Private Tales A Day on the Port [CLOSED]

[Rainie]

The sky was clear and blue, stretching all the way to the choppy horizon that was the sea. The air smelled of salt and slightly of sewage, but the latter was easily ignored. Several ships had made port today, and shouts from the crew unloading goods were called over the crash of the waves.

Lorraina Night shielded her eyes from the sun as she bowed back to look up at the seagulls overhead. It was a beautiful day, calm and cool and breezy... But way too bright. She needed to get out of this sun before she started to freckle. Rainie, as Lorraina was called, admired the waves for another moment, before shuffling into the nearest tavern.

It was a new tavern, not one she'd yet visited. She shoved the oaken door of The Singing Gull open with a grunt, shouldering her knapsack higher on her shoulder. The crowd was sparse, and a single lute player was sat by the hearth. Rainie turned her queer purplish-eyes toward the bar keep, who looked as sullen as could be.

"Hello," she chirped hopefully. "I'd like a drink, please. And a favour, if you're willing." She smiled beatifically.

The barkeep furrowed his brow. "Depends on the favour," he offered.

Rainie pushed a strand of red hair behind her chipped right ear absently. "It's simple. I've been asking around for days, you see. I thought... well, with the college nearby and all... That someone would take this book off my hands." With a flourish she pulled out a heavy leather-bound tome. Engraved in gold upon the warm brown cover read, Animation of Corpses.

The barkeep withdrew slightly, grimacing. With a wrinkle in his nose he said, "Well, I'll have to ask around. I have a regular who comes in here, might be interested. Reckon you'll have to wait til' five past noon, though."

Rainie sighed. It couldn't be more than two past. She thanked the man, took her drink, then sat in a seat nearby the hearth. She flicked idly through the Necromancy book, feeling bored and restless. She had no talent for this magic stuff, and was barely familiar. All of her previous experience had to do with aristocrats and nobles, and dealing with their webs of lies. All their secrets and dark trades. That was easy. Understanding this Necromancy drivel? Never in a hundred years.

It was nearly an hour later when she finished her first drink and was too bored to stay sitting. She'd frequently caught eyes with the lute player, and had been sending him smiles for the past hour. Now, bold and bored enough, she stood from her bench and approached him to whisper in his ear. She had a simple request, just a time and beat to match, and she planned to do the rest.

There were very few patrons in the pub. T'was too early in the day to attract much more than someone avoiding their responsibilities or troubles. The lute player began to play a simple tune for her, watching her with starry eyes. Brazen and smiling, Rainie sang a simple tune.

"I come from a town
Of wealth and bridges old,
Where we tell a tale
Of pirates; told,
Once was a capt'n
Brave and bold,
Promise of an island
Filled with Gold.

"Following a poem
Toward unknown Glory,
Brought capt'n and crew
An unhappy story,
The Hag of Aleer
Did curse them all,
And then all the crew,
Surely did fall,

"The Hag came along,
And cursed them, did she
The only one who lived,
Was Bradnar, only he
Bradnar the Burned,
Believe you me,
Was the bravest capt'n
To ever sail the sea!"

The girl ceased her dancing and twirling to smiled at the light applause she received. She had a long way to go in this town. But who said she would settle here? She was on the run, after all. But that didn't mean she couldn't make a few connections...

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Somewhere at the back of the dimly lit tavern, where the glimmer of candles and lanterns gave an orange glow to the fog bank that had settled over the city streets, Brandar lifted his head as he heard his name. Well, close to his name; they almost had it, whoever it was.

Looking up from the game of cards, he craned his head around, spying a shock of vibrant red hair and pale skin. Looking to the ruffians he'd taken to playing with as she earned herself some applause, he simply raised a brow, and as the applause died down, they all shared a laugh.

And that was usually how it went, no? There was always that one table that had to be different, and this time, it was the drinking pirates in the back that went the opposite way of the rest of the crowd.

"Brave!" One cawed, leaning back with a boisterous laugh.

"Oi, I think she called yer mom a hag!" Chortled another.

He waved a hand dismissively. "My mother was a troll. I've no time to spare for false allegations."

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

A figure strode through the bright light of the day, moving with an inhuman grace and elegance as she swayed her way between workers that carried cargo from the ships into the port and then traders beyond, sending the scent of seafood through the air to mingle with the smell of salt and sewage, the abhorrent combination prompting the pale elven woman's delicate nose to crinkle in disgust and mouth to warp into a grimace, even as her eyes peered through the shade offered by the dark purple parasol that was propped up over her shoulder, searching for her target.

