They walked on and on after the battle with the ogres. Days flowed into nights and dawns turned to dusks as they traveled through the countryside. Soon trees turned to fields and gently rolling hills as they kept on their way to Elderast. Vilyamar kept his share of the watch but did not say much to any of the others except in simple discussion and answering some of the curious kender’s questions.
Time passed and they arrived outside the city. Vilyamar himself had never been in one so large, ever, nor had he had need to go within one. He had visited small towns to gather some supplies when he had traveled, but nothing to huge, for prejudices against his bloodlines ran deep and many questions were raised when a half-blood entered.
The portcullis was raised up high and the guards did not think anything of a traveling group that arrived early in the day. They knew the passion for the safety of a city’s walls. The fresh cool air was enticing enough to draw many open shutters and doors, as well as many people outside trying the savor the pure air before it became filled with the stench of animals and other beings. It also drew many stares.
The party walked into the streets, but they had no real idea of where they were to be going. The kender stopped the closest common man and asked for an inn. Vilyamar did not try to stop him. There was probably no better person among to ask for directions. He simply kept the cowl of his hood low and hid among the shadows of the group. There were few here he wished to see up close, and fewer who he wished to see him.
The battle with the ogre clan had been the first bloodletting Scourge had partaken in over a ten-day, far too long if one were to ask him. His determination coupled with an arrogance founded not on something so foolish as pride, but rather an unwavering morality and sense of purpose. Ever since his own abduction and enslavement year’s prior, the hulking brute of a man known to his companions only by the aliases presented to them by Orion, was a quiet introverted sort. Handling business as needed he was not one for idle banter, and as such the short night of rest after the battle and the mornings return to the road was quiet; at least from his position bringing up the rear of the coterie.
(If anyone directly brings conversation to him, leave such inquiries herein the general thread or email and I’ll answer accordingly. Now or at any further point.)
With minor magic’s had Scourge mended his robes and vestments as well as with but a passing of cloth over the Dawnbringer’s crystalline blade did it shine with renewed vigor. As the sun rises to meet each day so too did this weapon crafted of foreign skill and material shimmer in the first of dawn’s light.
Lost within his own thoughts, and deep in conversation with Orion, who fluttered from companion to companion and occasionally flew overhead, constantly keeping watch for new dangers as well as garnering what insight he may into the personalities of those they traveled with, Scourge ambled onward until the outer gate still in construction lay before the group. Drawing up his cloak and cowl tighter to keep his newly donned mask hidden, two of the masks horns, curling like those of a ram just under the wide brim of his hat.
Standing at almost 7’ tall, Scourge was am imposing sight and the stares of curiosity were not unexpected. Having reached Elderast with no real further direction other than securing a place of refuge for the evening. Orion took to the sky, using his enhanced vision to try and locate any establishments of reprieve. Elandor would try his hand at the more direct route, simply asking for directions. His straightforward attitude was a pleasant sight to the large templar. Perhaps with the little one he could find common ground. There would be time for that later though.
Patiently awaiting a decision of direction towards a place of reprieve Scourge stands…
Entering the capitol of Thollin struck Damien with awe, though not nearly as much as he had been pressed by upon witnessing the city of the elves, despite his hatred for the living at that time. At least he was away from that lying man...he was having a difficult time remembering his name at the current moment. Not a good thing.
Staying away from the others, save Mahou, the only one he would go near, Damien strode softly into the grand city, his eyes wandering over everything that passed by him. His cloak fluttered around his body, giving him an appearance similar to a wraith, but this only pleased him more. Perhaps people would begin to fear him - always a satisfying feeling, though hardly a constructive use of one’s influence. Perhaps he could find a place where he might be able to sell his stories for something useful, such as a flute or a harp.
With a deep sigh, the dark minstrel plodded along, keeping an eye on the one he knew only as Scourge. That man - or thing - was a deep mystery wrapped within itself. He knew nothing about it, save for the fact that it carried a great scythe with an unusual trait. Not once before had Damien ever seen a blade in the shape of a crescent moon that could unleash a flash of light resembling the sun.
I will have to get a further look at that, indeed. He decided, turning his gaze back to the surrounding wonders of Eldarest. The bard would like to get a closer look at what exactly could provoke the steel of the scythe blade to unleash such a bright light, he suspected magic, but was uncertain. Laying a hand to his rapier hilt, the thought seemed much more plausible at the moment, and almost tempted him to approach the other group to ask the towering figure if he could inspect it.
