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Author Topic: Thirsty Herald Chapter XIX, Firstflame  (Read 17553 times)
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Daron Soulstealer
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« Reply #15 on: June 07, 2013, 10:10:48 AM »

Chagrined, Daron moved to a table and sat.  Water?  That was going fill his belly?  Any story he'd ever heard of the generosity of desert people was quickly dashed.  Only the first cup was free?  He would be expected to pay for a second cup?  Just where did the waitress think he was hiding his coins?  No, better not go there.
 
The three furry bundles near his feet were getting restless.  Jake and Vlad began following their noses and scurried under other tables, hoping for a dropped morsel.  Unfortunately for them, this appeared to be a well kept establishment and those little treasure were few and far between.

Bart, however, jumped up onto Daron's lap.  The ferret stood on his back legs and looked up into his master's face, squeaking softly. 

Daron softly ran a hand down the ferret's back, leaned down and pressed his nose to the animals.  "Be patient, Bart.  I might need you to do your thing later if something doesn't change."

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Amabella Catston
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« Reply #16 on: June 07, 2013, 07:05:46 PM »

Amabella followed Triss to an empty table. She listened to Triss carefully, so that she would learn the correct pronunciations if she was unfamiliar with any of the offerings.

"Glad to have you at the Herald, Miss Amabella. Since it is still early in the day, might I recommend the fruzail sweet? It's a delicious mixture of fruits in a slightly sweetened syrup poured over a freshly baked flaky bread. Though, if you were looking for something a bit more hearty, the desert plate meal isn't too terribly large, but it does have some meat and vegetables gathered from the desert. To quench your thirst we also have our house specialty, Tulimon grape juice. We also have a wide selection of stiffer drinks, if that's more to your liking. And, of course, there's water. Any of those sound good to you?"

Amabella replied, "I would like to have the fruzail sweet and Tulimon grape juice, please. It does sound like an appropriate breakfast."

Amabella was about to have a seat at her table, but stopped to have another glance around. She saw a small woman in the back covering her face, so she didn't look like she wanted to be bothered. Amabella spotted an auburn-haired man who seemed to be deeply engrossed with his own meal at the moment. Then she observed the brown-haired man sit at his table for his water. Though she could not recall the brown-haired man giving his name, he did present himself as a soldier of some sort. Amabella did not want to eat right in front of him without at least saying something. 

Amabella looked up at the menu once more, then back at the brown-haired man. After looking at him more carefully, she smiled. Amabella weaved between the tables like a cat would, careful not to unsettle anything with her skirt. The korwyn gold trim of her dress glittered a bit in the tavern's gentle light.

Amabella addressed the brown-haired man, assuming a tone she typically used for customers.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Amabella, and I am a merchant. I am also a law student, but not a fighter, though I am willing to lend an ear to your situation if outlaws are involved. In the meantime, I will be more than happy to make you an offer. I will pay you 10 sans for your hat. It looks like an amanter's hat of solid construction, but a bit battered perhaps, so I think the price is fair. That should cover the cost of your breakfast, and a little to spare for your furry friends. What say you?"
« Last Edit: June 07, 2013, 07:13:14 PM by Amabella Catston » Logged

Ash Tyr
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« Reply #17 on: June 09, 2013, 12:22:25 AM »

He paused mid-bite. Triss had a hand on his shoulder, and he struggled to hear the humdrum of patrons conversing among themselves over the thump thump of his heartbeat. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. This moment in time swam through molasses, his attention held enthralled by that simple touch of her hand on his shoulder.

She moved away, and he could breathe again. The tavern and her patrons sprang to life around him. He finally took notice of the people around him. The formerly naked man had pants now. Triss was taking a patron's order. A redheaded woman had seated herself apart from everyone else. This was Triss's world, not his. He was more accustomed to tending to the needs of horses.

He'd been eating this entire time, hardly noticing the food sliding down his gullet. But he did take note of the empty plate before him. With the plate in one hand he made his way past seated patrons, walking out of the tavern's commons room and into the kitchen. It wasn't his job to wash dishes, but it would bother him if he simply left the plate there for Triss to wash. So he started to scrub the dish using water kept in the kitchen for just that purpose.
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Mallorix Volinkov
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« Reply #18 on: June 17, 2013, 07:42:33 AM »

“Furl the sails!”

