Bottoms up! [open]

[Harvengure]

18th Candlemark
Thera (6th) of the 1st cycle of Kalendryas
Winter. Era I:Celestine Mandate, Era XV (PF

Jaedaxia? City of new opportunities? Places of the Aelyrian dream without living in the armpit of the empire? Yes, these had been things that Harvengure had heard of the city and in a way he been disappointed by his progress here.


Though he did blame the city in a sense, he knew it was more him then anything. He was new here and it was fortunate to have such a city "in his backyard". It would just take time for him to decipher how to be able to make his way in this city if he didn't want to travel to cities even further from home.

He was here and he had applied to join the protectorate, even if both were temporary. He had also purchased some rather fine clothing, compared to anything else he had ever owned.

These, however small, were victories on the path towards the bright and glorious self-envisioned fate that awaited Harvengure. And though disappointed by his progress, he was not going to let himself sour these victories.

Granted, he knew he was usually rather sullen for a Vagaran, but he was indeed still Vagaran and there are common threads in all Vagarans and one of them was knowing how to have a good time.

Another common thread was what had rumored Vagaran to rival even dwarfs and giants when it came to drinking so like a bloodhound to prey it wasn't hard for Harvengure to find a tavern. Especially since he wasn't at all discerning in his selection and for all he cared it did not matter if the tavern he'd end up drinking in that night was a wretched hive of scum and villainy or where all the blue blooded minor nobility fobs would go to unwind from the day.

This lack of preference is what would leave a good portion of this evening to forever be a blur in his memory when he looked back. In fact, should one ask him, he'd hardly be able to recall any details at all up to a point in that night and almost none at all to his remembrance of his singing.

The story does change of occasion....sometimes he is in his stool as he sings. Others; on a table or even on the bar itself. Regardless of where, the song always remains the same.

"You'll have to excuse me I'm not at my best,
I've been questing for days, I'm out of my depth
these so called adventures will soon be my death,
I am sick of this trip. I need home for a rest.

I arrived in Imperos, this town was quite cold,
Now I stay in the bars to get out from the snow.
I never saw nothing just quite like this town.
Gift of the Empire? They should call it the crown!

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best
I've been questing for months
I'm just out of my depth
And these so-called adventures
Will soon be my death
I'm so sick from this trip
I need home for a rest
Take me home!

Gonehameau, I came from the North
To make my own name, I left and went forth.
Past old Vladimgrad through Serewood's green trees.
And just to my luck, you were seeking draftees.

By the light of the moon, she'd drift through the streets
A rare old perfume, so seductive and sweet
She'd tease us and flirt, as the bars all closed down
Then walk me on home and deny me a round

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best
I've been questing for months
I'm just out of my depth
And these so-called adventures
Will soon be my death
I'm so sick from this trip
I need home for a rest
Take me home....

My coin purse near empty, this trip's been no boon
The spirits we drank now ghosts in the room
I'm soused up again, come on sleep take me soon
And don't lift up my head 'till the the twelve bells at noon

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best
I've been questing for months
I'm just out of my depth
And these so-called adventures
Will soon be my death
I'm so sick from this trip
I need home for a rest
Take me home!"

Secrets : To tune of "Home For A Rest" by "Spirit Of The West"

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

Iseult leaned back in her chair, thin fingers curled around the rounded body of her mug of hot cider with its traces of strong booze. The spices in the drink were enough to warm the blood if the alcohol did not. Both sufficed and Iseult was feeling significantly warmer now that she had settled into a chair with her drink; the winter weather of Jaedaxia was hard and cruel, biting and frigid, far too cold even for a half-breed whose elvish race was more than comfortable with the harsh climates of deep ocean water. Much like Trysvale, the promise of heavy snows was prevalent and Iseult found that she was growing more and more testy with the idea of being snowed into any one place. She almost couldn't wait to leave, head south to warmer climates.

As usual, Iseult was alone and silent, though feeling warmed and considerably more restless and social than others might perceive her to be, given that she sat with her usual quiet stiffness, arms braced against the rests of her chair, posture slouched, reclined, her mouth set into a thin line that exuded no smile of warmth and openness. But her eyes roamed, while usually they might have been settled on the table in front of her, on her food--there was none there, just a drink and an older mug still cradling the remnants of a drink she'd already ingested and set aside, yet to be taken away by the serving woman. She watched the people, fingers occasionally tapping against the curve of her mug, looking thoughtful if not distant.

