The Sooty Cavern Tavern & Inn

[Lichen]

The verdant carpet of Acumin parted to reveal the last building that remained from before the war. Great stone blocks ascended to a total height of two floors, their irregular shapes molded together with mortar and occasionally replaced by glass-less windows. While the villagers had preserved the last building that didn't follow their new 'building codes' they had done what they could to make it fit in as much as possible, and so the whole building was crawling with vines. Honeysuckle had grown over so much of the walls that it was hard to see the stone beneath. The air was filled with a sweet scent during most of the spring and summer, the fragrance only dissipating inside the building where it was replaced by the smell of warm food.

Mila Ventrude was the owner and waitress of the Tavern and Inn. Her father had owned it before her but had passed away in the fighting, and so she had inherited the relic. Despite the far more natural ambiance she kept the tavern very well cleaned and in excellent shape. No creaky doors, no splintering wood.... the tavern was a well oiled machine under her care.

She spent much of her time behind the restored wooden counter up against the back wall, pouring drinks or taking orders. Bottles lined the wall, ales and wines, most bearing the roughly square wax stamp of Acumin’s own brewery. With the Vysstichi still running about, and drinking population limited in both number and cultural depth, it was easier and cheaper to buy Tom Tavers’ horse piss than trade out for better. Not that anyone minded – most who frequented the tavern came for the atmosphere rather than the bad beer

And atmosphere there was in spades. The tavern was full on a nightly basis, people covering benches and tables with food and laughter, discussing the day’s gossip and daring one another to taste Tavers’ newest flavor. Lanterns gave the place a golden glow, and the great fire Mila kept roaring in the fireplace sent sparks and light throughout. The tables and benches lay sprawled thick about the open room, parting only for the stairwell. They were made of wood, thick slices that were sanded and polished to a fine sheen, so that even the knots glowed a glossy black. They were the only dead wood that Acumin still possessed, and Mila was dead set on keeping them in good condition.

The top was reserved for rooms for the rare guest that Mila received. More often than not the only ones who slept in the tavern were those errant husbands whose wives had kicked them out of their houses. Occasionally a trader or two came through, but most of the tavern-goers were the villagers themselves. The customers were so predictable that Mila herself went to hunt down anyone who hadn’t shown up in a few days, just to make certain that their wives hadn’t killed them yet. For the most part they hadn’t, and life went on as usual – songs, gossip, ale and food. The staples of small town existence.

Originally written by Sidhe, edited by Lichen

Secrets : This area is open for self-moderation. Should you have wish to fill a strange order or have an unusual interaction, please ask the designated moderator for moderation.

[Ylewain]

Early Afternoon, Brightening 1 of the First Cycle of Ioannes
Spring of Era I of the Celestine Mandate
Era X Post Fractum in the Age of the Darkening, the Mageocracy of Julos the Mad

Fate had twisted turns, Ylewain reflected as she saw the name of the inn, “The Sooty Cavern”. Truly soot was an apt symbol for the present Acumin, scarred by fire and war. Oh, the village was slowly being restored, but it would not become this treasured Acumin she held dear in her memory until several eras at best ; if the marks of destruction were ever washed away by the tides of time.

Her wistful pang gone as quickly as it came, she made her way through the tavern, heading for the counter. While she was waiting for the bartender, she idly glanced at her surroundings. There was no glass in the windows, which were merely openings in the wall, and ivy was blossoming on the walls. It all gave an impression of negligence for Ylewain, although the building was certainly tidy and well-ordered.

“Serale,” she said as the barkeeper asked her what she wanted. “I would like to rent a private room for several Brightenings at the very least, if you will. I cannot say for sure for how long I will stay at your inn, but... well, until I have a roof I can call my own I guess.” Ylewain gave a smile to match with her light-hearted voice, but it did not last for long.

Something was writ in the bartender's eyes, a sign of sorrow. They were akin to jewels, beautiful to look at but cold, all life long gone. Whatever had fled from her, there was no mistaking her grief, or so Ylewain thought. The other woman did look her age, if her greying hair was any indication. Who could say what tolls the war had taken for her? Perhaps she had lost a child, or a loved husband because of the fighting. Or both.