(OOC: Sorry this is such absolute crap, but I had little to work with in regards to Damein’s interest. He will simply go along with Mahou, unless he can find either a black marketer, or some other such person he can deal with in hopes of finding a Harp of Pain.)
August 11th/Tuesday Afternoon
Though they had most recently been “blessed” with a visit to Celeval, city of the elves; it had been weeks since the party had truly been in civilization. The imposing concoction of sounds and smells washed in relieving waves over several of the members, as they made their way through the squared and organized, cobblestone streets of Eldarast.
As they made their way deeper into the city, and closer to the sloping hill, crowned bye the Palace of Elethorn II, they became very aware of the changes in structure and organization. The buildings here were far more crowded, taller, and many were stone or brick.
Tugging on the violet robe of a passing man who, by his creased face and balding head, was in his mid 40’s, Elandor asked
“Hullo! We’re new to this city. Could you please tell us where we could find a place to stay, my good man. And would you mind telling me what you’ve got in your pouches?”
Glancing down at the kender and hopping back as if he was a hideous kobold, the man shoved his hands into his pockets and stuttered
“Whats in my pockets, small master, will stay in my pockets.”
Looking at the rest of the companions as if noticing them for the first time, he added
“And as for an inn, follow this street to the end of the block. The Jester’s Hour is a decent place for passing wanderers.”
Without sparing time for a response, the man give a stiff nod (To the members that aren’t Kender), and hurried away.
Assuming the party follows the mans instructions
Just as he had claimed, at the block was cornered by an old, brick, three story building. The wooden porch had been recently built, and a colorful sign, carven in the shape of a Jester’s cap, read in an odd calligraphy
In a smaller font, at the bottom of the sign, was written
All bards, poets, jesters, storytellers welcome!! Talent earns free drinks!!!
The windows were a homely yellow, red, and orange stained glass, but through them could be heard the muffled sounds of voices, and the soft chords of a lute.
Upon entering the inn, the party finds themselves standing in a common room. Smoke and candlelight wash over them, and the odor of tobacco, alcohol, and red meat assailed their nostrils. Several long tables fill the room, and the walls are lined with shadowy booths. Many are occupied but the corners are free. How convenient. A bar lines the far wall where a fat man with a yellow beard tends several, formerly looking folk. Infact, most of the occupants appear to be commoners, and all are human.
In the corner to the left is a raised dias. Sitting in a chair upon it is a spindly looking man in green leggings, a bright blue tunic, and a shapeless gray hat. A red quail feather sticks from it like an arrow. He’s the one playing the lute. His talent is borderline average, but in this humble lot, is very fitting.
The room is lit with the warm glow of candle and lantern light, and in the far corner, near the bar is a huge, stone fireplace. A small fire dances cheerily beneath it’s carven arch.
Having spent many days travelling to the forest of the elves, only to turn round and continue here, facing an unruly band of Ogres along the way had sapped much of the strength which coursed through Scourge's veins; not that he'd ever willingly show it. The brief rest they took before making it here hardly accounted for the neccessary recouperation he needed.
Bending low to avoid the top of the door frame, Scourge, with Orion perched atop his shoulder, entered the common room, mask still drawn upon his face. As looks glanced over him he was certain that many hands moved to hidden weapons and chairs scraped along the floor as people tensed at his presence. Nothing new he silently told himself.
Approaching the large bar he places a large gloved hand to a stool and took a seat, pulling it near and giving a curt nod to whichever patrons may have been nearby. "A tankard of swig." Orion said from his perch, drawing even more confused and curious stares. "For me mate here of course."
Scourge and Orion waited patiently for service.. That is if they even get served.
“The Jester’s Hour,” Damien muttered to himself as he stood before the old brick building that bore a rather uniquely crafted sign. “Talent earns free drinks.”
The bard pondered this over for a moment, shifting about slightly beneath his cloak. He badly needed to get out of his armor, for it was rubbing very uncomfortably against his neck now. After wearing the thing for quite some time, a strange red rash-type form had appeared on his collar.
