“What music? That’s just Marvin and his musicians. He’s in here practically every night!”
The table of girls gossiped in between bites of kabob. The dark haired one had a notable scowl on her face, which didn’t seem to faze the other two.
“That’s because,” responded the shorter of the two fair haired girls, “she’s not here yet, dummy! Some hot shot lute player rolled into town a few days ago. Honestly, Miranda, if you’d spend two seconds listening to the word around town instead of staying shut up in your house, you would have known she’s coming here later tonight!”
“Libby, you know my dad…” Miranda started, but the other girl cut her off.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. There’s new music in town, and you know what that means!” Libby said conspiratorially, finishing her statement with a giggle.
The two fair haired girls looked at one another and said in unison, “Boys!” They both lapsed into helpless giggles.
“Look, see! There’s a table of guys I don’t recognize! They must be from the next village over,” Libby lowered her voice, “I call dibs on the blonde one.”
“Libby! We’re here for Miranda’s benefit! Let her choose one first!”
“I don’t…” Miranda began, but again she was cut off.
“Ah, Abby’s right. Choose whatever one you like to dance with, and we’ll help you, er, I mean, help him get courage enough to ask.” Libby took a meaningful pull from her tankard and winked at Miranda.
The dark haired girl sighed, and pulled a potato from off her plate. As she munched on it, she took a long appraising look over at the table with the five men grouped around it.
“How about,” Miranda said after a moment, “the auburn one.”
“The guy in the animal skins?” Abby gasped.
“Whatever, Miranda. You always did like the weirdos. Libs has got the blonde one, guess that leaves me with the cute one with the beard.”
“The dwarf?” Miranda asked.
Abby punched her in the arm, “No, dofus, the human. I tried dancing with a dwarf once. All he did was motorboat me the entire time. Tried to blame it on my height,” She rolled her large blue eyes, “Riiiiight.”
Libby threw back her shoulders, shook her chest and exclaimed, “Brrrrrrr!” All three girls collapsed into giggles again.
"That is Complete TROLL PISS Alester!"
The music screeched to a halt as five chairs slid noisily across the wooden floor. The man in the skins was gesticulating violently at his companions around the table.
The girls ceased their laughter at once and turned to stare at the altercation that was blossoming from the table in the middle of the room. They watched with their mouths slightly open as he yelled, throwing accusations and colorful expletives.
He kicked his chair out from under him and stalked over to the bar. Marvin’s band picked up the final notes of “Rare Auld Times” as conversation began to seep back into the tavern.
“Like I said, Miranda,” Abby said, taking another drink from her mug, “Weirdo.”
“Oh shush,” Miranda responded as the man at the bar exclaimed, “Whiskey! Double!”
“Don’t worry, cousin!” Libby laughed, “More will show up! Tonight will be hopping, just wait and see!”
True to Libby’s words, a steady stream of newcomers trickled into the tavern. Whether they had come to see the new bard in town, for the promised dancing, or just for a pint and some food, the Bleeding Lute was slowly filling up. The group nearest the stage moved a few tables off to the side, and a few couples began dancing. The musicians began alternating three fast songs to every slow one.
Libby gasped audibly, her eyes locked on the door, “Oh dear heavenly stars above. Look what just strolled into our tavern.”
The other two swiveled around to look at the bar. A man towered above the other patrons, giving his order to Maria while casually throwing a few gold coins upon the counter. His long blonde hair was clipped up neatly away from his chiseled face, and it looked like his tunic was just barely leaving him enough room to breathe. He immediately upended his first tankard, clearing the entire thing before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. They continued to watch him drink another two tankards in much the same fashion before tucking noisily into his meal.
Miranda turned back with another scowl on her face, while Abby and Libby looked like two cats that had gotten into the cream.
“Oh no,” Miranda groaned, “Not him. He’s disgusting.”
“But look him!” Libby said, “He’s handsome!”
“And tall,” Abby added.
“Plus did you see him just casually drop that gold on the counter?” Libby asked incredulously.
“And muscley,” Abby continued dreamily.
Miranda looked back to where the very tall, muscley man sat just as he let out a large belch and again wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“He gross,” she intoned again, “and you two are worse.”
“Oh!” Libby squealed, “Here he comes!”