However, Ylewain could not bring her to approach the barkeeper about her musings, fearing she may very well be misguided by her feelings. Above all, what was she to tell to comfort her? Paltry words would not be a balm for her pain, and queries about her past may only awaken sore memories. Thus Ylewain remained silent as she awaited, the mere shadow of a smile remaining on her lips.

[Tellurion Tanendar]

Tal really didn't know if he wanted to go in.

Sure, he needed somewhere to stay, but the crowns just weren't coming in, and there were plenty of burnt out ruins to squat in. His cloak made a very nice bed. Then there was Mila, too, the woman he'd not particularly liked who sent many of the last inhabitants of Acumin to their deaths. He'd never liked her, no, and he felt the feeling was mutual. To have her as a landlord...

Tal thought of many bad things. He put his hand up to the door... and pushed.

The tavern was a lot cleaner than he remembered. Some of the bloodstains had almost been scrubbed out, and the tables and chairs were sparse, but clean. He looked down to the bar... hoping somehow that Mila wouldn't be there. But she was. Next to a human he didn't think he'd met yet. Well, no big deal there, he mused, someone new to talk to. He strolled to the bench and looked Mila in the eye. He brought out his canteen. "Water, if you please," he said,as politely as he could. "And make sure it's boiling, right? I don't want to die of some stupid disease after living through..."

He immediately realised his mistake, and sheepishly turned to the new arrival.

"Serale," he said, looking pleasantly at the woman. "The name is Tellurion. Might I enquire as to whom you might be?"

Tal waited patiently for an answer.

[Ylewain]

The voice came to her ears before Ylewain made eye contact with the person. She slowly turned herself to meet the gaze of this man, feeling oddly reluctant to leave the secure world of her mind because of such a disturbance. Of course, she was usually willing to set her musings aside, as long as she did so of her own volition.

Tellurion was a human by his looks, as he did not share the peculiar physical characteristic of these other races Ylewain had heard of. He seemed to be of an ordinary build, neither a giant nor of the small folk, although there were his ears, one of them pointy while the other one was normal. But he did have a certain air of exotism, a je ne sais quoi which set him apart from most other men she had known. He was likely not from these parts, she surmised, thus explaining such differences. However, what did she know of the ways of the world? Very little ; and once more, she cursed her ignorance in such matters.

Another, more disturbing thought struck Ylewain. Her own appearance was certainly not what one would call usual, even when a layer of cotton covered her. Her hood did not fully hide her white hair, and her alabaster complexion was plain enough to see. She pouted as she was remember of her oddity, and how she would strike out in the midst of a crowd.

Dismissing her thoughts, Ylewain focused her attention on Tellurion, and her grey eyes stared at him. “Serale Tellurion,” she said, the name sounding awkward on her lips. “Why, my name is Ylewain. Pleased to meet you!” She tried to echo his lively mood, but in her voice remained a hint of sadness, a reminder of her yearning twinge.

“If I may ask, what brings you to Acumin Tellurion?” Ylewain dropped her voice, not willing to state the obvious by giving another account of the turmoil the town had faced lately. “I came when I heard about the restoration myself, looking for a job and... Well, some life besides the rustle of the wind and the sound of trickling water.” Once more she faltered, unwilling to speak at length of her life. While she waited for a response of some sort, Ylewain kept silent, her mind wondering why she had felt the need to share her feelings thus.

[Tellurion Tanendar]

Tellurion considered the question posed to him, and it did sort of make him wonder just exactly what had brought him to Acumin. But other more important things came first.

"Ylewain," he said to himself, rolling the word around his mouth, hoping he'd pronounced it correctly. "That's a very nice name."

He looked aside for a moment, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. He returned his gaze to her. "I came to Acumin because someone had sent me a letter. Said I'd be in for the ride of my life if I came here. A friend of mine went with me, and now..." Tal tried to wonder where on Telath Huturo was, for the last time he'd seen her she'd been in life and death Combat with a Vysticchi, her small, elegantly curved blades flashing with deadly skill. Tal was a dirty fighter. He'd knocked his opponent to the ground and stabbed repeatedly. "Well, now, I have no idea where she is."