She was, however, jolted from people watching as heavy boots thunked on her table, jarring her into sitting upright, eyes jerked upwards to stare at the individual who had practically jumped onto her table. He was...familiar. She narrowed her eyes on him, squinting, but finding it hard to discern who he was because the words of the song were so...distracting. And if she'd seen him before it couldn't have been for more than just a few moments given that he wasn't jumping out in her mind. Certainly she couldn't put a name to his face.

But, ah, he was so Vagaran, just like so many others in this precious city. Just like so many others living in the northern reaches of Carmelya. It was any wonder that she was able to pick some of them out from the crowd sometimes, given how prevalent pale-eyed, blonde-haired people were in this area?

She frowned at him as he sang, carousing and entertaining the crowd. She felt suddenly crowded in on and looked around her with slightly narrowed eyes, as if some joke were being played and somehow she in the center of it all, unwittingly. She looked up at him again and very abruptly grabbed him by the ankle and pulled. She wasn't strong, certainly, and if it didn't jerk him off balance, it probably would simply be annoying. Particularly if he was well-liquored.

[Thracyn Caldor]

Thracyn did not generally make a habit of frequenting nameless taverns and pubs on his time off but this darkening was an exception. He pushed through the door and into the dim, crowded interior and quickly made his way to the bar, oblivious to those around him as he shouldered his way forward. The crowd seemed lively and as he stepped up to the polished bar and called the barkeep over he finally took a moment to look around and actually take in his surroundings. He chided himself internally for the break in discipline his inattention showed, but the reason he had sought out a place like this was for a chance to relax out of official sight.

A standard tavern crowd, as far as he could see, some perhaps a bit more inebriated than was healthy this early in the darkening, but nothing else out of the ordinary.

Until, of course, the six and a half foot Vagaran stood on a table and started singing.

Thracyn took the vodka over ice the barkeep slipped him with a wordless nod of thanks before he turned back to the spectacle behind him. The Vagaran, who Thracyn thought looked vaguely familiar, had leapt onto the table behind him and began belting out an obviously heartfelt song, just as obviously not to the enjoyment of the young woman who had been sitting there alone. Taking another look at the woman, Thraycn's eyes narrowed. He knew she looked familiar, but then, he'd only met one slightly blue young woman before.

He took a sip of his drink and winced slightly before he pushed away from the bar and towards the table where the Vagaran, Harvengure?, he thought to himself, was still singing. The icy liquid exploded into warmth as soon as it slid down his throat and Thracyn watched as Iseult peered around suspiciously then suddenly snatched the Vagaran's ankle and yanked.

The young Medonian couldn't help but laugh as he approached the table and nodded to Iseult in greeting.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said with a half smile at her obvious displeasure with the dancing, singing giant on her table.

[Harvengure]

These are the days you will remember: An adage among humans, said to be especially true for those of Harvengure's age. In the realm and mind of what was Harvengure however, the saying was far from the truth.

Indeed, he would remember this day--for a time. However, he was here to make well of small victories won and make light of slow progression made. Beyond that and his goals, he'd no more remember this day then care to remember it or those who would not serve to progress his plans.

As he sang, as he dance...as he made his celebration on a table; this to him was not to strange. Vagarans had done it for countless ages and in this land it was not as if it was not done, for they had their bards and warriorpoets as well. It seemed however there was one with the mind to rain on his metaphorical parade.

Looking down, Harvengure would be met with the sight of a rather somber looking woman who'd have, within the mere moment it took for Harvengure to turn and set eyes upon her, had her attention robbed away by one Harvengure would recognize as protectorate. That is of course, were he wearing any of the appropriate garb.

Regardless of whether the man was or was not dressed as the protectorate he was, this still was something that would trigger a sense of precaution in the Vagaran's brain, made only worse by the lingering sense of familiarity with the woman. He did not recall how, but somehow, he knew her. Or at least, knew of her.

For logics perhaps only known to Vagaran and even they themselves can not explain, this somehow struck the young man as some dark omen. For him to throw off the usually somber and antisocial nature which made him a middler in Vagaran culture, only to have his celebration not only interrupted but to be done so by a distracted and unhappy woman who had taken him by the ankle? This indeed seemed to speak tell Harvengure that either his progress would stop here for some time or not long from now, Harvengure would find himself suddenly trapped or restrained somehow, when he least expected.

With both these being situations that Harvengure would hope to avoid, he'd slink off the table and silently make his way to the bar to seek knowledge knowledge of the barkeep or any other nameless local who struck him as a worthy source to set his inquries on. Who were these two? More so, who was she that he would know her?