“Dibs,” Abby said immediately. Libby frowned and swiftly punched her in the arm.
The man pulled a chair around and nestled it against the girls’ table. His mouth was mostly stuffed with apple pie, which he gulped down before saying, “And how dose such a splendid night have such beauties fiar?”
“Ugh,” Miranda groaned, “I’m too sober for this. You two have fun.” She grabbed her tankard and strode towards the bar.
“Don’t mind her,” Libby giggled, “she just doesn’t know how to have a good time.”
“I’m Abby,” Abby said, cutting off the other young woman and holding her right hand out as if it waited to be kissed.
“I’m Libby,” Libby prompted afterward, holding her left hand out the same way.
Miranda still wore a frown as she set her tankard on the bar, “Maria! Can I get another Mahogany?”
“Sure thing, hon!” The curvy bartender snatched up her tankard on the way by, balancing it with a handful of plates.
“Good evening Jedidiah, Conrad,” Miranda said to the two old men at the end of the bar.
“Well well, now,” Jedidiah Statler leaned around Conrad Waldorf’s shoulders to address the scowling young woman, “What’s a pretty young thing like you doing up here at the bar?”
“What’s it look like she’s doing” Waldorf asked.
“It looks like she wants to talk to a couple of geezers like us!” Statler replied.
“Why do you say that?”
“Cause she ain’t doing anything else!”
Both older men let out a mighty, “Hoo hoo hoo!”
Their belly laughs made her smile, “Talking to you fine gentlemen sure beats all the promised dancing I’m not doing.”
“Promised dancing, eh?” Waldorf responded, blowing out his moustache for emphasis, “Well you should dance with ol’ Statler here! He used to cut quite the rug back in his day!”
“What? Hey now, I haven’t mangled any carpets in years!”
“Ah, you’re right, Jedidiah,” Miranda simpered, sticking her lip out in an obviously fake pout, “I wouldn’t want you to throw your back out. A man of your advancing years can never be too careful.”
“Will you listen to that poppycock! Come here, girl, I’ll show you how this is done!” Statler unfolded his lanky frame out from underneath the bar, put his hands on his hips, and grimaced as he stretched his body from side to side.
Marvin struck up the opening chords of Collin’s Jig on his fiddle, and a pleased cry erupted from a number of the patrons.
“Come on, young lady, let’s go show these youngsters a thing or two,” Statler said, offering Miranda his arm and leading her to the cleared area in front of the stage.
“You mean a thing or two about First Aid!” Waldorf called after them.
Posted on 2013-11-20 at 05:20:19.
Edited on 2013-11-20 at 06:00:15 by Celeste
“Oi! Watch where you’re stumbling you Big Clumsy,…”finn stammered then paused. The barbarian growled slightly pausing only to offer a slight glare at the inebriated man. then continued on to the table with the girls. Smirking to himself he could all but picture the smaller mans awed reaction, in this land it had all but came to be a common yet still oddly comical reaction to seeing his frame.
"I'm Libby." The girls prompted and held thier hands out.
"My dear ladies. my night has drastically improved." he leaned down and with mock flourish he bent and lightly grazed a kiss over both their knuckles. "My name is Tyr."
the band began to play Collin’s Jig, the brawny barbarian smirked. "shall we drink or shall we dance?" he questioned still leaning over slightly, holding both the girls hands.
Posted on 2013-11-20 at 07:57:30.
Edited on 2013-11-20 at 08:08:01 by Astrid
Reclined in the shadows’ embrace, with the soothing warmth of the whiskey now radiating from his belly, Nyx took advantage of his table-mate’s hesitation and, once again, allowed his gaze to wander the room.
I wonder, he thought cynically to himself, his moon-colored eyes tracking to the barbarian, first, why I bother with places like this… Always the same… Too much drink in some… too much lust in others… too little of anything in, still, others… heh-heh-heh…
The large round-ear’s presence had apparently chased one of the young women from her table to the bar but, Nyx noted, before his scrutiny moved along, the barbarian had gained a handful each of the other two… Oddly well-mannered and well-spoken for his ilk, the mith’ganni couldn’t help but observe before setting his sights on the scowling, dark-haired maiden who had abandoned her friends to the brute’s charms, Was it that curious fact or simply a general aversion that chased you off, I wonder… You seem more… aware… than your friends, yes?