He looked rather forlorn for having lost his friend somewhere. "I was from Prime, and in the fighting she just... disappeared." He suddenly realised he hadn't really explained much to the young girl (For all elves thought humans had an entirely too youthful exuberance) and spoke up again. "Some Dark Elves and their undead servants had razed the city to the ground. I was supposed to guard some of the children here in this very tavern, but the Vysticchi..."

"They tricked the children with their mind tricks, they left me and another defender spasming with magical pain on the ground, and they laughed even as they carted the children off to slavery in whatever damned rathole they live in."

He suddenly realised he was being very boring.

"But what about we talk about something better," he said to Ylewain. "I am indubitably alive, and if you would like to talk to me about your experiences I shall endeavour to put them down into a book I'm writing. I'm a bit of a Historian. Going around all sorts of places and writing down what happens."

Tal smiled back at her.

[Kiesam Girhaldson]

Early Darkening, 5th Brightening of Melora
Era II of the Celestine Mandate
Era XI PF of the Age of the Darkening

Sam wrinkled his nose as he approached the group of lights and noise he assumed was the tavern. It smelled distinctly of overly sweet flowers. For a man used to sweat and horse flesh, it was somewhat overwhelming and nearly nauseating. Grimacing, Sam tried to ignore it and strode forward. He was stopped fairly quickly however, by the absence of a somewhat neccessary commodity. He had no place to tie his gelding, and while the horse would no doubt be pleased to graze the ridiculously verdant carpet of Acumin, he wasn't too pleased with the idea of letting his horse roam free through the town.

So, keeping the reins in one hand, Sam opened the door and looked for the proprieter of the establishment. After a quick oggle at the attractive woman who seemed to be in charge, he attempted to get her attention by waving his arms. "Is there a place I can put my horse?" He asked loudly once her attention was achieved, holding the reins up with a grin.

[Throk Mumson]

Early Darkening, 5th Brightening of Melora
Era II of the Celestine Mandate
Era XI PF of the Age of the Darkening

Throk casually wandered into the tavern. It was time for a barrel of ale. He softly put Branch against the tavern wall.
"Now, you don't go wanderin' off, mkay?"
He trusted his big club wasn't going anywhere so he let him alone and searched for Mila. It had been a long time since he had seen her, and Throk was very curious about all the plants and trees that suddenly grew all around.
"Meela?! Wur are you?!" he yelled.

[Kalirren]

(OOC: Goodness, no one's been here in a week and a half. I hope no one here minds a bit of unauthorized, unrequested peer-modding/PC interaction...timestamped same as above, for lack of better.)

It seemed either as if Mila were perpetually busy with something or another, or that Sam's shouts were being drowned out by the chatter and constant clanking of flagons on tables. Either way, he wasn't being heard, and Sam ended up standing with his foot in the door looking like a halfwit until an elven woman came up behind him, tapped him on the back of his shoulder, and in one of the strangest of simple manners told him that he could simply tie the poor beast to any of the several posts in the shed out back. It wasn't as if anyone were going to steal it, after all, much less get away with it even if they did.

The elf made her way in as she almost always did, quietly, not even waiting for thanks. She never did make a habit of stirring up much of a commotion - unfortunately, being what she was, commotions tended to stir themselves up often enough. Yet no matter what happened every night, she always came back to the tavern at the same time of day, when Nepas was two and a half sun's-widths away from touching the tip of the forest that formed Acumin's western horizon. Better to be known and disliked, she figured, than to be totally unreachable. In fact, were she ever to have been perfectly honest with herself, she would have had to admit that she liked certain aspects of the reputation she had garnered as an insane old dark elven witch, what with practicing her calligraphy on the outside walls of her house, taking the effort to keep some strange herb garden instead of simply farming, and keeping that half-orc half-halfling Shatogtar as a housemate. Didn't some charming little halfling lady use to live in that house? she would occasionally hear whispered, and chuckle.