“The drinks don’t so much interest me, but maybe we can earn a free room, instead. If not, I guess I can just unload them on the others.” Especially that swine, Derak He thought with a sly smile, glancing over to the brutish warrior.
Watching the hulking figure that was Scourge enter first, Damien followed him, catching the door open as it began to close, and slipped in. Immediately, he was assaulted by the scents of tobacco, alcohol, and cooked meat. His stomach made comment at this, and he made a mental note to purchase a meal later in the night. Maybe I could trade drinks for some good food.
Except for Scourge and Orion, Damien noted quickly, all of the patrons were humans. The thought rose in his mind that perhaps it was one of those strongly prejudiced taverns that he had been to before, but pushed it down. He would see in time whether or not it was run by one of such owners.
Damien took a moment to look around, surveying t he room. All of the corners of the long tables were empty, for reasons that he could not determine. In the corner, atop a low platform, was an entertainer, the source of the lute tones. Quickly inspecting him, Damien smirked at his talent. Mediocre, in comparison to himself.
Seeing Scourge plod over to the bar and sit down on a stool, Damien decided that perhaps it was with the fat, bearded man that he was to register his name with. With careful, graceful steps, the poet moved over to the counter, beside the colossal figure that he traveled with.
“Your sign says all entertainers welcome,” He began, neglecting to greet him formally, or in any way, for that matter. “I would like to try my skill before your numerous patrons, if I may. The drinks do not interest me, but I would gladly surrender them for a room for the night.” Damien’s body ached badly from sleeping rough and spending much time out of doors lately. What he needed was a good bed to sleep in. “Allow me to register, and I shall not disappoint. My name is Damien LeBlaque.”
Teros entered the tavern and moved out of the way of the door so his companions could get through. He sat back against the wall and simply studied the people around him, gathering his surroundings. After the few breif moments it took him he moved to the bartender.
As he moved through the chairs that held people he noticed that just about everyone was having a good time, and that was good. It was good to know that there were still people enjoying themselves while the world slipped closer to oblivion. He sighed at the though and shrugged it away with a shake of his head and a slight smile.
Teros waited for the crow to talk to the bartender and for him to take care of the big man before he would speak. In fact he was content to sit back, it didn't seem like there was much of a rush after all. And he didn't to seem rude to this relatively newcomer. So with a slight grin he stood behind the tall man and waited to see what would happen.
Elandor jumped into the cloud of smoke and scents as if it were a deep and cool river after a hot day of traveling. This is where he felt at home, in the crowded, smoky taverns with lots of people and lots to entertain yourself. He took 2 gold pieces from his pouch and started toying them around in his hand.
He started for the counter but found himself distracted by all the people that were gathered here, sitting on large tables or in dark booths that line the wall.
Everybody knows those are where the real fun it going on!
Elandor dropped one of the gold pieces by total accident (bluff check) and followed it under one of the tables. In the shadows underneath the board he scanned the area for the right place and the appropriate moment to glide his way towards the dark booths that so interested him; of course without being seen. He sat there laughing up his sleeve in excitement. His muscles flexed as he awaited the right moment.
A big man passed between the booths and the table Elandor used for cover. The kender used the man as distraction, reasoning that people would let their gaze follow the man if they were making plans of secrecy. A gaze that followed a big man had no eye for a small kender that sprang from one shadow to another.
Arriving at the dark booth of his choice he looked back into the room. He saw Scourge and Orion ordering a drink while Damien addressed the barkeeper and had a small conversation with the man. Teros stood behind Scourge, apparently waiting for something. They all seemed to have good fun! Unworried about his companions Elandor adjusted his head to hear the inevitably illegal words that would surely come from the booths.
(OOC: ok… maybe there’s nothing going on at all. Elandor will not be disappointed that easily. He will scan all the booths, if possible, for some secret conversation. If there’s no conversation at all he will return to the counter and order a nice warm meal.)
The man shoved his hands in his pockets as the kender approached him, for most denizens of the world knew the character of the halfling race. Thankfully, though, his preoccupation with his own goods kept him from looking at the rest of the group too closely, and Vilyamar was surprised that he saw only a little shock at the oddness of the travellers. The nervous man pointed hastily towards the inn down the street and hurried on his way, anxious to be well beyond the probing gaze of Scourge and Orion as well as the undoubtedly quick fingers of Elandor.
