Thirsty Herald Chapter XVIII

[Quáel]

"Ha sounds great! There's never a place I mean to go to anymore, I travel for the sake of travelling. But this Strata sounds like a down-right fun city to go to!"

Quáel wondered if this was how elves spoke? She had only been in the Zeiphyrian forest for a small, small time of her life. Her and Cull were very young when they decided to leave. . . Cull.

When Quáel thought of her long-lost friend, she could feel a tight knot forming in her throat.

"What is Strata like?" she asked Jack, to get rid of the empty feeling she had been experiencing since the loss of her greatest, and dearest friend. Not a day had gone by since she didn't feel that way.

[Irid alMenie]

Claudia looked over to where her mother pointed out the elfess. Balancing the bowl in both hands, she walked over and put the bowl in front of the elf, who was now talking to one of the other customers. "This is for you!" she said, proud to have done a task well. Leaving the woman to her stew, she looked around and went over to the only customer who was still alone, the last one to have arrived. "Can I help you with anything?" she asked, smiling up at her, trying to emulate her mother's professional attitude.

[Quáel]

Quáel had not been this excited in a long time.

She apologized to Jack by saying, "Haha sorry but I haven't eaten a hot meal like this in a long time! I won't be talking a whole lot until I finsih every last bit of this stew."

Quáel stared into the steaming contents of the bowl, and started putting spoonfuls of it in her mouth. As she put about he fifth spoonful in her mouth, she noticed the nice compliment of bread on the side, and chowed it down in one bite.

She was wondering if this was rude of her, but she didn't really care to much, she was hungry, what was she going to do. Not eat? Haha no way, she couldn't pass up something as good as this!

[Laell]

"That sounds great, the Tulm- the-" Laell can't help but laugh, putting the back of her left hand to her forehead, leaning forward a little, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm not usually this... scattered. Not my best morning, or day really. I would like to try the Tulimon Grape that you suggested, though I'm no expert at wines, and a stew does sound perfect. Do you..." Her eyes catch the loaf of bread on the bowl the child has brought to another customer, and smiles brightly at the child now looking expectantly up at her. Willing and eager to help; so much like herself, before her father was murdered, before her mother died of grief and criminals chased her from Bardavos. The change of pace from comic to tragic has shocked not only the clumsiness from Laell, but the amusement as well, and though her smile fades, she still regards the child pleasantly and turns her attention back to the hostess.

"Sorry," the red-haired woman recuperates from the pause, and shakes her head. "I'm apologizing too much and my mind isn't as sharp as it should be. Do you make the bread yourself? I only ask because I'm interested in breads and breadmaking."

Entirely true, with the added benefit of being an understatement. Breadmaking is both literally and proverbially Laell's bread. It was how she'd been surviving, and how she intended to survive, with the hope that she could find ingredients and an oven wherewith to ply her trade. Nothing had foiled her yet, and she didn't expect anything to.

Her eye finds an empty table nearest where she's standing now, and she steps away from the hostess with the vague gesture of a curtsy, motioning vaguely with both her gaze and her left hand. "I'll be over there, if that's alright. I do have coin and I intend to pay, but all my things are on my cart, if you could... remind me of how much I owe you before I go."

[Tristessa Stonebridge]

"That sounds great, the Tulm- the- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm not usually this... scattered. Not my best morning, or day really. I would like to try the Tulimon Grape that you suggested, though I'm no expert at wines, and a stew does sound perfect. Do you...Sorry, I'm apologizing too much and my mind isn't as sharp as it should be. Do you make the bread yourself? I only ask because I'm interested in breads and breadmaking."

Triss gave a small smile as the young woman stepped all over her words. She did seem to be very nervous, but Triss hadn't the slightest clue as to what could be causing it. Perhaps the reason she stopped at the Herald in the first place? Ah, it wasn't her place to judge the customers who came in through her doors. The woman mentioned that she was going to sit at the table nearest to them, and started to head that way. Triss gave another smile, then looked down at her daughter.

"Claudia, why don't you get her a piece of our bread? You can even tell her that yes, we do make it ourselves and how you even helped with it." She patted her daughter on the back as she stepped over to the bar to fill the drink orders. She then remembered that she also had to get a taenish ready for another guest. She decided that she would get the drinks first, and then step back into the kitchen to prepare the meal.

Grabbing a stoneware cup, she dunked it into a barrel which held cool drinking water straight from their well outside. Setting it upon the counter, Triss wiped the excess water off the sides before grabbing another cup. As she set that one upon the counter as well, she grabbed a bottle from underneath the counter and undid the cork. The sweet smell of Tulimon Grape Wine filled her nostrils as the smell wafted up from the bottle. She poured a good amount into the empty cup. She put the cork back in, but before she brought the drinks to the customers, she made a few notes upon her paper pad about who had ordered what and how much they owed. Slipping the pad into her apron pocket, she picked up the two cups and brought them to the two women who were waiting.