The night was a busy one - exactly what the occasion was, she didn't quite know, especially since Mila had a tendency to throw small festivities without notice or warning. But whatever it was that was giing on, she didn't think a giant was part of the show. Didn't look like it anyway. Goodness, why did giants have to walk around with sticks all the time? Surely they didn't need them for walking...unlike her, oh Goddess, how was it that she was starting to feel old already?

[Throk Mumson]

Throk glanced around the tavern. No sign of Mila whatsoever. All the people of the town seemed to have gathered in here, and they were laughing and eating and drinking and laughing and sitting and talking and...
Throk shook his head. He was getting distracted.
After his long, long sleep, he has been feling rather funny. His tummy was making noises, wich was normal, but his head was making these noises as well! Wich wasn't normal, he was fairly certain of that.
He looked around for one last time, when he saw one of these humans wich these funny ears. He approached him - or her, he never knew- and bend down to get a good look of his or her face.

"Ello," he said on his most friendly tone.
"Ah fink you've got funny ears, hehe," he cuckled.

[Kalirren]

The elf couldn't help but return a sheepish smile, a smile which seemed at first directed not back at Throk, but rather at the ground in a mix of dismay, disbelief, amusement, and general mental incongruity. She seemed inordinately at ease, perhaps preoccupied with something or another, so much so as to have stopped caring for the - quality, might we say - of her company. So this is the recognition I get for being elven now, thought she. Funny ears. Funny, pointed ears. "Tell me," she said in a forcefully controlled voice, tilting her head just so to look at the giant's huge round face through a calm, nigh slanted gaze. "Do they look pretty, at least?" Her eyes begged for a yes.

[Throk Mumson]

Erhm, pretty ears? Why would she, or he, ask something like that? Were ears so important then? Well, not as important as eating or a good bash, but probably quite important to all them humans with those funny ears.
He slowly extended his hand, wich was the size of her head. He knew that he had to do this slwoly, or he might scare the poor thing. He touched her right ear with his index-finger. From pointy tip to the ear-shell.
"Pritty? Yeah, they are. Ah really like the pointyness of yer ear tips. They make dem look spe..spa...speshul," he muttered.
Then he noticed her rather small frame. And her thin arms. She must be starving!
"Oi, ahm gonna get ya some grub, kay? You look like yer mighty 'ungry, no?"

[Kalirren]

Whatever, just don't touch me again, she barely refrained from saying. Really, the poor giant didn't deserve that just for being a giant. At least not yet. Much worse was to be found walking the streets of Port Alyxandrya's Gut...how strangely intriguing that sounded all of a sudden. Only last summer had she hurriedly left the place that she might not have had to deal with it further, and already she was missing the very idea. Perhaps this half-era sojourn in Acumin really had done it to Kalirren, driven her over that last edge of boredom, burdened her mind with the weighty emptiness of existence. A poor excuse for an elf she had become, reduced to living with a half-orc and taking compliments from giants who could barely speak words with three syllables in them. And there she was, sitting speechless and open-mouthed in the presence of a giant who was so obviously trying to talk to her, who was asking her a question. Who was the stupid one here?

"Oh, it's...just...fine," she finally stammered out after a long wait. She was hungry, that much couldn't be denied...but neither was she being overly courteous in refusing Throk. Acumin was so small of a community that everyone just worked and cooked and ate together, for it was the only practical way of living. Almost everyone who had lived in the town for more than a week and did the fair share of work was party to that arrangement, and that included Kalirren. It was only through work that she managed to dredge up any sort of positive reputation whatsoever, and even that wasn't much, considering how long it had been since she had actually done much in the way of housework for herself.

Waving a hand reassuringly in Throk's direction, she remarked, "It's all the same, anyway. Pronis today, although I think I botched the soup..." She grimaced. That was going to be one bitter dish of fregat, which she herself certainly didn't mind overly. She was, however, sure that the children and maybe even the new visitor with the horse wouldn't appreciate it at all. The sun hadn't quite set yet, which meant that it wasn't yet time to go into the kitchen and help with the final preparations for pracenda. So that meant she still probably had time to fix it, throw in some extra potatos to cover up the taste of the bittermelon; then again, she figured not. Why bother making more work? Amazing how much work had to be done already - it just never ended...