Eilasandree knew an stuck out like a gem in the midst of a lump of mud, he elegant clothing and fashionable outfit clashing with the glorified potato sacks the commoners around her were wearing. Her grimace warped slightly into a smirk as she strode along the inner side of the dock, looking for the specific tavern that she had been told about. She had been hunting this book for a good while now, and it seemed it had finally fallen into the hands of a more... sensible owner. All she needed to do was find the bar that she had been informed about, allow her gold back at her current residence to do the talking, and then leave this stinking, ugly city for her beautiful home in Fal'Addas.

Eilasandree's eyes alighted upon the sign outside of a newer looking tavern, depicting a seagull screeching at the top of its lungs, apparently. The singing gull, was the name given to her, and the likeness was enough to have the millennia old woman turn upon her heels and stride towards the tavern. Up close, she could see the name emblazoned upon the building, and the thought that her current target was so close was exciting and tantalising enough that she could almost feel her long since stopped heartbeat increase. Grinning excitedly, the noble had to remember to for herself to calm down, pausing outside in the sun to smooth down her long white hair and either clothes were perfect. How one looked was important, after all. Once sure that she wouldn't embareass her name (already more than she was, by entering such an establishment), the banshee took a breath out of habit, before walking in.

The first thing to hit her was the smell even as she tucked her parasol away. While far more pleasant than outside, alcohol and sweat didn't mix well. However, even as the heat washed over her Eilasandree found herself distracted from the smell of the bar by the sound. Someone was singing, and there was something about the melodic voice that caught the elf's attention. Looking over, her eyes alighted upon a woman who mot certainly did not belong in a place such as this. She was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Far more so than any commoner had the right to be.

It caught the elf so off guard that even after the target of her gaze stopped moving and singing she was still standing in the entrance like a dullard. Upon realising however, Eilasandree quickly remembered to regain her posture, clearing her throat and shaking her head as she walked unabashedly past and through the sparse crowd, even as they called out such vulgarities about a particular members heritage. Frowning slightly, the elf ignored the confused and curious stares she received from the human that noticed her pale form, instead approaching the sullen and miserable looking barkeep. "I'm looking for a book. It should be under the title of Animation of Corpses. If you would point out whoever it is that may have possession of such an item, I'd be extremely grateful." She says, holding up a silver coin to show just how 'grateful' she could be.

 

[Faurosk]

On that most beautiful day in the city of mages, two unimposing silhouettes cut their way through the light fog that had settled upon harbor.

The first between them was a somewhat tall and broad man, clad in a simple deep blue gambeson that rested open to flash the quilted doublet he wore underneath. In attempting to appear as inconspicuous as possible, the only signs of his magical nature were the dogwood staff he now used as a walking stick and the small, silver dagger he kept sheathed tightly to his right hip. He walked along, accompanied only by a Dingo-like dog that trotted beside him. The only thing shielding the dog from the sewage-scented breeze was a small red neckerchief his owner had made him wear, and the tainted air caused the small creature to wrinkle its nose and growl ever so faintly.

The man turned to address his companion, cocking an eyebrow and slowing his pace. "What? It's not that bad out here, is it?" The dog relaxed its snout, letting out a small whimper in response. Faurosk relaxed his shoulders and laughed, tossing his head back lightly with mirth. "Alright, fair enough, I guess your nose is a bit more trained than mine is. Besides, we've been walking awhile now, so perhaps a rest is in order, hmm?"

The dog perked up at the suggestion of a break, letting loose a single bark of approval and lightly headbutting his owner in the direction of a nearby inn named The Singing Gull. Without another word of protest, the mage casually walked towards the establishment, lightly shaking his head in mock exasperation. "The way you boss me around makes me wonder who's in charge here, boy."

Faurosk casually shouldered the door to the tavern open a few moments after the song and dance had concluded, stepping inward and holding the oaken facade open just long enough for his companion to enter before pushing it shut once more. The atmosphere within was roughly what he'd expected from previous experiences with dockside bars, though he made certain to note the lessons he'd learned from those experiences, too; Few people in the tavern were bound to stay in town for long, and it was hard to regret your actions when one could easily slip away from any consequences on the next ship out of port. So, taking on a casual caution, the mage made his way to the bar and took a presumptuous seat at one of the open stool. He made a small bid to get the barkeep's attention, waving him over with a smile and an air of easy charm. One placed order later, he spun around on his stool, glancing briefly to his hound which was not sitting at his feet before looking about the bar for something the entertain himself with.

