The Fireside Inn was the most famous and often-visited tavern and inn that city boasted. Located on the main stretch of Sherital Way, just inside the Narim gate, it was the most likely stop for any weary and worn traveler.
The golden-grey stone building rose three stories high and towered magnificently over the shops and tents at its flanks. Ivy encased the stone with leaves of yellow and light brown, which fell with a shimmering elegance in the autumn breeze. The rippled, foggy glass of the windows peeked out from behind the ivy like eyes that glowed in the darkening, and they masked the shadows of the people inside.
A balustrade of white roses flanked the three wooden stairs that rose from the flagged street to the heavy wooden door, which was set with three panels of frosted, rippled glass. A smaller staircase, perfect for gnomish customers, rose to a smaller door set higher in the stone wall.
Behind this little door was the beginning of a network of wooden catwalks, lifts and pulleys that hung from the beams inside the tavern proper. Fairies and pixies lighted on balconies set high outside the building and entered immediately onto the catwalks. Gnomes and fae walked the catwalks ten feet above the floor while big people walked harmlessly beneath them, with no fear of stepping on a hapless patron, or being stepped on.
The tavern itself glistened with polished wood and hummed with the soft music of a minstrel, playing from a small raised stage at the back. Round tables and sturdy chairs surrounded a warm stone hearth in the center of the room, which cast a golden glow on the colorful tapestries on the walls.
While fairies and pixies could simply fly down to sit at the little tables at the center of the big tables, gnomes had to use the pulley lifts to lower themselves down to the tables and to the sleek bar. Little folk and big folk alike sat at their sections of the tables and at the bar, facing a wall full of ornate and colorful bottles.
The barman -- a smiling, silvery-haired human -- took pleasure in filling drinks and listening to and telling stories. These were grand stories, epic stories, stories of flying children and beautiful girls in towers. Some of these, he left to the minstrel to sing in the form of ballads, which many of the patrons knew by heart.
Some folks thought well of Taralon- a place commonly held to standards as the pinnacle of military design. Yet it was not with desires of warfare that the katta known as Rioshi found himself at the illustrious Fireside Inn. It took him a while, for the city was large and the katta’s curiosity had led him to travel far from the gates at first; yet the chance to indulge himself appeared on the 47th of Kalendryas, Darkening.
The tinted stone of solid foundations was reassuring, to say the least, and the vines that spanned its length complimented the establishment with a sense of historical significance. While he refrained from casually looking through the windows in a gesture of idle interest, the side staircase was both amusing and comforting since many taverns he had frequented usually had some signs of racial separation or aggressiveness.
Of course, fond memories of such locations had no bearing on the fact that prior to walking through that very door, Rioshi would loosen his sleeve latch hidden under the white suit. Precautions and formalities were all well and good, but in his case, common sense was more likely to keep him alive. Unlike most fighters who used blades which might unnerve some of the local patrons, Rioshi preferred not to induce tension in a room when he entered.
Straightening his suit in case anyone was watching, Rioshi soon found himself walking through the door ahead without pause. Immediately he was engulfed in a wave of music and laughter- promptly gaining both his refusal and his consideration for a return visit. Not wishing to be rude, however, he did not stare at those above him and instead focused on the atmosphere. Indeed; the upper reaches might have appeal for any who were so inclined as to the mechanical qualities this city possessed, and the fundamental design provided a unique way for interracial interaction peacefully.
Basking in the fires which heated the room so well, Rioshi turned his attention to ordering both a light glass of spirits and a bite to eat. Were he a lesser katta, this one would have been unnerved by the place, but its unique flair only served as a stylish reminder of the amusement this city provided on a daily basis.
And what of the bartender and his wide array of fermented wines and watered beers? Hopefully he would have a suitable match for the katta to sample, yet should the hume not be able to provide a pleasurable taste in his mouth, perhaps other distractions this darkening would easily suffice. Rioshi had yet to be disappointed with Taralon, and had no intention to start now. For the chance to taste of a sweeter wine than most... Borne upon the wings of change, Rioshi had at last found his way into the Fireside Inn.
Islie had returned to the Fireside Inn after a long day of training and working with gadgets, still yearning for advanced knowledge in tinkering and explosive devices. Approaching the inn's building structure, she never got tired of taking residency in such a lively place. The owner was kind enough to let her stay beneath the tavern's basement cellar, which she outfitted with her own little personal workshoppe, tools and mechanical parts that essentially comprised her small living space under the inn.
Upon opening the heavy oaken door and making her entrance into the tavern, Islie was immediately greeted by the local gnomish gadgeteers that she became so closely aquainted with, waving at their fellow Dorin colleague from the catwalk above in chipper voices. She smiled and waved back at them as she made her way towards the owner of the inn, who happened to be the silvery-haired barkeep at the counter.
"Serale, Artemis! How's the night fairing so far?" Islie bubbly asked the smiling bartender.
"Like always Islie, full of energy and lovely Dorin women such as yourself!" the barkeep grinned in reply. Artemis had already poured Islie a glass of honey-coloured mead, knowing it to be her favorite drink to relax at the end of a long brightening.
As she took a sip from her glass, she noticed from the corner of her eyes a male Katta entering the tavern and approaching the counter where she sat. She rarely ever saw Kattas in the city of Taralon, knowing all too well the constant harassment they often receive from the Dorin population that made their residency in the Sherian province. Growing up as a Dorin pup, her sibling brothers had always talked in discrimination about the Katta, total disregard for the race and little to no respect. She never quite understood it, but she knew it had much to do with the racial tension between them from the past enslavement of Kattas by the Dorin.