Though not known as a Seer among his people, Harvengure, like most Vagaran, was not entirely without the gift on some level and he had hoped that knowing who these two were would be able to either dissolve the omen or further explain it so that he may be prepared for what lay ahead.

[Airylea]

Originally Posted by Harvengure

These are the days you will remember: An adage among humans, said to be especially true for those of Harvengure's age. In the realm and mind of what was Harvengure however, the saying was far from the truth.

Indeed, he would remember this day--for a time. However, he was here to make well of small victories won and make light of slow progression made. Beyond that and his goals, he'd no more remember this day then care to remember it or those who would not serve to progress his plans.

As he sang, as he dance...as he made his celebration on a table; this to him was not to strange. Vagarans had done it for countless ages and in this land it was not as if it was not done, for they had their bards and warriorpoets as well. It seemed however there was one with the mind to rain on his metaphorical parade.

Looking down, Harvengure would be met with the sight of a rather somber looking woman who'd have, within the mere moment it took for Harvengure to turn and set eyes upon her, had her attention robbed away by one Harvengure would recognize as protectorate. That is of course, were he wearing any of the appropriate garb.

Regardless of whether the man was or was not dressed as the protectorate he was, this still was something that would trigger a sense of precaution in the Vagaran's brain, made only worse by the lingering sense of familiarity with the woman. He did not recall how, but somehow, he knew her. Or at least, knew of her.

For logics perhaps only known to Vagaran and even they themselves can not explain, this somehow struck the young man as some dark omen. For him to throw off the usually somber and antisocial nature which made him a middler in Vagaran culture, only to have his celebration not only interrupted but to be done so by a distracted and unhappy woman who had taken him by the ankle? This indeed seemed to speak tell Harvengure that either his progress would stop here for some time or not long from now, Harvengure would find himself suddenly trapped or restrained somehow, when he least expected.

With both these being situations that Harvengure would hope to avoid, he'd slink off the table and silently make his way to the bar to seek knowledge knowledge of the barkeep or any other nameless local who struck him as a worthy source to set his inquries on. Who were these two? More so, who was she that he would know her?

Though not known as a Seer among his people, Harvengure, like most Vagaran, was not entirely without the gift on some level and he had hoped that knowing who these two were would be able to either dissolve the omen or further explain it so that he may be prepared for what lay ahead.

While Harvengure was deeply in thought and attracted to the familiar woman, Airylea walked into the scene unexpectedly. She said, "Where am I?" as she brushed the dirt off her dress. The child skipped around the place, looking playful, even though she was also browsing for clues on why and how she got there in the first place. After that, she saw Harvengure with eyes fixed on a woman like a zombie. Why is he staring at the lady?, she thought. Poor guy. He had nothing to do, so he forced himself to stare at a lady that he didn't even know. Although Airylea thought of talking to the zombie-like gentleman, she changed her mind, remembering what her mother said about manners and the warning of talking with strangers. So, the only thing that Airylea did was to wave at the young man and say "How do you do? My name is Jane Doe, and how are you?"

[Heartbreaker]

OOC: Airylea, you are not allowed to moderate your pc finding things of value. You are also not allowed to 'pop' into a scene. If you've walked into the scene, please write that. 'Popping' infers that you are using magic and since you've not trained in magic, this is not the case.

Please refer to the link I pm'd you last night before posting in any other threads. =-)

[Harvengure]

The bar was crowded, many of the folks in a cheery mood. Especially after such a song to raise there spirits.

Harvengure however, was not as carefree as his song might have them believe. At least not now. That had changed from moments ago. Changed with the nagging curiosity of who this woman was and how he knew her. His moment of being care free taken by the undefined logistics of a Vagaran mind that somehow, this was a bad omen.

Leaning over the counter, it did not take much for the Vagaran to get the tenders attention since after all, his musical talents were sure to have been at least a small pick-up in business which is something any tender could appreciated.

In their hushed tones, only those closest would hear any words exchanged between the two. Harv's lips would move, he would point. The tender would lean over for a better look, cast Harvengure an odd glance and nod as he spoke, presumably to give Harvengure the answer he sought.

To any observing, Harvengure's face sank with concern. It seemed the Vagaran did not like the answer received. And this was indeed the case, for the words which the tender had spoken only worsened Harvengure's suspicions of a bad omen for now he had names of both the woman and the man speaking with her. A sign his career in the protectorate is not going to go well?

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

Iseult's hand retracted from the man's ankle. He hadn't fallen and that was fine with her in retrospect since she hadn't really given it much thought at all what might happen if she had been successful in jerking the man off his balance. With her luck, he probably would have come falling down on top of her, something that was at once humiliating and probably painful. She was rather glad he'd stayed on his feet and even more immensely comforted when he slunk off the table like some dejected dog kicked for making all that racket.