Nyx reached for his own goblet as the glowering girl… her friends called her Miranda… ordered her tankard refilled with Mahogany… and, unlike her friends, she wants more than can be found in a night at the tavern… He indulged in a contemplative sip as the girl engaged the resident barflies, Stadtler and Waldorf, in a bit of light-hearted conversation, and smiled faintly around the rim of his goblet as the two old men flung barbs at one another before one of them made quite the display of leading Miranda onto the floor for a dance… She bears watching, the mith’ganni told himself, watching the way she moved – light and graceful – before letting his eyes move on, once more, Potential, there, I think, yes? And, should her boredom become too much, perhaps, there are other things with which her time could be filled…
The white-shrouded sage was next… He’d not moved much since he had entered, and had spoken even less. In fact, other than the brow the old man had lifted when he’d first caught sight of Nyx, there had been very little out of the man, at all, save for what seemed to be a quiet nursing of the mead he’d ordered and, like Nyx, occasional perusal of the tavern’s other patrons.
Nothing to worry on from you, tonight, then, eh, magician, the assassin mentally noted, keeping the curious man still framed in his vision, or might it be druid? Something about you says ‘nature’ somehow, yes?..
…and speaking of nature…
The Mith’ganni’s attentions flitted over the remaining clientele and returned to the man across the table from him. “Since it appears you might be sitting there for a time,” Nyx said, extricating himself from the penumbra enough to return his goblet to the table, “why do you not tell me your name… unless, of course, you prefer to continue to be addressed as monkey-face… and, perhaps, why your friends were so eager to leave you here, hm?”
((OOC: Mostly just fluff and fodder cuz I was bored and felt like writing a little. ))
"dance!" said Libby, the girls turned to one another and stuck their tongues out and then giggled hysterically. Tyr smiled.
"well Abby order our drinks, and Libby comes with me." Tyr said with a saucy wink at both the girls as Libby pulled him to the dance floor as the band began to play the Virginia reel>. Lizzy laughed as Try spun her around the dance floor with a grace that seemed out of place with his behemoth stature, but made blatant his warrior prowace. Libby squealed as Tyr all but tossed her in the air and caught her again with a deep bravado laugh.
"go with em, boy. Don' fight em, but keep yer' pride and wits 'bout ya." my Uncle pushed be towards a Aquilonian general. I had been but six and my father had died that spring in a border skermish with the fledgling empire to the south. I was in senced a hostage but being the fith decendant of the first great barbarian king i was raised as nobility.>
Libby all but panted for breath leaning against Try as they sat at the table Abby poured them each a drink.
"if you drink as well as you dance, Tyr. we may both be in trouble." giggled Abby. Tyr grinned and with a swig of ale and a saucy wink he all but purred.
"you were both in trouble the moment i set eyes on you." he smirked and pinched Libby's back side. "the only diffrence is how deep in trouble are you going to be tonight." he grinned and poured them all another drink, as the girls broke into a tizzy of giggles. several cups into the night Libby pouted.
"you much have traveled lots, tell us a story of one of your adventures." she said slurring slightly and leaning over his left arm playing with the fabric of the front of his shirt.
Tyr grinned and obliged them.
"i was with a small garrison sent on an envoy mission protecting an emissary sent to the king of Miletus."Tyr continued on pausing only for drink and when the girls interrupted him. he told them of statures of feral human cat statues that were sever times his height and he even with his great height did not come to the tops of its paws. and of monsters which the king kept in his menagerie. a 40 foot dragon that could swallow a man whole. large striped jungle cats which strolled the palace like house cats. and cities in the middle of the desert with gardens of fruit trees and a giant walled city who's blue walls made of stone which shone in the desert sun like crystal.
"lies!" cried Abby, as Tyr laughed. Libby who all but had fallen asleep came awake as Tyr's chest jostled her. Tyr frowned as he looked down at the girl, she looked rather peeked.
"i don't feel so good, Abby..."Libby lurched to her feet and nearly toppled over with a loud gag. Abby jumped to her feet to help her sister and found herself on unsteady legs as well.