 

[Rainie]

The swell of noise after Rainie's song died down after a while, and she dragged an empty chair over to stay seated in the center of the room. The lute player was speaking to her in stutters, which she smiled and nodded along to. Someone leaned over and pressed a drink into her hand, which she accepted bemusedly. She used the distraction to scan the room. She had heard some gruff jeering from a table in the corner not too long ago, and her eyes sought out a group of sailors with their heads bent together. Surely the crew of some ship, playing cards. Maybe even pirates, she mused with delight.

Her eye was swiftly drawn away from the lot by a bright shock of white. What she saw was surely a noble lady, with a regal head of snow white hair. As she watched, the woman exchanged a few words with the hangdog barkeep, before the man extended a hand to point directly at the baffled bard. At the same moment, something slightly damp touched her ankle.

Unheard by Rainie, the barkeep told the regal woman, "You'll want the redheaded lass," before turning his gruff attention to the man who just pulled up a stool at the bar.

Rainie looked down to find a scruffy looking mutt sniffing curiously at her shoe. Her eyes lit up ecstatically. "Hello, beauty!" She crooned. She shoved the drink she held into the hovering lute player's hand. As if she would have drank anything she hadn't seen poured or uncorked herself.

The dog raised its head, and she saw there was a scrap of cloth covering the beast's nose. Nonplussed, she reached out and tugged the kerchief down and offered her hand in greeting. The dog sniffed her proffered hand, and promptly sneezed.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized laughingly. Her hands probably still smelled of rose oil from that morning. "Come here, lovely," she cooed, ruffling the dog's fur on it's head. Completely oblivious to the patrons around her, she happily scratched the dog's ears and under its chin. She quite liked dogs.

 

[Faurosk]

Just as Faurosk turned to receive a small mug from the bartender, he felt the strangest tingling sensation at the base of his skull. He had become accustomed to the sensation ever since he first summoned his familiar a number of years prior, but this particular 'strange tingling' wasn't accompanied by the usual sense of danger that normally sent such vibrations along their telepathic connection. So, after taking his drink from the barman with a small nod of appreciation, he turned to see his small companion bothering what he assumed to be a couple in the middle of the room.

"Great, buddy," he thought sarcastically, taking a small swig from his tankard, "More attention on us." He pushed himself up from the bar without anymore hesitation, though his legs protested a moment against the weight they had so soon beforehand relieved themselves of. Step after step, ducking cautiously around what other patrons were scattered about to keep his face out of sight, he slowly made his way towards the redheaded woman his dog was so eagerly annoying.

"Nota, what are you doing?" He addressed the dingo from a couple feet away, sinking onto a single knee. The dog glanced back at its owner for just a moment before turning its attention back to the kindly lady showering it in scratches and pets. The man gave his dog a few light pats on the back, glancing up to the woman and feeling quite relieved that she seems alright with the situation. "He's not bothering you, is he? I trained him myself, and, ah, he's usually much better behaved than this." The last clause seemed addressed to the dog rather than the lady he was talking to, and the small mutt gave a quiet 'yip' in response that sounded almost indignant to his owner's accusations of poor behavior.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Small wonder as to who the ‘redeheaded lass’ was, as the commoner put it. In a way it was unsurprising, she obviously had noble blood in her from the way she stood out from the rabble. If only she wouldn’t sully the name of whatever family she represented by attending such a hovel. For a moment Eilasandree debated waiting until the rabble had died down to approach her target, but considering just how much she knew she stood out among the denizens of the establishment and her own want to simply leave, she found herself walking over towards where her... seller, she supposed, was conversing with a man and his dog. Great.

She wasn't sure why, even after all this time, animals held a sort of distinctive dislike and mistrust of undead. Some were the exception, but only rarely and given the way the dog backed away from her oncoming presencethe banshee elf was willing to bet this would be no different. She certainly hoped the red headed woman wasn't one of the superstitious types who let animals make their judgements for them. She needed that book, after all, if she was to get closer to mastering her craft. Speaking of... blood red eyes, an symptom of her supposed ‘curse’, slid over towards where the man was standing. In this city, she knew it was surprisingly common to feel the tingle of magic come from another, but to her... it was still strange. It felt like a dulled ice and flame washed over her skin at the same time, skin that could not feel anything in the first place. The feeling was... disconcerting, more than it was comforting.

Reaching her target, the elven woman peered down at the redhead imperiously. “I believe you have something of interest, on you?” She begins, voice prim and well sculpted from over a millenium of using it. “Something I very dearly wish to acquire. I hope we can come to some sort of an arrangement?” Eilasandree was well aware of the man she was ignoring next to her, but she figured that the transaction could be swift enough that nothing would come of it. Get the book, pay the girl, leave this fetid city.

 

[Rainie]

Rainie’s attention was pulled away from her distraction by a new voice.