With the first man gone, she shifted her attention to the latecomer. She recognized him instantly as the one who had bought some pieces off her at the bazaar, as well as one of those who had been standing around Bladewyn with her cake. Which explained a bit where she had known the singer from, although she still could not dredge up a name into her mind.

She frowned, picking up her mug again and sipped at it, then seemed to remember, again, that someone had spoken to her. The cider must have fuzzed her mind more than she'd expected. "Serale, Thracyn," she greeted him belatedly. "Sorry...I couldn't remember where I knew him. From the fountain, I think? Bladewyn and her cake?"

The glassblower gestured after Harvengure, who had meandered away from the table and was leaning forward, talking with the bartender. She frowned as she watched them, a hand lifting to rub her brow absently. They were pointing, staring, right at both Iseult and Thracyn. Iseult, who did not like attention, shifted uncomfortably and set her mug on the table, turning it about with her hands, the noise a dull grind against the table. She didn't like the look that was given as he finished conversing with the bartender, the way he's face settled suspiciously, worriedly.

So Iseult simply returned the stare with bland unfriendliness, though she spoke to Thracyn without looking at the man. "I guess it's not wise to pull someone's ankle when they're singing their guts out?" she noted with a slight rise of her brow. "He doesn't seem very pleased with me."

[Airylea]

Airylea moved into the scene. The little girl walked absentmindedly to the bartender's stool and sat on the stool for some time. After some time, her mind became awake, and she noticed that she was in a bar with party-goers and drinkers. There was a glassblower in the bar too, signifying that she was possibly in the Middle Ages. Besides, when did glassblowers exist during modern times? Airylea sat quietly in the room and did not buy anything, because she did not want to waste her money on something of which her parents disapproved -- alcohol.

Listening to Iseult's voice with her keen ears, Airylea responded, "Who's pulling who's ankle? I don't see anyone pulling your ankle. Who's not pleased with you? I don't see anyone who's not pleased with you. My name is Jane Doe, by the way. How are you?" Due to her mother's warnings, Airylea was very wary of strangers, so she usually lie about her name and other personal information, including her street address and her family's socioeconomic status.

[Thracyn Caldor]

Thracyn watched in undisguised amusement as Iseult's yank on the large man's ankle caused him not to crash to the floor as one might have expected, but rather to meekly slip away and off to the bar. His eyebrow rose at what seemed an uncharacteristic response to a challenge, however small, from a drinking Vagaran. He shrugged slightly and took another sip of his drink as Iseult turned her attention to him after taking another sip from the mug in front of her, her words about the man's possible origins connecting dots in Thracyn's mind. He had thought the fellow looked familiar, but in a city with its' fair share of tall, blond haired Vagarans he had not been entirely sure.

"I think you're right," he nodded slightly towards the man while he spoke to Iseult, "he was there. Might have been the first one of us entranced by the power of baked goods. Hartenguve? Harvengure?" His inability to correctly recall the man's name now that he was sure he'd met him irritated Thracyn, who took another pull from his drink as he turned his attention away from the young glassblower at the table and back towards the man in question, who was still sitting at the bar.

He and the tender were deep in conversation, though they seemed to be paying an awful lot of attention to the pair who now occupied the table, and it did not take a great mental leap for the guardsman to guess their subject of dicourse. Thracyn's eyes narrowed at the especial attention, he was sure the Vagarn was simply trying to find out who he and Iseult were, perhaps haunted by the vague familarity as well, but he thought that if a man wanted to find out who someone was, he ought to come over and introduce himself, not resort to secondhand identifications.

He turned back to Iseult as she spoke again, her eyes also locked on the pair at the bar looking their way. Thracyn smiled crookedly at her question, and her acerbic wit, as he watched her raise an eyebrow just enough to be noticeable.

"Perhaps not wise, but certainly funny," he answered as he took a last sip from his glass and set the empty vessel on the table before him. He nodded at Iseult's next comment and shifted his gaze back to the bar as he replied in his best deadpan voice, "I'm sure that just breaks your heart." He turned to face her with a small teasing smirk before he picked up his empty glass and nodded towards the two at the bar.

"I'm going to get another drink, and see if perhaps we can't help the young gentleman," his voice dipped with a trace of irony, "with something this darkening. Care to join me?"

He waited for the young woman's response before shouldering his way through the tavern and towards the two men paying an undue amount of attention to them at the bar.