"lets get you some air." Abby intoned as the both leaned on one another and quickly made their way to the door. Tyr cringed as a loud wrenching noise could be heard clearly from the open door. with a frown he made a mental note to watch where he stepped when he left. the ale had made him light headed but not enough to make him tipsy as it had the girls, he stood and moved closer to the fireplace and stretched our languidly in a chair ordering a double shot of Scotch. he chuckled at his loss of the buxom laddies, at least the food and booze had been good, and the girls had wiled away most of the night keeping them entertained. Tyr sighed even great beasts miss their mark on occasion.
(O.C.C sorry its so long i spent most of the night last night thinking of this... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1_W4519juY <-- celtic reel music)
From near the fireplace, the tall white haired man observed the room quietly, his hands steepled before him as he appeared to be studying those assembled here. He noticed the Mith'ganni in the shadows who appeared to be 'observing' the room as well.
The branches that had sprung from his simple wooden chair appeared to be slowly growing further as they twisted around the man where he sat; it appeared that the branches were beginning to sprout blossoms of little white flowers that were opening slowly here and there. A few of the patrons had taken notice and pointed it out to their companions and mutterings began about the strange looking sight.
When he caught the eye of the Mith'ganni, the old smiled slightly and lifted his tankard with his right hand; he nodded toward Nyx and lifted his tankard in a toast before taking a drink and then returned the container to the table top once more.
The old man then turned to survey the room once again as if hoping something here would pique his interest; when his head turned his long hair parted and the tip of a pointed ear protruded. This was a strange sight to any who might have observed it; the man appeared to be human in all other respects but his ears were elven in shape.
The smell of blooming flowers made Finn want to wretch right there on the floor.
“bleck-ugh” Finn could taste the vomit rising in the back of his throat. The oaf who’d kicked his chair wasn’t making the situation any better.
The Barbarian’s graceful stomping was sending tremors through the floor and right up to Finns offended stomach. The brute seemed an adroit enough dancer to keep in time with ♪Collins Jig ♪ while simultaneously swinging some blonde girl around like a ragdoll.
Well,I doubt he’d win any spelling contests
The dark chuckles from across the table brought Finn’s nauseated attention back to the elf.
“Abandoned by your so-called friends,” the mith’ganni chuckled darkly, “and left in the shadow with a stranger. That seems always to be the way of things, yes?”
Finn blinked as he tried to focus on the elf's smug words. huh?
“Most of your friends departed some time ago,” Nyx informed him flatly, “save for the… how do you round-ears say?... gnome?
Finn scowled catching the jist of the elf's prattling.Sodding Alester
“The gnome, yes?” The mith’ganni continued “ He lingered for a bit in that one’s shadow,”
Finn’s eyes followed the pale skinned elf’s gaze toward the giant warrior tromping around the dance floor, wielding the petite blonde like a giggling shield.
“and, were I to guess at the conversation” The elf continued, “ I’d wager that your friend filled that large fellow’s head with all sorts of unsavory bits where you might be concerned.”
Once again the mith’ganni’s eyes seemed to vibrate inside his head. Twitching rapidly before locking back on Finn.
“If you made the door, at all,” The slope ear said, “you’d not make it far past in your current state, yes?”
The elf placed his goblet back on the table and simultaneously nudged what remained of the mushroom stew toward the Finn.
“ug-hrmmm” the smell of food made his stomach broil Gods not now
“And even if you did escape without somehow staggering into the giant, there, and thus provoking him into beating you to death, I’d wager twice as much coin to say that your smarmy little nogoth has more unpleasant surprises awaiting you beyond the walls of this place…”
The elf seemed to grin as he reclined back into the shadows of his corner. “…Not that I should care, of course.”
Smarmy? Well ain’t that the pot accusing the kettle
After a time the elf reached for his goblet and went back to scanning the room behind Finn.
The pale skinned slope-ear appeared to be bored with everything. His drink, his dinner, the music, the patrons,…Well, all of them except Me.
Alarm bells started going off in Finn’s head. Why the Hells should he care?!? Did he know about the Map & the Book? Had he been following us? Had he overheard something in their conversation this evening? .
Finn tried hard to remember all that had happened that night and before. When Finn had shared the map & the book with Boris & Malakai they’d sworn to be discreet. Since then only Torvar and Alester had been included in the circle.
This elf couldn’t be someone Torvar associated with. Alester? No probably not.
For all their smug similarities, chances were no one had said anything to anyone.