The cool breeze shifted the monk's cloak and he tugged subconciously at the edge's of his cowl. He did not like the looks of wonder that he recieved when humans noticed his heritage. There were few half-breeds in the world, for few humans even met the elves. Questions would arise, and there was little way to predict whether he would be chased from the city or attempted to be brought to honors within the keep of the king or high lord or whatever title men gave themselves in this place. He had little time or liking for the frivolous nature of rulers.
Instead, he followed the others to the inn and common room, slowing as each went through the door. Vilyamar went through last, keeping an eye on the street and on his companions, noticing their actions and taking note. He saw little of interest except Damien taking a longer look at a sign posted on the window of the inn. He glanced at the sign himself once he entered, but upon seeing it just an advertisement for entertainers he gave it no more thought. The others could do as they wished, so long as it did not interfere with their given tasks. He kept an eye on Elandor as well, for the little one had the only means to pay for their transport across the wastes.
He sat at a table, joining the satyr. They said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. The monk did not remove his hood but simply watched the others, especially Elandor who seemed to take interest in the dark booths along the far wall. He called once to a serving girl who passed and glanced nervously at the strange pair sitting apart from the the rest of the human patrons.
"A bit of food perhaps, something simple will do. And some punch, as well," He said simply. There was no demanding tone, but the girl nodded and hurried off just the same . Perhaps it was how she did her job, or perhaps his voice also had a hint of something more than just foreign in the accent. He did not know or care.
He awaited food and watched where the others went, but did not wish to interfere with them. Their backs were up already, there was no point in making them all turn aside. He was going to need all of their aid, all of them were going to need his.
August 11th/Tuesday Afternoon
The Jester's Hour/Eldarast/Thollin Capital
The Jester’s Hour was enjoying yet another busy mid-afternoon. Ever since the new outer wall’s construction had begun. When the first of the workers had started appearing, back when the ground had thawed in March, the Inn hadn’t seen one quiet night. As healthy as the now very regular customers were for business, the stress was beginning to take it’s toll on the usually jovial Master Hillock, and his host of ever loyal servers.
Never had he though he’d live to see the day where he’d raise a toast to an empty tavern. With business came money, and with money came all the pleasures of life. That was just the way the world worked. Yet now, as he hustled about the back of the bar, refilling freshly drained mugs, wiping up spills, or darting into the back kitchen to check on the cooks, he would have given anything for one moments peace.
The click and creak of the oaken front door opening barely surfaced within his churning consciousness.
“Not even sundown yet, an’ already we got nearly as big’a group as we had all summer.”
He mumbled either to himself or to the fat man with the shaggy black hair and long beard who sat before him, chugging his third ale in the 5 minutes he had been there. Not bothering to cast a glance at the door, or sharp enough to notice the sudden hushing of the inn, he grabbed an empty mug who’s client had been pointing at stupidly for the past minute and turned to refill it.
"A tankard of swig."
The voice was as dry as dead leaves, and certainly far from human. Startled into standing erect, the fat old bartender spun around, and found himself staring up into the cloaked face of a demon. At least, that was his first impression. The face was obviously a mask. Though, the two sets of horns that spiraled out from it’s temples, and jutted like spires before the brim of the hood, and the two, burning eyes that were now fixed upon him assured him this was neither a normal, or holy mask. The figure bore a great, crystalline bladed scythe, and perched upon his cloaked shoulder was a black raven.
“For me mate here of course."
Gasping, and nearly staggering back in shock; it took good old Master Hillock a moment to recollect his posture. Swallowing hard, he said in a shaky voice
“Y-Yes sir. Of course sir.”
Spinning back around so quick that it seemed he might topple, he grabbed a mug from one of the wooden shelves, and began pouring some of his best Golden Ale from it’s mammoth barrel.
“Your sign says all entertainers welcome. I would like to try my skill before your numerous patrons, if I may. The drinks do not interest me, but I would gladly surrender them for a room for the night.”
The second voice caught him equally by surprise. Unlike that of the…raven’s, this one was smooth as silk. The words seemed to flow like a cool stream, and were formed as sharply and clearly as ice.
Turning back around with forced dignity; he set the mug before Scourge and set his gaze on not only Damien, but in a joint effort, he made sure this time to note every one of the newcomers whom, in his shock at being greeted by a crow on a giant he had neglected to notice.