To not notice the approaching collared Katta would be rather difficult, as he stood quite tall in a peculiarly exotic-fitting white suit. His irises were distinctively blue, a rare coloration in the eyes for a Katta. As he walked gracefully and with confidence towards Artemis the barkeep, Islie kept close eyes on him. She was wary of the city's Dorin militia that would often come in large groups to the inn for a drink during their darkening shift at the gate's post. The militia often tried to seduce and woo her whenever they came to the bar, but she always kindly denied their advances. Islie hoped that no conflict at the Fireside Inn would occur this darkening night.
Being relatively new to both the proprietor and the establishment itself, the katta had scarce experience as to the militia’s rounds in this part of Taralon. Unlike the femme who had taken the liberty of mulling over these male dorin and the mechanical design of the Fireside Inn, it would seem Rioshi merely wanted to relax for a change without the nuances of his assignment coming into play. And if that was a crime... the likes of this katta were guilty as charged.
However, his interest was quickly drawn from the lyrical compositions of the minstrel on stage when the katta considered the persons lingering about him. The absence of other katta was amusing, but hardly a comfort when so many other patron races were present. Doubts were soon waved aside with a subtle gesture to the barkeep though, for his stomach outweighed his concerns by far.
Not one to be baited by the covert stares of a few patrons mingling about the tavern, Rioshi addressed the tavern master politely without hinting as to the Arium accent he preferred. “Serale. Might you have a light wine that I could partake in? Payment up front, of course. ”
To ensure that he was taken seriously, Rioshi calmly laid out a few coins on the counter in case the silver-haired gentleman doubted his word. Having been raised by the humes as a youngling, his tolerance for members of the dorin race was more considerate that that of his ancestral foundations, so he would return Islie’s glances with a wink at the cute femme. When the bartender nodded and exchanged the proffered currency for a light glass of red wine, the katta sipped lightly and smiled in appreciation.
“I think I might enjoy my time here...”, Rioshi remarked casually, savoring the flavor as he began to relax.
Location: Aelyria Prime, Jade Legion Barracks and Taralon, Darkblade Fortress
Posts: 1,522
War was the province of men, or so some claimed, but this tavern was for sure the poets' province and there was no better poet than a Skäld of the Vagaran, in this case a Warrior-poet like the ones of the old times. Eirik Elebsson stood up from the table where he had been sitting with his fellow Black Shields after a return from a bloody winter campaign. The matter on the table was pruposed by their Commander, Eyvind, and it seemed he wanted to head north to the Province of Carmelyn and the Protecturate of Northumbria to recover what his ancestors had lost centuries before, the rule over one of the towns of the Gothir, a warrior tribe of the Vagaran.
The group around the table was small. A colossal man with red-hair that all patrons in the tavern would recognize, for he was Eyvind Redbeard the man who had created the Provincial Army of Sheria to protect their beloved province and the man who had marched to war to avenge the inhabitants of Peda and other towns throughout the Confederation. His deeds were already sang from time to time but when in public he kept a stern posture and didn't ask to be greeted like some heroes to-be used to do. With him sat Dogg, a jet black Dorin with a fierce look on the eyes, the young Eirik Elebsson, a blonde northerner, a dwarf by the name of Drok, yet another Vagaran with a greying hair and grey eyes that resembled like the wise man of the group although he could turn an Orc inside out with but a glance, not to mention what the veteran warrior could do in an actual battle and a short white haired Raghrnd with a drum hanging from the back of his chair by a leather strip.
The group seemed immerse in their own world and only raised their heads when a bulky man with a bull's neck and a torso resembling a barrel and two Elves arrived bringing some drinks. From time to time words like "Jaedaxia", "Gonehameau", "Gothir" and "fight" could be heard from their quiet conversation.
Nodding in appreciation to the Nimalni that had just arrived while taking a tankard of ale from a large wooden plate the same Elf had brought the Warrior-poet climbed over to the stage. Bowing his head respectfully to the assembled patrons he rested his tankard in a wooden bench but remained standing, harp in hand.
"We have all seen war is something that can happen when we least expect. We have seen a just one being fought against the Horde, and although many did fall and the province is ravaged by destruction the Sherian people still keep their heart and their love. I will now sing you of a betrayal that affected another people so much that they still suffer in their heart to this Brightening. This is the history of how Antediluvian and Aeric battled each other in the banks of the Abe river in what was later known in history as The Battle of the Blood.
As the sun began to rise
There stood two armies great in size
Brothers stood prepared to die
Beneath the cold dark morning sky
The kinsman dressed in black and white
Oath bound where these men to fight
When the commanders raised their swords up high
Two armies of brothers marched on to die
The battle would be along the banks of a river
The actions of men would change things forever
Two brothers stood from either side
And in each others arms they died
Countless lives would this battle take
It would cause the very earth to shake
Countless Legends would come to tell
Of how the battle was lost and how the dark one fell
From amongst The White Knight's men
Came a dart to see The Dark One's end
As he began to succumb to pain
This poison would be the Dark One's bane
It was only in the face of defeat
That the Dark Ones men began to retreat
To The White Knight they where full of hate
For it was he that sealed their fate"
The words and the music produced by the harp echoed inside the walls of the tavern, the absolute silence created an environment of peace and allowed people to imagine the tragedy that had befallen the Vagaran in that fatidic Brightening. The clash of weapons and the absolute silent of the battle appeared in the minds of the patrons and some could be seen with a tear in their eyes. When the poem was over the silence endured and if someone would look to Eirik he had his head bowed. It was he the one breaking the silence.
"Think..."
He said and soon after he was leaving the stage and returning to the table to join his comrades. The massive Redbeard patted the man in the shoulder, emotion popping out of his eyes. He had been touched and the flame for freedom was lit with greater strength now.
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