“Make fast the lines!”

Mallorix hurried with the other sailors to dock the ship. He had been at sea many months already, and decided that this was far enough. The city of Strata sat before him, though he had little time to enjoy the beauty of the houses in the afternoon glow. As the ship moved closer and closer to the pier, Mallorix prepared to jump and tie the lines. The boat creaked forward, and he launched himself onto the wood below.

A few short hours later, Mallorix was on his way north. He had bought a horse reluctantly with the money sewn into his boots. He would have preferred not to use it, if only to forget faster what had happened out on the ocean. All the money in his purse was from work he had done afterward. The money hidden in his clothes was tainted with memories. He had asked around, and heard there was a tavern north of Strata: the Thirsty Herald, where many travelers and adventurers stayed, whether for a day or longer.

He rode through the night, stopping only to water his horse. Mallorix made sure not to push the animal too hard, but he still rode fast. As the sun rose, he could see his destination in the distance. The young man thought to himself,

Good. I’ll be in time for breakfast.

In less than an hour, he was near the tavern. Mallorix dismounted and led his horse to the front, tying it loosely to a post. He could already hear the sounds of patrons; it looked like they had started eating already. He leaned inside the door.

“Hello? I’m a traveler, on my way North. I’ve been riding all night, and am hungry. My horse needs stabling, and I need food.”
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"I despise merchants. All of them are fat, rich men who yell about things and take your money."
Mallorix's CD
Ash Tyr
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« Reply #19 on: June 18, 2013, 10:32:08 AM »

Ash scrubbed the dishes quickly. He'd only been in the kitchen a few moments, but it already felt like the walls were closing in on him. Four walls and a roof overhead... he didn't understand how people lived in these things, these buildings.

He re-entered the commons area, again weaving his way through patrons and their tables, doing his best to not disturb anyone. He reached the front door just in time to see a newcomer lean in.

Careful not to bump into the other man, Ash stepped past him and through the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder as he moved past. "I'll see to your horse. Tristessa over there will set you up with a good meal." He looked in the direction of the barmaid as she took the patrons' orders.
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Sanzoku
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« Reply #20 on: August 23, 2013, 08:41:04 AM »

A rogue wind swirls a quick wave of sand up into Sanzoku's face "Coor I hate deserts" he mutters under his breath.

"Come now," a familar voice echoes in his head. "This journey is necessary if we are to reach Nermeran. You haven't forgotten our orders already have you?"

"Do you take me for a fool!" Sanzoku shouts but quickly remembers he is only talking to himself and lowers his voice. "I am not one to forget a mission, but these conditions are less than favorable." Sanzoku clutches his hood tighter as another breeze throws sand into his face.

Looking down Sanzoku tightens his grip on his lantern, the black cloth that is draped over it blows wildly with each gust of hot air. "Best keep this close, if I lose it  I will have to travel all the way back to Nybelmar for another. The Order would not be pleased." The contents of the lantern were of the upmost importance, a sacred item to the Black Flame and crucial to Sanzoku's current mission. No matter how miserable Sanzoku felt, he had to keep the lantern safe.

"Why do you insist on complaining we are almost at a resting point." the voice mocked.

"What are you on about?" Sanzoku raises his head and is surprised to see a building in the distance, distorted through the heat waves, but deffinalty real. "How did I not see that sooner," Sanzoku ponders, "but perhaps I did." Sanzoku sometimes forgets the voice in his head is merely an extension of himself, and only knows what he does.

"Kumori, how you holding up?" Sanzoku looks down with a slight smile. A black cat, clearly as miserable as his owner mearly looks up and growls. "I know buddy, we are almost there"

Soon Sanzoku finds himself facing a wooden door, carefully opening it he steps into the tavern. Quickly he makes his way to the bar. Lowering his hood he lookes at the bar keep and with a smile asks "Two glasses of water please, one for me and one for my friend here."

Reaching into his sack he pulls out a silver bowl and places it on the bar counter. Without pause Kumori leaps up and patienly waits for some water. After recieving his water and filling his companions bowl Sanzoku takes a long drink and smiles. "Much better" he mumbles taking a look around the tavern.

