Private Tales Trapped Inside One's Mind

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
He moved quickly to put all the food and drink down before he dropped any of it. His grin nearly shattered when he looked at her expectantly and noticed the food off to the sign. When had that gotten there?

Still, her story made him laugh as he popped another bottle of wine and took his own swig. Wow, that really was good stuff.

"I've heard a lot of excuses for what wine makes people do, but falling out windows might have to be up near the top...I guess will have to stay on the bottom floor tonight."

Those emotions ran across her face, and he could recognize the confusion in her aura. These were the same looks soldiers had right after a battle when they were drowning themselves in ale. It masked surprise and confusion at surviving a battle where many thought they would not return. Then came the relief that washed over such emotions, but also could not fully sweep them away.

"Well then, we will have to have quite the night."

Katja
 
Katja snorted softly at his joke, the wine already warming her throat as she took another slow sip. The way he looked at the tray of food she'd originally brought didn’t go unnoticed, and she smirked slightly, tilting the bottle toward him in a mock toast.

Her fingers traced absently along the neck of the bottle, her gaze flickering toward the window as the snowfall continued outside. "Not a bad plan," she admitted, leaning her head back against the chair, her body finally sinking into something resembling relaxation. "Though, in my defense, the window was open. I just thought… if I got a good enough running start, I could make it."

Her lips pressed together, amusement fading slightly as she considered what she’d just said. That version of herself—the one who thought her best shot at freedom had been a drunken leap into the unknown—felt distant now. She wasn’t sure if she pitied or admired her.

Her gaze found Alistair again, and she studied him for a moment. He had the look of someone who had seen too many battles but still somehow managed to grin through them. He wasn’t just drinking to celebrate, that much was clear. She knew that look too well—the kind of relief that didn’t quite fit, like a shirt tailored for someone else...

Her fingers drummed lightly against the bottle in her hands before she exhaled through her nose, pushing the thoughts aside.

"Quite the night, huh?" she murmured, raising a brow as she took another sip. "Alright then, Dreadlord. Shut the windows, and show me how they drink in Vel Anir."

The people of Neus were a hardy breed, their survival forged in the heart of brutal winters and unrelenting cold. They endured with resilience, with sharp wit, and—perhaps most importantly—with the aid of strong drink. Alcohol was as much a part of their culture as the snow itself, woven into their traditions, their celebrations, their way of making it through the long, unforgiving months of ice and darkness.

But Katja had never truly been a part of that.

She had missed out on that experience—on many experiences—trapped within the walls of the manor while the rest of the world carried on without her. And if there was one thing she was learning very quickly tonight, it was that she could not handle her liquor.

The warmth had spread through her far too quickly, seeping into her limbs, making her head feel light, her skin flushed. She shifted in her chair, blinking a few times, her grip tightening around the bottle in an attempt to anchor herself. The wine was too good, too smooth, and she had underestimated just how much she had already had.

Still, the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

She looked over at Alistair, watching him through slightly hazy eyes, her lips quirking as she tilted her head. "So, what’s it actually like?" she asked, her voice looser now, her usual edge softened by the drink. "Vel Anir, I mean. Not the Academy, I’m not sure I want to hear more about that just yet."

Her fingers absently traced the rim of the bottle, her thoughts wandering before she spoke again. "You make it sound so grand. A huge city, a noble family, a house big enough to put up strays like me." She smirked slightly. "Are all Dreadlords like you?" she asked, curiously. She had seen him fight, had watched in awe of his power, and yet he didn't frighten her the way her own imagination did whenever she considered Dreadlords.

"I thought they'd have been.. Well, terrifying. I'm not terrified of you.. but maybe that's my mistake." she laughed against the back of her hand.
 
Alistair hoped she was joking about the windows thing, but just in case he may lock them up with magic later. It would not do for Katja to die breaking her neck a day after she was freed from slavery.

Katja said:
"Alright then, Dreadlord. Shut the windows, and show me how they drink in Vel Anir."
Click to expand...

The comment made Alistair choke on his own wine as a memory began to bubble up that he had not thought about in years. In it, Alistair woke up shirtless in some tavern with several other initiates who were also relatively unclothed. He remembered they had taken over the night before and eventually drank most of the population out of the establishment.

So the answer to how do they drink in Vel Anir was very very poorly.

Of course, the next question she was asking was going to make him drink even more. He took several long gulps from his bottle before he paused to gain his thoughts.

His family and the city were grand...now. Until recently, his family had been noble in name only and lived closer to crime lords than as functioning members of society. The city itself was great...for the right people. Then there were the slums where his work often took him. That was where the forgotten tended to try and make out whatever living they could salvage.

"Vel Anir is...tough. That is being put to the test as of late. A recent revolution has altered much of life in the city, but the people are resilient. Everyone does what they must to keep going. That can be ugly, but it's also beautiful in its own way."