So what has this Elf seen or heard that has him so damned interested?
Finn’s head began to swim again.
Oh Sod me, this was a bad time to get drunk Finn!
“Since it appears you might be sitting there for a time,” the Elf said, returning his goblet to the table, “why do you not tell me your name… unless, of course, you prefer to continue to be addressed as monkey-face… and, perhaps, why your friends were so eager to leave you here, hm?”
Finn knocked his pipe on the table edge, spilling the tobacco ash onto the hardwood floor.
“I’ve been called worse…” Far worse by far better.
“Urűkmelaar warlanadhrîm comes to mind”. Boris had told Finn once it meant orc-phaching raggedy-man.
“Or something to that effect”.
“Sigh” Finn reached into his belt pouch. Inside, next to his precious tobacco, he kept a small cloth packet. Inside that packet were the herbs he needed to settle his stomach. Some strychnos nux vomica and chamomile. And if that settles me then perhaps some gingerroot and water before I stumble back to bed, wherever that may be tonight. He loosely packs the pipe with the herbs and some more tobacco for good measure.
“I certainly don’t want you remembering my true name in the morning after this sodding introduction. But why Should you care slope-ear? Don’t we monkey-faces just all look the same?"
Finn strikes a tindertwig against the table and lights his pipe. The burning herbs and tobacco have a pungent smell. Finn takes a long draw, inhaling the warm smoke deep into his belly.
“Besides friend, names have power”.
Finn’s thoughts stray back to the night one week prior. The night he and his old companions spent in Hart’s Haven. The night Alester tired to sell them out; tired to take the Map & the Book for himself. Four men where dead now because of it. And we all might be next.
But none of the others saw it. Alester had explained it all away; he professed his commitment to the group and sold Finn up scat creek.
That sodding little runt will try it again, and probably tonight. He knows I have the book and the map with me. Finn reached over and touched the map case tucked into his haversack. Still there. He sighed . Let’s keep it that way.
The smudge seems to work, simultaneously exorcizing the whiskey demons from his head and his gut, but not from his heart.
With a wicked grin Finn turns his attention back to his friend across the table. Who is this stealthy little horse pacher? What did he want? More importantly, what did he already know? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Ever hear of the Moonshore Caldera Master Pointy-ear?”
Posted on 2013-11-28 at 10:41:45.
Edited on 2013-11-28 at 10:54:52 by Finn Mac Cuel
The table in the back is occupied by an elderly elven scholar wearing heavy clothing. She has dyed red hair and a deeply shadowed face. She is reading something.
“Milady,” a soft, distinguished voice said to the elderly Elven woman seated at a table in the back, “would you mind if I joined you?”
Suddenly, as if he had simply appeared there, standing before the table was a tall elderly gentleman in white leaning slightly on his long stave as he waited for her response. He towered over the table, standing about 6 1/2' tall; his long white flowing robe sweeping the floor. The man had long snow white hair which stretched down and intermingled with his long beard, reaching down near his knees. The man's face was soft and had a gentle smile upon his lips; he raised an eyebrow as he gestured to the chair opposite the table from her.
Nyx offered a fractional nod and the slight arching of one black brow in response to the white sage’s toast and, before much more came of that brief interaction, found his gaze drawn back to the floor space in front of the minstrels where a number of the patrons were dancing…
If one could call that dancing, I suppose.
…and, just as he found himself remembering Amcaria… and how very long ago it was that I laughably tried to ‘save’ her … the man across the table ceased his bewildered blinking and found his voice.
“I’ve been called worse,” the auburn haired man was saying, at last, in response to the earlier prodding, “Urűkmelaar warlanadhrîm comes to mind…”
This evoked a genuine chuckle from the Twilight Elf and prompted him to reach for his wine, once more.
“…Or something to that effect.”
“Indeed,” Nyx smirked as Finn sighed and tended to the packing of a pipe.
“I certainly don’t want you remembering my true name in the morning after this sodding introduction,” the man continued in the wake of the elf’s silence, “But why Should you care slope-ear? Don’t we monkey-faces just all look the same?"
The hiss and spark of the tindertwig coincided with the enigmatic smile and shrug that was the Mith’ganni’s initial reply…
“Besides friend, names have power.”