"Not much talent here." the voices laughs with a condescending tone.

Placing the covered lantern on the bar counter Sanzoku nods and thinks "No, but this is merely a single stop amoung a long journey," Leaning slightly back Sanzoku begins to gather his thoughs while he gently begins to stroke Kumori's head, "just one of many"
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Laell
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« Reply #21 on: August 24, 2013, 01:36:05 PM »

Slowly, she lowered her hands and looked about the inn again, her palms resting against the table now. Two more people entered, one who announced himself as a traveler on his way north, a story more than a little familiar to the red-haired girl, it being her own. Her hands eventually went from the table to her lap as she studied the second new visitor, a strange man with a strange familiar, and of all the things she noticed, an even stranger lamp; granted, it was just a hooded lamp, and she'd seen them before, but something about this lamp struck her; something made it stick out, and she wasn't immediately sure what.

Vaguely, timidly, manners that were not at all herself, Laell tried to get one of the place's staff's attention, failed, and considered surrendering. She did have a little flour set aside, if it hadn't gone to parasites yet, and there was water in the well. If the situation demanded, and she could find something to heat the stove on her cart with, she could bake her own bread- but no, that wouldn't be necessary. They would see her, probably already had and decided that, with the way she'd covered her face, she wanted to be left alone. Her own fault, she chided herself quietly, and shrugged.
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On one hand, they claim that it is the result, not the effort given, that will imprint one forever in history; but on the other, is it not the form of the art, rather than the function, that defines its true beauty?
Sanzoku
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« Reply #22 on: August 24, 2013, 02:36:13 PM »

Sanzoku, lowering his hood, gently ran his hand through his hair, with each stroke more sand began to trickle to the ground. "Coor I hate deserts." Sanzoku thinks. Reaching out he begins to gently pet Kumori and with each pet more sand began to fall. "You didn't fair much better did you my friend." Sanzoku said sighing.

Kumori looks up and just gives a quirky meow as if to say "You think."

"You're standing out," a voice whispers, "A cloaked man with a cloaked lantern. You need to blend or would you perhaps prefer all of Strata asking about you."

Rolling his eyes Sanzoku thinks, "you over exagerate...as usual, but you are right. Mingling would be the best course of action." Sanzoku scans the room studying every group, every person, looking for the right target to mingle with. It is then he notices a smaller girl sitting alone, her hair was the most vivid blood red. It is almost entrancing and causes her green eyes to vividly pop. She appears to be trying to get the wait staff's attention but to no avail.

She is perfect.

"Kumori," Sanzoku whispers "watch the item, if anyone approaches, let me know." Kumori nods in understanding and begins to lick his paw to clean the sand off his head. Rising to his feet and Sanzoku slowly begins to make his way to the girl. Stopping at an appropriate distance Sanzoku smiles and with a slight bow says "Sorry to bother you Miss, but would you mind if I sat here and had a chat with you. I'm just passing through with my companion over there and would love some company." Straightening himself again Sanzoku stares into her bright green eyes and continues his charasmatic smile.
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Gilith
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« Reply #23 on: August 24, 2013, 04:16:05 PM »

Gilith had arrived, finally. To the herald. He had traveled for quite a few days sleeping in the wilderness making his bed of the twigs and the ground. His appearance would attest to that. Or at least his cloak which had been both blanket and mattress for him the last week or so. Gilith leaned heavily on the makeshift walking stick he had cut from some wood that he had found along the trail as he made his way towards the building. He flipped down his hood as he neared the door. Then setting the staff down next to it he slowly opened the door and stepped into the building. Gilith looked around imagining the wonders of having a real bed to sleep in and a bath if he could find one.

Looking around he noticed the rooms inhabitants seeing a good many folk in here as well as a few of the staff. Gilith picked a table which was currently unoccupied yet not totally isolated from the rest of the taverns occupants. He set down his cloak on the back of the chair and then his bow and arrows next to it after he pulled the chair from under the table, then placed his back pack under neath of the chair. He let his sword continue to hang off of his side so that the handle rested on his leg as he sat down. He debated removing it but he really hated to let his sword out of immediate grasp. Especially since this kind of thinking had saved his life in the past.