That answer was certainly political, but also the truth in Alistair's eyes. The city had some bad parts as all places did, but the important bit was that there were people out there trying to do something about it.

"As for the Dreadlords...no, I am an outlier. Maybe it is because I was not gifted with the more natural abilities that some had, but many in my class were made into monsters...Not literally, they tried their best, but the things they could do were astounding. Some could toss around the fire like it was their plaything. Others could bend metal to their will and transform it into millions of shapes. One even sucked the life out of those around him...All of them monsters, but we were all monsters in some ways and that's what made us friends."

Alistair had always wondered when his class scattered to the winds after their graduation, some had managed to stick together and others became closer. Maybe the reason Alistair had not followed them was he wasn't enough like them. Something did not break that should have.

"Maybe that's a better description, Dreadlords can be frightening, but when in danger, there is no one I would rather see crest over a hill coming to help me."

Katja
 
Alistair's words painted a picture of a world both brutal and beautiful, where strength and survival intertwined with camaraderie. Katja listened, watching him closely, noting the way his otherworldly gaze flickered with memory, with something deeper.

She smiled as he spoke of his fellow Dreadlords, despite how frightening their power sounded. He spoke of monsters, but she could hear the admiration laced in his words, the thread of something almost like longing.

She smirked, leaning back in her chair, the bottle dangling loosely from her fingers. “Or me. Obviously.” She tossed him a playful glance before dropping her gaze, grinning into the lip of her bottle.

The wine loosened her tongue, made her bolder than she might’ve been otherwise. It made the words slip out before she could consider holding them back.

“My only friend was a thatcher’s son called Tobias, who swore up and down he’d marry me one day.” She chuckled, shaking her head. She took another drink, the warmth catching at her throat, forcing her to cough into her wrist. “I’m quite sure he’ll have moved on by now, though.”

She said it lightly, but the words sat strangely in her chest. How much had she missed? How many lives had carried on while hers had been frozen in place?

Her fingers tightened slightly around the bottle as she glanced at Alistair, searching his face.

“It must be nice,” she said, softer now. “The belonging.”

She didn’t mean the city, or the noble name, or the revolution. She meant them—his friends, the ones who had shaped him, the ones he still spoke of with something close to fondness despite the weight of what they had been made into.

It was something she’d never known.

The thought unsettled her, so she took another long swig, as if the wine might quiet the strange pull in her chest. She winced slightly as it burned down her throat and let her head loll back against the chair, exhaling a slow breath.

Fuck she sounded pathetic. Her head shook at the thought, her hand dragging down her face.

“I should sell this place and whatever is left of it, go find my family and take them some place warm,” she sighed. “Maybe Oban,” she smirked, looking down her her half empty bottle with a quiet hiccup. “They do have good wine.”
 
Katja said:
“Or me. Obviously.”
Click to expand...

"You do certainly have a knack for timing." Alistair happily admitted as he continued to drink his own bottle. Without any runes supporting his system, Alistair was not the heaviest of individuals and could feel the warmth from the beverage finally spreading through him.

He could sense the next topic was far more sensitive just from the story itself and sadly Al had no way of making this subject feel any better.

"Time waits for no one. All we can do is just keep trying to catch up."

He could not begin to imagine how it would feel to be locked up here with nothing else to aim for or no other connections. Even at the Academy, while it had felt like a prison, they at least had been working towards something. But Katja, she had been isolated from the world and time stopped, and now it was all spinning again.

Katja said:
“It must be nice,” she said, softer now. “The belonging.”
Click to expand...

That made him wince, how could she possibly know about how that was such a sore subject for him?

"It can...but it can also hurt. The more you get used to having something, the worse it is when it is taken away."

Alistair remembered that first year after graduation. Half of the class disappeared and scattered to the winds, some even joining up with Gilram. The ones left all scattered, each one psychologically or physically damaged from that day. Alistair had been so angry. Angry at Gilram, the school, his friends, Vel Anir, and himself. It had taken time to even begin to accept some of that betrayal, and such wounds still weren't fully healed.

"It is warm there, but Oban's not the only place with good wine."

Katja
 
Katja nodded, her gaze settling on his face, steady and understanding. She knew what it was to lose something.. The warmth of belonging, the sting of its absence.

"Loss means you had something worth grieving," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "I think that's both a curse and a kindness. But, I would rather have something to lose than have nothing..”

She let the thought linger between them, let the weight of it settle before exhaling sharply and shaking her head.

"But this is supposed to be a celebration and we are being so miserable," she declared, straightening.

She raised the bottle in mock toast. "So, tell me—where can I go to drink the best wine if not Oban? Maybe I’ll travel all over, taste every fine bottle I can find. Music. I want music too. And art.” she sighed in wonder.

She grinned at him then, sharp and full of challenge, before taking another long drink from the bottle, draining the last of it.
 