She set the Tulimon Wine down in front of the red-haired woman. "My daughter, Claudia, will be with you shortly, if there's anything else you need." she said with a smile and a small head bob. She moved on to the table where the two other women sat. She noted that Claudia had managed to serve the right person. That didn't always happen, so Triss was proud when her daughter did well.

"Here's your glass of water, ma'am," Triss said as she set the cup down. "I'll be back shortly with your taenish dish." She glanced over to the Elven woman who seemed to be enjoying her stew and bread. "Is everything tasting alright, ma'am?"

[Quáel]

As Quáel heard the woman ask, "Is everything tasting alright, ma'am" She tried to answer with a mouthful of stew in her mouth. The steaming juices slid down the wrong pipe, and she began choking. She coughed all over, spewing out chunks of the stew. After her little fit, she attempted a "Yes it's very go--" Quáel choked these words out in a raspy whisper, and when she was almost finished with her responce, she began coughing again.

She got the last of the stew out of her windpipe, eyes watering, and repeated, "Yes it's very good!" with a huge smile on her face. "Thank you for everything." Quáel told the nice woman. And began shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth yet again.

[Laell]

She wanted to dive in, but manners held her back. Instead, Laell finds herself sipping thoughtfully at the wine - besides, she reminds herself. Another glass costs another several sans. And it's not like she's extremely limited, but waste is waste.

An elven woman almost too thoroughly enjoying soup and bread, and Laell finds a happy sigh escaping her. Maybe she is one of the ones that spotted the red-head coming in, and her disastrous entrance. She rolls her eyes at the thought of it, and sips the wine to soothe herself. Pleasant tasting, sweet; a lovely wine. Not that Laell would know much of them. Mother kept them happy as youths with bread, fresh milk and cheeses, and water. She'd been upset at Traell and Mirrel, their uncle, for bringing in some drink the two appeared to be sharing. That was back when Mirrel was actually allowed to enter the house.

Her mind wanders from here, to the possibility of having her own establishment like this. She'd have someone else run it, of course; someone motherly, maybe a little older, assisted by whoever she found was good enough to play the part. Serve people with young women her own age, create a... pleasant, relaxed atmosphere. Somewhere people could go to collect, to think, and to eat. Then again, she realizes as she brings herself back to reality, here she is doing all of those things - well, not eating yet, but in a bit - in a modest building on the edge of Southern Sarvonia's desert, run by a mother and served by a child too young for any man to be lost in, unless he happened to be a very, very ill man. Laell sits upright again, and looks slowly about the room, trying to get a more concrete feel of the other patrons, offering them each in their turn a pleasant smile. At least, she thinks it's a pleasant smile.

[Ishmaelion]

Where have the years gone... Ishmaelion mumbles to himself before he opened the door of the Thirsty Herald.

Seven years, seven long years and now, finally, he has found his way back to his most favorite of taverns. His dusty cloak has changed together with the man wearing it. Once a care-free doompreacher and philosopher, and now, well, a care-free doompreacher and philosopher with a good knowledge of the Trollish tongue. His cloak was sun-worn and oddly scarred in some places (some trolls did not appreciate the quest for knowledge of the red-haired man).

Feeling his chin to make sure that no stubbles remained after his morning shave, he nodded appreciatively at the interior of the tavern. In many ways the tavern had changed over the years, but the feel of the place was exactly the same as the place where a lot of memories had been lost (almost complete years to Ishmaelion's mind) and where he had slept ever so heavenly (booze-induced sleep was always a bliss to the haunted soul).

Ah, The Thirsty Herald! He said out loud as he moved into the common room with his hands stretched out, encompassing his surroundings. Favorite sinking hole of whole Sarvonia, and beyond! Cradle of humanity, utter heaven of the downtrodden and weary. The End is near, of course, but we will make such an End! The Eye will open and the Beasts will pour forth, but in this haven, this sanctuary of hope and forgiveness, this distilling place for fondness and memory, we will stand firmly and drink!

He moved on, almost dancingly, towards the bar and, getting fired up, shouted.

Sir lord Orc! Where is my brave compatriot of the heavenly Ale? The greenish hue of your skin is a welcoming sight for the restless. Ishmaelion looked around without seeing what truly was there, lost in memory of a time where a fearsome orc stood behind the bar, years ago. Every traveler gets his due at the Thirsty Herald! All of you, he turns towards a non-existing crowd, let us share this moment of utter glory before the All-seeing Eye consumes our Souls and Bodies. Let us clink and clank our ale and wine so that the World and the Beasts of the Endtime will shake in terror and leave us to our clamour. I say to you, in the tongue of the trolls: ZAGHAKHA, ZAGHAKHA! MOSHMOSH ZAGHAKHA!