Gilith looked around and noted a conversation going on between two of the people inside this building. Or rather not so much the conversation but the people and or person involved with the conversation. Which happened to be an elf. Gilith wasn't exactly surprised to see an elf in the building. Just merely deciding that it was note worthy. Not every day did you come across one of their kind. Though inspecting closer, Gilith noticed some odd things about this certain elf. Hmm. What was the name of that tribe he had heard about? He knew that they had a certain peculiar skin color, as well as eye colors not common among elves. Yifrim? Ifryme? Ah well, whatever the name. He was sure that some body at one point had mentioned that these elves tended to be a bit religiously... Well he had used the word group of cultists. Though Gilith never having met one of these people before didn't exactly know if he would quite label them like that. Perhaps he might if he got to know one. Or perhaps he might find them friendly. Time would have to tell.

Gilith reached into his pouch and pulled out a small group of sans that he kept inside of it. Around forty five fifty in total. At least this is what he kept inside of his pouch.

He didn't know what the price of a room was, or the price of food. But he counted out twenty sans and then split them off from the pile. Having nothing left to do until one of the employees came around Gilith leaned back in his chair and took this time to relax. A rare luxury for him, and one that he greatly appreciated after so many days of such harsh travel.

 
Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Laell
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« Reply #24 on: August 27, 2013, 08:50:13 AM »

From her seat, Laell noticed the elf with the lamp and apparently a cat stand. He was tall, she noted, incredibly so. Then again, he was an elf, and they did tend to be tall; at least as far as she understood. Growing up in Bardavos, she'd only seen one or two, though the city obviously housed far more than that, being the center of artistry as it was. His pale skin was something startlingly new, too, and it was with effort that she didn't stare, before noticing red eyes which were strange, but didn't seem all that outlandish.

As much as Laell didn't want to stare, though he was apparently walking toward her, those curious green eyes went to visible scars on his arms, and for reasons she couldn't pinpoint, an eerie chill shot down her spine. Deliberately, she looked away and closed her eyes before she heard him speaking, and then she was looking at him again.

For several seconds after he'd finished, and stood waiting for her response, Laell simply stared dumbfounded at the elf. It was with effort that she began, "Um, sure, I- yes, that's- p- please, do. I'd be grateful for the company." Silently, she berated herself for being so hopelessly clumsy today, closing her eyes tightly and looking down, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so- I'm not usually this- this, um... this clumsy." In a whisper she added the expletive, "Oh, Seyella."
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On one hand, they claim that it is the result, not the effort given, that will imprint one forever in history; but on the other, is it not the form of the art, rather than the function, that defines its true beauty?
Gilith
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« Reply #25 on: January 02, 2014, 03:26:39 PM »

Gilith looked arounf the tavern and noticed that the woman next to that strange elf was acting a little funny. Well now, this wouldn't do. This type of elf had something a little darker in their background. Be it either a murderous tendency insanity or both, Gilith couldn't really remember. Either way, he thought it safer to go over to their table and just make sure she was ok.

Gilith picked up his equipment put it away, and made his way to the table wkth a smile. Greeting them happily and and pulling up a seat casually. Turning to the woman and asking her her name offering her his hand and still smiling at her as he did so.

"Hello miss, my name is Gilith Greenwood, may I ask yours?"

Giltih however though he did not appear to kept one eye on that elf. Hid other hand on his leg, but also close to his sword. Which while sheathed was a little bit for a quicker and easier draw. Though in all honesty atthis close ofrange he might very well pull out the dagger at his belt if things got messy, it all depended on what the elf did, and for that matter the female too.
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Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Laell
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« Reply #26 on: January 04, 2014, 06:13:37 AM »

A tiny bubble of anxiety pressed against Laell's heart, throbbing with the warning that she never should have left Bardavos. In Bardavos, she wasn't approached by ashen-skinned elves and dark-clothed hooded men, both large and muscular enough to leave her feeling like less than a mite on a needle's head. Equally, both were sporting battle scars, a traditional badge of honor, she supposed, that she herself as a swords-person had never yet been given the honor, or responsibility perhaps, of wearing. The man that approached was smiling, and Laell tried her level best to smile back, though she was absolutely certain, without being able to prove it, that she shrank more than a little at his entrance and introduction.