“Nota, what are you doing?” said an exasperated man, who was quite tall. He looked a little too clean to be a sailor. He patted the dog on the bum. “He’s not bothering you, is he? I trained him myself, and, ah, he’s usually much better behaved than this.” He shot the dog a little glare, and the dog gave an indignant yip.


She smiled and barked out a surprised laugh. “Nonsense,” she told him. “It’s perfectly good manners to say hello and introduce yourself. Like this! Hello, I’m Rainie, it’s nice to meet you, Nota.” She said the last bit while cradling the dog’s thin face and cooing obnoxiously.


She sat back, looking contrite, and opened her mouth to apologize for petting his dog without permission, when a dark shadow fell over her.


She’d forgotten that the barkeeper had pointed her out earlier.


The regal lady loomed over her now, and Rainie could see she was quite striking. Her voice was low and clear, and her ruby gaze was steady and pinned Rainie firmly in place. The only thing paler than her porcelain skin was her snow white hair, which was tucked sleekly behind pointed, elven ears. She held herself tall, with perfect posture, and was very, very beautiful, in an otherworldly way.


It was then that she realized she had been so enraptured with the noble lady’s appearance and voice, she’d barely heard a word of what she’d said. She thought she had heard the words ‘acquire’ and ‘arrangement,’ and hoped it was some sort of business deal and not a kidnapping orchestrated by her old guild. Or, more likely, some other enemy she had made in some court somewhere.


The bard hopped to her feet, enchanted shoes making no noise on the filthy stone floor. She gave the lady a demure smile and curtsied slightly. “I have a few things that may interest you, my lady. Just a moment, please.”


She turned back to the dog and it’s owner. “Please excuse me,” she said with an apologetic dip of her head. A section of red hair tumbled over her shoulder at the movement. “It was lovely to meet you, and your friend.” She smiled. “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”


Stepping away, she lead the lovely noble lady to where she’d left her belongings. In a hushed voice, hopefully unheard by other patrons, she described the items she wished to pawn. “I’ve several tomes, magical and otherwise. I believe one or two of them to be of some value. And an amulet that I’m quite sure is enchanted, however I’ve not confirmed it…”


She trailed off as she reached the table. Her bow and quiver lay sadly on the floor under the bench. Her knapsack, however, had vanished.


Rainie went through several emotions at once. Disbelief, realization, despair, horror, and then fury. Blank faced and suddenly quite pale, she took a deep breath. And then cursed foully in a far-too-loud voice. Several heads swiveled to stare at her.


Struggling to keep her composure, Rainie turned to the noble woman. Fortifying her nerve with another deep breath, she said, “I do apologize, my lady. I seem have to misplaced my pack.” She clasped her hands over her chest and practically begged, “If you’ll only wait one moment, I’ll show you my goods. I’m most sure you will find them worthy.”


Rainie quite suspected that her knapsack had been snatched up by someone while she had been singing, or while she’d been distracted afterwards. Her keen eyes scanned the room, looking at each patron with an uncannily trained eye. Farmer, sailor, porter, mage, sailor… She didn’t see her pack anywhere. And none of the patrons she could see would have been observant enough…


With perhaps the exception of a few possible pirates who would keep at least one eye on the door.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Playing cards, Karendal noticeably stiffened as a pale skinned Elf came into the room. "What's wrong, Kare?" Brandar asks, looking up from the hand he'd just folded. The cards had been no good, so he was going to sit the hand out for the time being. "Do you smell it?"

Brandar blinked, not sure how to answer such an enigmatic question.

"Uh, smell what, Kare?"

The Dark Elf corsair, one palm resting on his helmet with it's stylized kraken look, lifted a slender finger and pointed. Brandar turned, arm going over the back of his chair, to spy the individual in question. "What about her?" He asks.

"She look... odd, to you?"

"Like she could be one of the...." He trailed off, realizing what he was saying. His eyes narrowed. Town of mages? Unnaturally pale elf? He didn't trust this further than he could throw it. Meanwhile, a ginger haired dwarf - the ship quartermaster - trotted over with Rainie's knapsack.

"Oi, look et ah found unoffen... unrote... un... left behind!" Belching, he opened the top, rifling through the contents within. "Ken probly sell it fer a coin or six."

Kare palmed the crown of his helmet, and Brandar found his hand going to his cutlass. "I'd say we should be ready for a fight." The quartermaster, quite sloshed, teetered like a soon-to-be-felled tree. "Ahwha?"

Brandar grunted, taking the knapsack out of the dwarf's hands. "You stole this... here?! Of all places!" He didn't have to smack the dwarf over the head; another crewmember did it for him. "If the guards come, there's gonna be a fight. That's why we're getting ready."