After this diatribe, Ishmaelion stood still, awaiting the applause and comments that must surely follow such an outstanding speech...
  

[Irid alMenie]

Tristessa was in the kitchen, tending the food for hungry travellers who would hopefully grace her tavern, now that the evening hour was approaching. Her guests from this morning had either taken a room or left for the last lap towards Strata, and the common room was, once again, empty. She still wondered what had possessed her to take over an inn so far remote from anything resembling civilization, but she still liked it here.

When the inn's door opened, she stood up hopefully. Before she had taken a step, she heard the new visitor muttering. "Ah, the Thirsty Herald!" as if remembering times past. He must have been here a long time ago, she thought, before she had made the business her own. At least, his face was not familiar to her, and she had a good head for faces. He was, however, a curious personage. His muttering did not cease, rather it swelled into a speech about the End being near, and then talking to an orc that she felt almost certain had never tended the bar, or if he had it would have been years ago.

Flinging her blonde hair back behind her shoulders, she went out to the bar, where the curious little man was now facing away from her - towards an empty room. Raising an eyebrow, not sure how to respond to his dramatic pose, she reverted to her role of innkeeper. "Can I help you, sir? Would you like anything to eat or drink? Perhaps a room for the night?"

[Ishmaelion]

"Can I help you, sir? Would you like anything to eat or drink? Perhaps a room for the night?"

Ishmaelion swiveled around and gazed at the blonde woman in front of him as if she were a ghost from the future. A smile creased his lips as he tried his best to imitate a flirtish swagger. He walked to the bar and tried to look into the eyes of this wondrous womanly creature, wondering where she had, so suddenly, come from and what she was doing behind the bar taking orders...

My sweet, sweet lady. Thine fair hair has a hundred haloen hiding within. Thine eyes, lucious windows to a soul like the famous Lantern, set my hungry and thirsty soul free. Ah, to see you this day, reminds me of a poem I once read, before the End Times began and the Beasts of the Eye were set loose. Hark!

Ishmaelion cleared his throat and with a concentrated look on his face (his brows were furrowed in a most uncharming way) he started chanting an old poem:

A myriad of colour
Informs the perfect shape;
A hundred blending hues to form
A lovely woven cape.

The beauty of the light,
It’s holding me in awe;
It is the thing I love the most;
Amazing what I saw.

As touched by holy rain,
The petals are so bright;
I can’t believe my eyes no more,
I’m crippled by its might.

He paused and struggled to find the last verse in the labyrinth that was his mind.

Ah, well, yes!

Lost in that one view,
begone is woe, despair.
A ray of sun in darkening times,
This flower oh so fair

With a flourish he bowed before the lady who was, as he now realized, wearing a garment fit only for a serving wench. How cruel a fate must have befallen this wondrous lady, that she has had to take up the clothing of that filthy orc!

My sweet lady, I would find this orc and cast him asunder! He said with a look of profound pity in his eyes.

[Laell]

Laell slowly lowered her drink, brushing back her hair as another visitor entered. The short, strange man seemed to know this place, and walked confidently to the bar, only to be taken back when someone he wasn't expecting responded to his inquiries. His odd manner and speech set Laell to a silent laugh, and she turned herself deliberately to her table to hide it.

"My sweet, sweet lady," he began again, following it with a poem that was either on-the-spot, or quite old, and Laell found herself with another laugh, or perhaps the old one invigorated, pressing the barriers of what would be considered silent. Still, she forced herself to look away, hide the red on her face from acknowledging him, and worse, laughing at him, and focused on the food that hadn't managed the good grace of showing up yet.

The next recourse was the wine, but she'd just sipped that, and it needed conserving. Deliberately, slowly, and, she hoped, gracefully, she simply lay both her hands, palms flat, onto the table, staring at them, hoping that somehow, today's awkwardness would file out in these moments. Though in hindsight, she wondered if the awkwardness really was confined to just today.

[Irid alMenie]

Tristessa was slightly taken aback by the sudden poetry directed at her. She'd had some strange customers, but in this particular case she just did not know how to respond. Immediately after he said something about throwing an orc asunder. There he was again with his orc! Did he have a fixation with orcs or something? "I can assure you there is no orc in this vicinity, good sir. I would still like to know if you want something to eat or drink?" From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the few patrons, Laell, doing her best not to laugh at the strange man in front of her. At least, Tristessa hoped that she was laughing at the man, and not at her.

***to be continued***

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