…and the flare of the flame as that twig was set to the bowl of Finn’s pipe illuminated what the elf said next.
“Indeed they do, warlanadhrîm,” Nyx nodded, smiling from his shadows as the flame’s light played in his yellow eyes, “Some more than others, I might think... Speak one, under the proper circumstances, and you gain simple control of he who bears the name… speak another and you call forth death for… whoever… yes?”
The Twilighter’s smile lingered throughout the course of events that filled the next moments… Finn’s inhalation of the herbal concoction, the man’s silent and slightly troubled trek through his thoughts, and the subtle but still telling touch he gave the mapcase… and, though hidden behind the rim of the goblet he had lifted to his lips, once more, that smile remained when Finn offered a wicked grin of his own and returned his gaze to Nyx.
“Ever hear of the Moonshore Caldera Master Pointy-ear?”
“Hmm,” Nyx purred, “Now, there is a name with some power,” He leaned forward, placing his goblet back on the table. “Though, simply speaking it does very little beyond whipping men into a frenzy, does it? Sets them scurrying about like a bunch of frightened rabbits in search of a secret security whilst their squeals of excitement nigh on guarantee that that security will come at a great cost to more than one, yes?”
Cay’s divinations had been correct, it seemed, in pointing this place out – though it had been a long time since the scryings the Wharf Witch shared with him had been anything other – and Nyx was anxious, now, to verify that the rest of what she had told him.
“Yes… I have heard of the Moonshore Caldera,” he grinned, “and I have heard, also, of the trouble it might have brought you of late… Finn Mac Cuel…”
“…and so neither brother nor father could banish the great demons that descended upon them. Blood spilled like a mighty river, and Great Mother’s tears descended from the heavens. Children left would march at spear point, leaving destruction and dissent in their wake…”
The wood bound tome was gently cradled in one boney hand. The words Lantaraana • Uuranoromuva: Sangane • Valya were neatly carved into its cover; the wood had a burnished glow from many years of being handled. Two other manuscripts sat upon the table next to a large pot of tea and half finished meal; The Legend of Deramas Therratrem, a small but stout book covered in red leather; and beneath that Aralith's Periodical on Dark Gods, bound in birch bark and held together by several lengths of jute twine. A journal, along with inkwell and quill, lay open in front of the frail woman.
The elderly elf took a dainty sip from her tea before turning the page, completely engrossed in the text. She would come to the Bleeding Lute twice a week. It gave the people of the village an opportunity to see her, ask her advice on ailments, and set up appointments for those in need of advanced healing. This allowed her some privacy in her home, and encouraged the villagers to see her here rather than trek out to her little hovel in the woods. Most nights found her at this spot with a few books along with a meal, and tonight was no different.
Therratrem’s account on Steppe Exodus seems to confirm Setting Moon Rising Sun text,
she scribbled into the journal laid before her, along with some disturbing passages found in Aralith's Periodical; though prophecies...
“Milady,” a soft voice prompted suddenly into her flow of writing, “would you mind if I joined you?”
Her light eyes glanced up and briefly took in the older gentleman before her. His hands clutched a long staff, and he gestured at the chair opposite. Her mind was too wrapped up in the flow of her thoughts to take in much more; she gestured at the chair with the hand still holding the quill. The chair slid away from the table of its own accord, and she continued to write.
...though prophecies are ambivalent by nature, I am still concerned by the implications. There have always been allusions to events occurring time and time again in history. To my horror, I am forced to consider the prospect that this is mirroring incidents that happened over the last three decades. And what of the Twin Storms? Tonight I will be sure to speak to Jerum, if he stops by the Lute, and make sure he brings back current periodicals from his regular trip to the city.
Satisfied, the elderly elf closed the heavy wooden tome, pushed it under the other two books, and carefully laid the journal on top of the pile to let the ink dry. Her boney hands twisted a cork stopper into the inkwell.
“Well now,” her voice was strong despite the deep lines of age that crisscrossed her face, “what ails you, young man?”
Posted on 2013-12-08 at 00:10:09.
Edited on 2013-12-08 at 01:29:25 by Celeste
“Well now,” her voice was strong despite the deep lines of age that crisscrossed her face, “what ails you, young man?”
“Young man?” the old man said with a smile, “It has been along time since anyone called me that.”