[Kiesam Girhaldson]

OOC: Peer-modding permission given by Cheshire. And i'm going to quickly self-mod too, cuz I want to join in the conversation. Naughty me

IC: "Around the back!" Mila shouted at the man in the doorway, waving a hand hurridly and then promptly ignoring him. A bit disapointed by the lack of flirtation or any interest at all, Kiesam quickly tied up the gelding and then entered the tavern in order to remedy the barmatron's oversight. His back straighter than normal to emphasize his height and his chin high, Kiesam nearly strutted into the tavern only to have all the wind promptly slammed out of his sails by the sight of Mila running up and kissing a giant on the cheek.

"Throk!" Mila shouted with delight, standing on a bench in order to hug her friend and deliver the ego-destroying cheek kiss. "How are you? Where have you been? I've missed you, and you owe me an outhouse, remember?" Her smile was genuine - though Throk and she hadn't known each other for two long, their trials during the war had brought them together in a way that no lifelong friendship could. The tiny woman hugged him again and pulled back with a grin. As she saw the patron with whom he'd been speaking, the brilliant smile faded around the edges. Mila pulled away from Throk and looked down on the vysstichi mix, both literally and figuratively - she was standing on a bench, after all. Though Kalirren had proven herself no enemy of lightborns, her tainted blood made Mila regard her with suspicion. If it had been full blood, it would have been aggressively acted upon hatred. Vyssie's held a special place in her heart, one she'd reserved after the horrors of the war for the race that had destroyed her family and her life. It was not a warm place.

"Serale." Mila's voice was harsh and she glared at the elven woman, obviously not wishing her here any longer. Help was scarce in Acumin, due to the rarity of people in the town, or she wouldn't have hired the elf in the first place. "Here's the coin I owe you." She said, pulling out 2 crowns and 3 silvers and placing them on the table. The stare she fixed on the vysstichi made it quite clear the tavern waitress no longer wanted her there.

Seeing an oppertunity and not quite realizing it wasn't a good one, Kiesam strode over and smiled at Mila. "Well if you're handing out free coins, I'd like some." He said cheerfully, and then spotted the sour look on the tavern waitress's face. Mistakenly believing the look was for him, he took a small step backwards. "On second thought, I'll just have an ale."

[Throk Mumson]

Throk hugged Mile back. It was so nice to see her again! She looked like she was doing very well. The last time he saw her was right after the attack by those walking bones and smelly creatures with big clubs. After the attack, Throk went for Dar Havark wich wasn't known as the most successive of missions known to man- and giantkind. It had cost him his eye, and he lost track of two of his best friends. But most if the experience was already lost in the big empty cavities of Throk's brain.

He let go of Mila's small figure and put her down on the ground again. Then he remembered the outhouse. Vaguely. He scrtached his empty eye socket with his thumb and looked embarrased.
"Ah fink ah kinda forgot to build the out'ouse. Sorry..."
He looked at his feet. He had compeltely forgotten about the outhouse! He was too busy fighting furry rat things and bones while he was supposed to be building an outhouse.
"Mayhaps ah can build yoo a nice smivvy instead Meela? Ah saw that dis town didn't not 'ave one. Is that a good idee?"

[Kiesam Girhaldson]

Her smile was still sightly tight as a lingering aftereffect of Kalirren's presence but it was still a smile and it was filled with warmth as she looked at Throk. Kiesam was highly jealous.

"A smithy? Oh that would be wonderful!" Oh is that what that big oaf said? Kiesam thought to himself. "That would do wonders for the town. And it would be nice to have someplace nearby to go for weapons. You know... in case." Mila's face fell slightly and she shot a slightly worried glance at the door. She still woke up with nightmares sometimes, screaming and sweating. "Where will you build it?"