By the puzzled confusion that had been stamped on his face, it was obvious that the group was standoutish. Yet he seemed only uncomfortable with Scourge. As did, it seemed, most of the others in the inn.
The occupants of the bar had all slid farther to each of Scourges side, and sat, facing their mugs. Yet their eyes darted constantly at the big man.
“Aye we offer drinks in return for entertainment. But if ye be wishing to win rooms fer all yer lads, and the lass, then ye best put on a damned good show.”
“Allow me to register, and I shall not disappoint. My name is Damien LeBlaque.”
The barkeep studied Damien for a moment, twirling one pudgy finger through his dirty, yellow beard, before nodding and, cupping one fat hand to the side of his mouth, shouted
“Oi Tion! Ye’v done played yer worth. Now belly on up to the bar. Give this young fellow a chance here.”
The lutist looked up from his playing and, at the mention of the bar, broke into a crooked toothed grin, and started for the bar, keeping a wary eye on the giant, horned man in the cloak.
* * *
Uninterested in the bar, or with customary greetings, Vilyamar and Mahuo took to a table near the warm glow of the fireplace. (The table is large enough to fit all party members). The half-elf left his hood up and, in the smoky gloom of the inn, passed as human. The satyr however, stood no chance of blending in, nor did she care to. She sat at the table, facing Vilyamar with the pride of her mysterious people and, when Vilyamar stopped a passing serving girl, she too made her order.
The Inn did not possess, nor had it ever heard of “punch”, so she first brought back two, wooden goblets and two clay pitchers. One held water, the other, red wine. After inquiring apologetically as to if her selection would suffice, she turned and headed back to the kitchen; her curly blond hair bobbing all the way.
Waiting for his food, Vilyamar turned his keen attention to the contents of the inn, and the people who occupied it. Save for his party and the humble bard who now sat beside Scourge, gulping from his mug and seemingly rambling fearlessly toward the giant, the tavern seemed filled with the most common of peasants. Farmers and carpenters, poor merchants smithies. The booths along the walls held some shadowy figures. But, of course with the shadows, none stood out.
After a moment the girl returned bearing their food. She seemed no older than 17 but, by her sway and the way the men she passed grabbed at her, it was obvious that she could do more than serve. As did all the serving girls, Vilyamar noted...All were young and most were pretty enough. By the way they ran their fingers across men’s shoulders, or chatted, in most obviously suggestive poses, the monk could clearly tell that this inn could get very rowdy and that these women likely earned money in more ways than one.
Infact, Vilyamar nearly blushed when the returned girl leaned much farther forward than was necessary, exposing enough of her pale, smooth cleavage to nearly make his jaw drop.
“There you are”
She said in her best sweet and innocent voice. Then, running her fingers along his shoulder and standing behind him, she leaned into his cloaked ear and said gently.
“If you need anything. Anything at all, I’ll be waiting.”
With that she was gone. Looking down at his meal, he studied the seasoned beef slabs and flat bread…
* * *
From the moment he entered the inn, the Kender was lost. Not Master Hillock, any of the barmaids, or even very many of the occupants noticed him as he bounded beneath the tables and scurried towards the shadowed booths along the wall. He went about his sneaky business like the professional he was and, within seconds was sitting in one of the booths, leaning casually against the wall. It was hard to hear the soft spoken words of the other occupants of the booths.
”…Aye the woods too wet…..burn right….. “ (From his far left)
“….and me hammer broke…..the metal almost took me head off!”(From his far right right)
“Sure I can….and three days is enough ta finish the cellar…” (From his immediate left
“Aye we could do that…..she’s there too much though-“”Not so loud!” (Immediate right)
* * *
It wasn’t until after his second mug of wine that the bard slid his stool beside Scourge and turned to stare at him.
“Boy yer a big fella! I’de bet my lute you’ve been some places. An by the looks of yer…equipment there, you’ve got some tales to tell! Say…This is your lucky day! I just so happen to be going to the Castle this week. King Elethorn enjoys my entertainment, you see. Whatdyasay ya tell me about some of your adventures. I’ll relay them to the king. That way, he hears a story he aint heard of before, and you get to become famous…In name at least. Come on pal. I’de love to hear of some of your adventures.”