He lowered himself gracefully into the offered chair, as he touched the wooden chair it began to change. The wood began to grow branches which grew rapidly; sprouting smaller branches with leaves as the chair grew and enveloped the man becoming a living wooden throne rather than a simple chair in an inn.
“I hope I am not intruding,” he said as he released his stave which remained standing next to him being held in place by several branches which grew out to wrap around the staff holding it where he left it, “I saw you here and thought some conversation might be more interesting than sitting and simply observing. But, if you would rather be left to your books....”
He left the question open ended and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
His sharp eyes took in the elderly Elvin woman before him; he noticed her tomes and her writing implements and took her for some sort of Sage perhaps. He was still amused at her assumption that she was older than him just because she was an elf; it was something that many others before her had assumed as well. It was a logical postulate since he appeared to be human or maybe even Half-elvin in nature but in truth he was something much more.
“Forgive me,” he said inclining his head towards her, “my name is Caerroil Wildwood.” His voice, though soft of tone, was a strong bass-tone and reverberated like thunder rolling down from the mountains during a storm.
Tatiana stepped into the Inn and paused in the doorway to look about the room. The sign outside said depicted a broken lute with rose petals spilling out of it. She wasnâ€™t quite sure how to interpret that sign.
Tatiana Ravenwood was an Elvin woman who stood an even 6 feet in height and was slim without being too skinny. Her long raven black hair was worn pulled back into a lone ponytail and extended half way down her back. She wore a fine blue silken robe with gold thread filigree around the cuffs and neck. The robe stretched down to her feet where a pair of fine highly polished black boots rested. The robe was encircled by a golden cloth sash from which hung a couple of simple looking leather pouches. In her hand rested a slim wooden staff with a fist-sized rough-cut jewel at its head.
Her blue eyes scanned the entire common room. The place appeared to be empty till an elderly man with a rather garish red floppy hat stepped from what she assumed was the kitchen and greeted her.
â€śGood Evening Miss,â€ť the man said in a friendly tone despite his gruff appearance, â€śYou looking for a room or something to eat.â€ť
â€śFood for now,â€ť she said in a smooth silky voice, â€śbut Iâ€™ll take your best room as well for later.â€ť
â€śVery well,â€ť the old man said, â€śsit wherever you like itâ€™s not like were crowded.â€ť
She nodded to him and moved to take a table near the wall towards the back of the room. She sat putting her back to the wall so that she could see the entire room.
A curvy dark haired woman came out and stepped to the bar and spoke to her, â€śWhat can I get you to drink Hon?â€ť
â€śRed wine please,â€ť Tatiana replied and watch the sudden bustle that had come to the room.
A fair haired light skinned wisp of a woman came out of the kitchen and approached her table.
â€śWelcome to the Bleeding Lute,â€ť she said cheerfully.
Ah so that explained the sign, Tatiana thought.
â€śCan I get you something to eat?â€ť the serving girl asked.
â€śWhatever you have that is hot and fresh,â€ť she said.
â€śSure thing,â€ť the girl whipped around and hurried off to the kitchen.
The female bartender came over and set down a glass of red wine and gave her a smile, â€śJust holler if you need anything else Hon.â€ť
As the woman left the table Tatiana picked up the wine and took a sip and nodded her approval. It wasnâ€™t going to grace the cellars of fine nobles but it was a passable vintage. She sat back in her chair with her staff leaning up against the table as she relaxed from her travels and waited for her meal.
(OOC: Had a free lunchtime today so I thought I might come up with something to attempt a restart on this place. Any are welcome to join. )
The serving girl came out in minutes with a steaming plate of beef tips, potato wedges, assorted vegetables and some fresh bread and butter and set it before her. Tatiana looked over the meal and her stomach started to growl as she realized her hunger.
"Thank you," Tatiana said to the girl, "this looks great!"
"If you need anything just let me know," the girl said with a smile before whirling and heading back into the kitchen.
Tatiana began to dig into the hot food. She chewed slowly as she savored the sweet taste of fresh cooked food. She had been on the trail for weeks and the hard rations were nothing compared to this meal.
She ate quietly and sipped at her wine as she thoroughly enjoyed the best food she has had in weeks possibly months.
