the edge of the rocky cliffs where - rising up tall before him - perched atop an outcropping of rock that jettisoned toward the sea, the lighthouse stood in all its dilapidated glory. There was a large wooden door to the lower half of the lighthouse (which was essentially a house out of which the tower - or the upper half, if you will - came up from) that was locked and too heavy to be forced by hand, and windows to either side (also locked but easily broken). No light could be seen coming from within the building, and if one was to knock or call, no answer would come. Killian - if he felt so inclined - could likely find a way in or - if he was less inclined on the matter - go back the way he had come.

 

[RiahB]

MATTHIA

Matthia jumped with the sharp tones of the elderly woman, tense. When the haggish slight of a lady eyed her as if trying to decode who Matt was, Matt shook like leaf under her gaze. Maybe she had not gone far enough. Maybe she was still very much known in these parts. The thought sent chills up her dripping spine. When the woman dismissed her, she sighed in relief. Maybe she was not as known as she had thought.


"I wish to read," she began. "I'm looking for a book, any book really, to keep for my entertainment. I assume you are-" she looked around at the towering dusty stacks and found herself ragingly curious at the immense knowledge that might be hid inside their binds "a book store?"





She had not been allowed to read much when she boded the home of her husband. He stated that women weren't to read. It gave them ideas and a woman with an idea was of no use to him. She applauded herself for jumping to doing something he would have frowned upon so hardheartedly, but she hadn't been doing much of anything he would approve of since she crept from his home. Matt looked to the woman hopefully.



​

@Francis Stickmin

 

[Kenjinx]

A small smile formed on Gratian's face as he was finally presented with his wine. He turned his gaze downward and took the cup into his hand, immediately bringing it to his lips for a drink. It had been a while (too long of a while) since he had been able to relax and drink, therefore the bitter taste was of no consequence to him. Looking around at all of the men in the building, it was his observation that the northern and southern lands seemed to have one thing in common: people enjoy drinking.


In the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman making her way towards the bar after having been held up by a stumbling-and probably effectively blind-man. As she came closer, he recognized her as one of his fellow passengers from the Nightswake that he had just sailed in on. Despite the unfortunate lack of a connection he was able to make with the other passengers, he considered them closer than the others in this new city, for what it was worth. After another sip of his wine, he turned his gaze back to the boy who was at the table, their eyes meeting. Sucking in a breath, he began forming words to speak to the the hungry woman next to him when he heard a voice call out.


It was the boy at the table, now apparently having a change of heart; it was suspicious to Gratian, although if there was anything he had learned to do over the years, it was talk to people. Pushing off of the bar, he took his drink with him and stepped toward the table where the young lad was sitting. Just as quickly as he saw the other passenger in the corner of his eye, he noticed the men on the dark end of the bar inspecting her. "Charming fellows." The words were low in tone and, like many of his words, spoken only to himself in jest.


Finally taking a seat at the table where he had been beckoned, he let out a sigh of relief and shoved his cup to the side as to allow a clear line of sight to and from the boy. He put on the most genuine smile he could muster, and began speaking. "You seemed troubled when I came in, you didn't call me over here to try and ask for a drink, did you?" It was the first person he had encountered in Lastport that didn't seem to want him gone back through the same sea from which he had come, and without a ship at that.


@Francis Stickmin

 

[sunshineintoveins]

A wooden plate with beans, a bread roll, and a baked potato fell in front of Mira on the bar's counter. The bartender placed a spoon next to the bowl and left in silence. Mira wondered if people in the North were only polite when drunk. At least he brought her something to eat. She took off her leather gloves placing them on the counter and grabbed the spoon. Mira began digging in trying to take slow, small bites despite her hunger. The food was bland and simple but sufficed well enough. She finished the last morsel of bread then took a large sip of water from her canteen. The ponytail man left his seat next to her, taking his glass of wine to sit with some boy at a table. Only then did Mira recognize him as a passenger from the Nightswake.


She called the grumpy bartender over.


"What?" he snapped.


"How much do you charge for boarding for one night?" she asked.


"Fifty gold," he said avoiding eye contact.


"Fifty? Just for a night?"


"We raised the prices because of all the passengers that ship brought in this morning, at least they're good for something. Fortunately for me, there ain't many other inns."


"Lucky you," she responded bluntly.


The man ignored her and went back to work.


Mira didn't need to count her money to know that she couldn't afford a room here. She settled on visiting that lighthouse, it wouldn't be the most ideal place to sleep but it was free. She considered asking the bartender how far the lighthouse was from the inn but decided not to annoy him anymore, she couldn't find him anyways. She stared over at the ponytail man who was talking to the boy, curious to see what her fellow passenger was doing. Then she saw two men at the other end of the bar, the farthest place from the light source of the hearth. Their presence felt unsettling like they were trying not to notice her looking at them. Mira took this as her cue to leave.


Putting her gloves back on, Mira stood up from the stool. She walked past the loud men who were cheering the man who bumped into her on as he chugged down a glass of beer. As she opened the door to leave, she caught a glimpse of two hooded figures huddled in the dark like the ones she saw on the street earlier. She assumed that they were the same people from before who happen to have found a warm place to stay rather than freeze on the streets. She thought about the Northern oddities as she walked towards the direction of the lighthouse. There was something eerie about this place that disturbed her but Mira decided that it didn't matter. She was only going to be at Lastport for one night. She could only hope that normality awaited farther North.


@Francis Stickmin