(Teros. I didn’t know what to do for you, since you had him stand behind Scourge and watch him. So, if you order a drink, assume you get it, if you order food, assume you get it.)
“Aye we could do that…..she’s there too much though-“”Not so loud!”
What a phrase! And Elandor had heard it!
His attention immediately caught he forgot about the other ongoing conversations and listened intently on what was being said. It was not so much the earlier words that had moved his exited ear. The last, urging command had flexed the kender’s every muscle. ”When somebody needs to hush, there’s a need to rush.” his grandfather had told him, meaning that you should never let the occasion slip to sneak into a private conversation. Some very interesting things could be discovered that way.
For a second Elandor looked back at the bar, afraid that Scourge would be all alone sitting at the bar. Seeing the bard talking to the big warrior he returned his attention to the secrecy of the dark booth.
Damien smiled slightly with the permission from the barkeep to test his skill before the numbers here. Tossing his cloak over his shoulder, he turned and strode towards the dais with something of a swagger to his movement. In his mind, he went over each piece he might perform before them, trying to decide on what might get the best response and save him from having to pay for the night in this place.
Jak O’ The Shadows might not be the best choice, though its pretty popular in other lands. Something uplifting might help business here, and thus, earn me quarters for the night, but...
A certain song stuck out in his dark mind, though one that had not initially been recited by his own throat. However, he was able to remember it perfectly. Every pitch and every word to every verse. It had been sung to him, years ago, in a small boat on midnight water. The voice that it belonged to was that of a past lover, Elena. Damien had always thought there was at least a small drop of elf blood in the optimistic woman, for she sang and looked beautiful to him on every occasion, though she always denied it if he questioned.
Licking his lips, the poet glanced around, surveying his crowd and how they might take to his performance. Perhaps not the best of all, but he wanted to recite this song, as it had been sung to him so many years ago atop the water.
With an upraised hand, he called for silence and attention from all, and felt the eyes of the various patrons draw to his enshrouded figure. He made no declaration of the title of the song, for he never truly knew one if it carried any, but had simply titled it Water on his own. Regardless, he would not name somebody else’s song for them, and began to set a pace for himself.
“Into the night, upon the water,
we push out, and break the stillness of the bay.
The brilliance of the stars above us,
flicker to life within the harbor,
and dipping the oar into the water,
we glide outwards and away.”
Elena’s beautiful face appeared in Damien’s mind, smiling at him the way she used to do so.
“Tonight, love, your hand will not write,
your mind may wander, though,
into those deep lagoons you know,
and your boat will go alone.
La da da da da da da da da da.
You sang to the moon.”
The image was rebuilding itself within the bard’s mind.
“Into the night, upon the water,
we pull the boat back to shore.
The brilliance of the stars reflected in water,
flicker to life within the harbor,
and dipping the oar into the water,
we return to the stillness of the port.”
He could swear that he could feel the calm, cool air of the bay upon his face.
“As we lay upon the shore,
under a moon in the great black night,
we wait for it, for there are only two things now,
the great black night, and the glowing fires.
Listen love, the darkness reigns.
The darkness reigns.
Listen, the darkness reigns.
The darkness reigns.
And yet, the moon still shines.”
The entire scene had recreated itself within Damien’s mind as he slowly closed his lips and ended his song. His heart, which he thought could feel nothing aside from cold, burned within his breast. He ached inside his ribs.
“Why did I ever leave like that in the midst of the festival?” He whispered to himself as he stepped down from the dais and moved to an unoccupied corner of the room. Right now, he wanted to be alone, and more than ever, was hoping that he earned the rooms he sought to win through his performance. A flash of anguish crossed the man’s face as he sat down, and he pulled his cloak around him to try to shut out the cold that he was feeling all over.
Teros chuckled a bit as he watched the look on the inkeepers face. Indeed he could not of suspected less from the man since it was quite a surprise, but it wasn't uncommon for spellcasters to have animals that could talk in one fashion or another and Teros had met a few in his life. As that dark bard and the big guy in front of his finished Teros stepped forward. He thought of asking for a room, but why waste his money when the bard could get one for free? Even if he wanted to sleep and pray alone it would be rude to pass his offer up, and the man was rarely nice so he figured he would just walk back and find a table.