The shadows lengthened outside the Bleeding Lute, as the sun began to set, and, as dusk gathered about the inn, deepened. When the last and faintest of the Day Starâ€™s rays withdrew from the land and the darkness outside the place was pierced only by recently lit torches and lanterns, those shadows passed across The Bleeding Luteâ€™s threshold and, in the wake of their passing, left behind a lone Mithâ€™ganni. He lingered in the doorway a moment, his moon-yellow eyes slowly skimming the entirety of the common room as the light from candle and lantern tried in vain to lick the recently bloomed night from the dark attire in which the Twilight Elf was enshrouded. The penumbra seemed to cling to him as if it were part of him, or he a part of it. All the light seemed capable of, where this one was concerned, was to make his alabaster skin seem all the paler for itâ€™s touch; to glint from the threads which comprised the intricate, constellation embroidered on the breast of the curious, padded coat he wore; and, occasionally, gather in those lunar-hued eyes, where it reflected back on the room, perhaps a bit colder.
As those eyes completed their initial sweep of the nigh on empty room, the faintest ghost of a smile played on the Mithâ€™ganniâ€™s lips and, then, he was in motion, whispering across the floor toward a table in the far back corner of the place. Once there, he sank into the seat at itâ€™s back, pinched out the flame that danced atop the candle on the table and, then, reclined into the shadows, awaiting the arrival of the wispy blonde, Sarah. He didnâ€™t wait long, as the nervous little woman had, upon the Mithâ€™ganniâ€™s arrival, poured a wooden goblet full of the spiced wine that he favored, and was a scarce half minute behind him. She approached the table nervously, but didnâ€™t dare hesitate, and sat the goblet on the table. The shadows whispered something to her, then, a pale hand slithered forth from them, pushing two silver coins ahead of it.
â€śT-thank ye, sir,â€ť Sarah said from behind an all too uncertain smile. She took the silvers from the table only after the shadows on the other side had reclaimed the hand and, along with it, the goblet of wine; then, she backed away from the table â€“ much more quickly than she had approached it â€“ and returned to her work.
Tatiana had finished her wonderful meal awhile ago and was sitting at a table near the fireplace enjoying the warmth on the cool night and drinking her second glass of the red wine when she sensed another presence enter the room.
Her face turned to the doorway and her eyebrows raised slightly at the sight that her blue eyes beheld. If she was not mistaken a Mith'ganni had entered the establishment. The form was cloaked in shadow and seemed to enjoy the theatrical entrance which she had found typical of his kind. The edges of her mouth turned up slightly in a smirk as she watched him move over and seat himself at the back of the room near where she had sat only a little while ago.
She watched at the same serving girl came to the man's table with a goblet. The little girl moved with a lot of apprehension as if she feared him. There was a brief exchange and then she moved away more quickly then she had approached.
Tatiana watched the man out of curiosity more and anything else. The Inn was quiet and mostly empty and she thought perhaps this might provide her with some amusement for the evening. She watched and held her wine glass in her left hand as she absently played with a ring holding a blue jewel on one of the fingers of her right.
Nyx felt the eyes upon himâ€¦ How could he not, with the place being as quiet and still as heâ€™d seen it in quite some time? Of all the eyes that had ever been trained on him in this place, though, the ones he felt on him now wereâ€¦ differentâ€¦ newâ€¦ and, as such, could only be attributed to one such soul in the tiny establishment, at the time. Nursing a long sip from his own goblet, Nyxâ€™s moon-eyed gaze ticked towards the dark-haired eleven woman he had noted sitting by the hearth when he entered. He watched her over the rim of his cup for a moment, yellow eyes glittering as they caught the light of the dancing flames that topped his table and that, and the spices in the wine soaking his tongue as he took in the womanâ€™s somewhat bemused smirk and the ease of her posture.
After a long instant of contemplation, the Mithâ€™ganni moved the cup from his lips and held the thing aloft in something of a silent acknowledgement of the woman and, in a voice that was something akin to a whisper uttered through a mouthful of grave dirt, said; â€śQuel undome, arwen en amin.* A quiet night for quiet company, yes?â€ť
((OOC: So, just a really quick â€śhello thereâ€ť from Nyx before I roll out of here with the little lady, for the eveningâ€¦ Again, not much, but typical Nyxâ€¦
Also - translation from the elvish - *"Good evening, my lady." ))