For a long moment, she was certain her luck could not have gone any worse; and then he offered his hand. His greeting sounded polite enough, but frankly, Laell wasn't certain she was hearing anything anymore, and looked up at him in a smile that she was slowly realizing was a look of desperate hopelessness, and there wasn't anything at all she could do about it.

"Harleis. It's a pur- I m- Laell. The f-" and with that, she gave up trying to talk, doing her best to smile at him and only hoping, fully aware that the hope was misgiven, that her smile was at least somewhat confident. Inside, the bubble burst, and her hands clenched, having completely forgot about his offered, as the urge to run away washed out every other conscious thought.
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On one hand, they claim that it is the result, not the effort given, that will imprint one forever in history; but on the other, is it not the form of the art, rather than the function, that defines its true beauty?
Gilith
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« Reply #27 on: January 21, 2014, 06:15:07 AM »

Gilith let his hand drop with an easy going wave, showing that it wasn't a problem. He still sat back in a relaxed manner with a casual smile decorating his lips. This women seemed quite nervous, and he didn't think he had done anything wrong, but maybe he had. However, he decided to continue on anyway.

"Hello Leall, I'm pleased to meet you, I apologize if I've made you nervous. Perhaps I should leave you to eat and come back later?"

Gilith while worried about her, did not honestly know her, and so long as he was near he didn't anything was going to happen, leastwise nothing to serious. So he wouldn't mind going to wait over at his table and give her some space if she requested it.
Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
Laell
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« Reply #28 on: January 26, 2014, 03:47:49 PM »

"No, I'm sorry. Sit- sit down if you want. We'll have quite a crowd soon, I guess. I don't know what's happening to me today. I'm so clumsy and... just fumbling everything. I couldn't even get the door open."

Now, Laell found herself laughing softly, no more than a breath at the lack of control she had been exhibiting, and that control she found herself regaining, a little bit at a time. Her own hand was extended to him now, with a more deliberate smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Greenwood. Laell Harleis, of Bardavos; breadmaker."

She let their hands clasp briefly, and sipped at her food gingerly, experimentally. "So what brings you to the edge of the desert? Pardon the assumption, but you look like more of a mountain man, or a woodsman. Or at least," with a tiny chuckle, "what I imagine one of those people would look like. I'm sorry, that was rude."
« Last Edit: January 26, 2014, 03:48:30 PM by Laell » Logged

On one hand, they claim that it is the result, not the effort given, that will imprint one forever in history; but on the other, is it not the form of the art, rather than the function, that defines its true beauty?
Gilith
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« Reply #29 on: January 28, 2014, 03:42:03 AM »

Gilith was indeed worried that he had startled this women something awful, and qite willing to move if that would help her out. As she seemed to be in a great deal of distress, from something or other. However his concerns eased as she began to speak clearly and coherently to him. He even began to smile slightly as she offered him her hand, which he took and shook gently. Making sure not to crush it or shake it to vigorously. He nodded his head at her telling him her name and her profession. He smiled ever more as she asked him why a woodsman had come so close to the desert. Guessing correctly indeed, he shook his head when she mentioned being rude. Saying to her in response.

"No, not rude at all. Correct actually. I'm what most people call a ranger, and I've traveled my share of mountains in my day, not the most welcoming of places. Though truth be told, I guess the only mountains I really visited were the Tandalas a while back. As to why I'm here, well, I take some mercenary work when I can, and this place is somewhere I hand't been yet, So I thought I'd try it out. So how about you, do you live around here or are you just passing through too?"
« Last Edit: January 28, 2014, 05:11:06 AM by Gilith » Logged

Aye, I've my fair share of scars. Perhaps a bit too many to be honest, decent sign of a careless man. But those don't bother me, they heal, and even if they don't heal right I've always found a way to deal with 'em. The ones I can see at least, the others...the ones inside. They aren't so easy to forget about, they don't heal like the others do. They might heal in a day, a week, a year. Or maybe some like mine, won't ever heal at all. There's no getting past these scars, you can't treat it, you can't cover it up, and you can't find a way around it. But, there comes a day, when you learn to live it, and you stop living in the past, so you can do what your able for the future.

Gilith
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