As soon as he turned around he spotted his two other companions. Slowly he made his way to the table and took a seat, not speaking but just glancing around. He was tired and was ready for a night in a real bed, but he was eager to continue with their journey as well. Too occupy his time he watched the members of their "party". He had lost the Kender but half-elf made up with his interesting response to the bar maid. Finally Damien went up to sing.
At first Teros thought he was going to be as disgusted as he was last time. But this time was different, and he had a strange feeling it gave just a little insight to why this man was so demented and tormented. It was a little disturbing, but in the end he nodded his approval.
Vilyamar felt the rim of his ears burn and thanked the gods for his wisdom to leave his hood up. Shame is not a public thing if noticed, but the half-elf nodded that the red wine would do fine and watched the barmaid turn and go back to the kitchen. His mouth turned into but a thin line as he silently berated himself for letting his wits go. "Punch" was a drink for nobles, consisting of chilled wine and fruit juices blended, or at least it was probably considered for nobles here, where fresh fruits seemed to be a rarity at this time of year.
He poured from the pitcher containing the wine as the satyr made an order for food as well. Not a whole lot of wine, but enough to quench his thirst. The mug was scratched in more than a few places and chipped on one edge. Vilyamar avoided that edge, but after eyeing the cup for a moment took a sip of the wine and nodded in satisfaction.
The serving girl came back with a tray and platter of bread and cheese and bits dried fruit, the last bits of the stores by the looks of them. The monk felt his ears burn fiercely as the girl dipped low, much lower than need be, to display a view of her bosom that gave much insight to his humanity. He averted his eyes and reached for a piece of bread as she spoke and moved. She was graceful for a human, pretty, too.
“There you are”
She said in her best sweet and innocent voice. Then, running her fingers along his shoulder and standing behind him, she leaned into his cloaked ear and said gently.
“If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be waiting.”
The monk’s mouth quirked at the corner and accompanied with the short silent laugh, it was more mirth than he had shown during any other time since he had joined the monastery so very long ago. But it lasted little more than the moment and he felt the burning dissipate in his tipped ears as he took some cheese with the other hand and began to chew on it along with a bite of bread.
He watched the bard take the stage after tossing a glance toward the young serving girl who was making her way along the bar. Beneath the shadows of his hood he saw her turn her head and look back at him once more. She really was quite pretty, and her features looked almost with a hint of elven, she might have had a drop in her veins somewhere. The event of two half-bloods meeting in such a place would be rare indeed. His eyes would’ve lost a slight luster for any who could’ve seen them as he thought again how truly alone in the world he was. There weren’t many of his kind.
The dark human approached the dais and the half-elf’s ears pricked. The bard was really quite good at what he did. Vilyamar turned his hooded face to the dais where Damien sat now, but he stopped and peered off, changing his mind. He hummed a little to gain a pitch, and then began to sing. Vilyamar could almost see the night described, could almost feel the bay, smell the sea once more. He had been to the sea once. He had not remained long but it was not something one could forget easily, even with more than 50 years between it and the present.
Vilyamar looked back at the bar to where Teros and Scourge sat, one drinking the other ordering. Then Vilyamar started, and he realized he had lost the kender during the performance. He searched the room; the little fellow had their only means of paying for transport. He turned to Mahou.
“Have you seen the little one?” Vilyamar asked calmly.
Scourge turned his attention to the stranger who had slid his barstool closer to him while he sat trying to enjoy his Golden ale in peace and quiet. The overly flamboyant personality and extrovertive attitude showed Scourge much about the man; mainly that he was unafraid of a little danger if it meant a great story to tell should he survive it.
Walking along the shoulder blades from one side of Scourge to the other, the raven cocked his head to the side as his beady little eyes watched the bard curiously before speaking.
"The stories I tell would only give cause for your patrons to shudder and weep, to awaken in the dark of night with shivers of chill running down their veins. Would cause the king to look upon you as some sort of madman,for certainly the will of Erenall is beyond that of any mortal comprehension. Let it be known that his will is paramount, that none shall escape his embrace with time, and I Scourge shall bring deliverance to those whose time has come. Other than that good minstrel, I suggest you leave me to my drink lest you wish to take a place higher upon his sacred list."
With that Scourge returned to drinking his ale, while Orion the raven fluttered his wings and hopped atop the crystalline Scythe to peer about the common room.