She was right, of course. Alistair was totally killing the mood for no good reason. He turned his bottle upwards as he finished the rest of his own to keep pace with Katja. A smile now spreading across his lips.

"There are a lot of really unique places out there. Allirian wine is nice and the art is beautiful, but it's a little to pompous in my opinion. Tyr is a pretty strict island nation, but its wine is unique because of all the volcanic ash. Elbion wine is basic and the Empire's wine is ok, but the climate makes it difficult to grow. I'm partial to Anirian wine, but if you are looking for art then Vel Anir has some pretty amazing things to see...You would get along with my little sister. She loves art."

The more he spoke about all these places and their cultures, the more amazed Alistair was when he realized just how far he had traveled. He had been to nearly every corner of their world, except for Malakath. Even the frozen north was impressive, although they seemed like the types to prefer ale over wine.

"Honestly, wine is best depending on the atmosphere around it, so just go looking for that."

Katja
 
Katja listened intently, nodding along as though committing each place to memory, as though she could ever hope to see them all. The sheer breadth of the world he had traveled left her momentarily awed, and a strange feeling settled in her chest—something between longing and disbelief. How had she spent so many years without ever setting foot beyond these walls?

But when he spoke of art, she practically melted. "Oh, I would love that," she sighed, her expression softening.

She had books upon books of sketches, pages filled with imagined faces, distant landscapes she had never seen, and places she had only read about. Every line, every smudge of charcoal was a reflection of a world she had never touched. The thought of finally seeing those places, of painting something real instead of something conjured from her mind, made her dizzy.

And the more she thought about it, the more she realised just how much she had yet to do.

"Gods," she breathed, pushing herself up to grab another bottle. "I have so much to do." The cork came loose with a pop, and she took a long drink before turning back to him, eyes bright with sudden purpose.

"Can you swim?" she asked abruptly, clearly bolstered by wine. "I’d like to try," she said, as if adding it to some ever-growing list in her mind. And then, as if the thought had only just struck her—"Food. Gods, I have so much food to try"

She grinned, but her thoughts had already leaped ahead. "Have you ever seen a dragon? Evander said there’s a place across the sea where they live among people. He was planning to go in the summer."

"Hot," she declared, as though making the most important decision of her life. "I want to go somewhere hot first." she nodded, her heart racing as she paced.
 
Katja's antics had Alistair laughing drunkenly as she darted from idea to idea. He couldn't remember the last time he so casually laughed like this, but he would admit it was nice.

She was right, there was a lot to do in the world, but if you tried to do it all at once it could get a little overwhelming. Although, that might be a bit hypocritical if he said that given all of the things he was involved in.

"Yes, I can swim. We all have to learn it at the Academy. It's not that hard, so you should be able to learn it easy enough."

He wasn't even finishing his sentence before she was rushing off to new topics, that smirk still sat on his face.

"As for dragons, I've seen one from a distance...Even had a friend that killed one. I think the place Evander was referring to was Malakath which I have not gotten to visit yet."

From what Alistair knew, there were talks in Vel Anir about the idea of sending a colonization team out to the same island as Malakath to try and create a permanent settlement. The idea was fantastic, but his kingdom would eventually have dragons and he was sure that would not be met with pleasure from the locals.

"If it's heat you are looking for then when you travel to Neus, make a stop in the Empire. It is almost all sand and incredibly hot during the day."

Katja
 
Katja stopped abruptly, as though his words had physically struck her. One hand settled over her chest, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her shirt.

“Killed one? Oh my. How sad.”

Her lips parted slightly, her brow furrowing as she stared at him, as though he’d just admitted to witnessing something truly tragic. For a moment, the buzz of excitement dimmed in her eyes, replaced by something softer, more sorrowful.

Then, just as quickly as she had paused, she let out a breath and shook her head, as if shaking off the thought entirely.

“Still,” she murmured, before taking another sip from the bottle. “I’d rather see one alive. Maybe even touch one, if it wouldn’t eat me. It probably would, I’m imagine. Oh well.”

And just like that, she was off again, spinning forward into the next thought before he could dwell on the last.

“Neus,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. “And the Empire. All sand, you say? Gods, I can’t imagine how that would feel—hot wind, sand between my toes...” She trailed off, eyes distant, as though she could already see it.

“Maybe I’ll join a troupe of gypsies. Have you ever seen those? I have. One time. They were camped not far away, I could hear their music from my window. Danced to it for hours.”

A breath of laughter left her lips as she spun where she stood.

She swayed slightly as she turned back to him, an impish glint in her eye. “I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?..”

“Gods, I have so much to do,” she said again, more to herself than to him. And yet, for the first time, it didn’t feel overwhelming—it felt exciting.

“I should be excited, shouldn’t I?.. As opposed to utterly terrified I mean. Can I be both? I think I’m both. Fuck, hell, gods I’m still talking.” Her face fell into her hands with a muffled “Sorry.”
 
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