 

[Faurosk]

Despite the angry facade he had attempted to put up against his familiar, Faurosk couldn't help but smile at the woman's charming personality. There was something about it that he found oddly familiar, though he couldn't put a word to describe aside from 'appealing'. So, he did the best to relax, resting back onto his hind foot and propping an elbow up on his raised knee.

"Well, Rainie, it's a pleasure to meet you, and I'm sure my friend here feels the same." He nodded down to the dog once more, but kept his eyes raised up towards Lorraina. "My name's Faurosk-- It's like 'Forest', but, you know, with a 'k' at the en-" He trailed off then, glancing over to where he noticed dimly that someone was making her way towards them.

Once more did that tingling sensation emerge at the base of the mage's skull. He couldn't quite place what his dog was distressed over, but just as soon as he got a good look at the approaching stranger did a sense of danger emerge from the pit of his stomach. Faurosk rose to his feet in that instant and spun to look fully at the figure who'd just joined the conversation, perhaps doing so a fair bit quicker than he had initially intended to. An eyebrow arched up on his forehead while the woman spoke, but only when he caught a glimpse of her eyes did he realize what it was that had him on edge.

His memories dragged him back in time, someplace far to the east, placing him in the middle of a field encompassed by the burned remains of a once idyllic village. Smoke hung low in the breeze, clogging up his sense with the tingling warmth of ruined homes which sat too hot to scavenge and the inescapable scent of burning flesh. Over the horizon of his recollections strode a number of shambling corpses, each one with eyes aglow just like the elvish woman before him. His own heartbeat drummed out a percussive symphony in his ears as he stared unabashedly at this strange new woman, eyes glinting with a certain fear that he'd learned on his travels; The undead are not to be crossed lightly.

He only snapped out of his string of memories when he realized the redheaded woman had addressed him. He turned back to Rainie with a small laughed tinged slightly by nervous tension. "Please, the pleasure was mine," He said, clearing his throat and sweeping a loose collection of brown hair back behind his ear. "If you need me, I'll be at the bar..."

His eyes glanced momentarily to the elvish woman, though he tried his best to ignore her. "... Drinking the strong stuff and keeping my head down until the fog passes." He looked back to Rainie once more, giving a gesture of farewell that could either be considered a shallow bow or a deep nod and returning to the bar. His dog, however, stayed just a moment longer, staring up at the Elf and blinking twice before joining its owner back at his barstool.

 

[Rainie]

As she watched the maybe-pirates, considering asking for their help in finding who stole her bag, she watched one of them lift it from the hands of a dwarf. She could see the distinctive embroidery from where she stood.

And then she saw red.

"Excuse me, my lady," she gritted out. She loped across the tavern swiftly, dodging people, chairs and tables deftly. As she approached the possibly-pirates' table, she slowed her purposeful stride and put on a passive, calm face. Her stomach did a flip as she stood before them, smiling vapidly.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," she demurred, "I believe you've found my pack."

They blinked at her. Her eyes flicked down to several pairs of hands reaching for belts. Likely for weapons.

"You'll find nothing of value in there, unless any of you enjoy wearing women's lacy undergarments." She was trying very hard to sound calm and cool, but she was stressing out a teeny... tiny bit. She took a fortifying breath. She had been a cutthroat member of the Thieve's Guild! She needed to woman up. "It's not in my best interest to get the guards involved... I'm sure nobody meant to steal it. So if you could just give that back, I'll let you get back to-"

"Who stole something?"

"Someone stole something?"

"Are these filthy cads bothering you, miss?"

Rainie slowly turned around to see the peanut gallery of bar patrons. The volume of chatter rose, and chair legs scratched against the floor in a cacophonous chorus.

Wide eyed, she threw her hands in the air desperately. "No, no! No one stole anything! Please, everything is-" The door of the pub whooshed open, someone running outside, "completely fine." She finished lamely.

A head poked inside a moment later, the port guard uniform easily distinguishable. His gaze seemed to zero in on the table of probably-pirates, and he paled. He leaned out the door and shouted something, and suddenly at least half a dozen guards were ducking into the dusty tavern. The chaos of voices shouting drowned out Rainie's bellowed curse of rage and despair.

Why couldn't she just have a normal day? Just once.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Brandar stood, pack in hand, looking down to Rainie with his disfigured face. He was well aware of what he looked like - wisps of brown hair clinging to his scalp like the scrub left after a forest fire. The left side of his face and head looked like chewed fat from the leftovers of a steak.

His purple captain's coat was purloined from a Dark Elf, and as the bar almost descended into immediate chaos, he sized up the tavern. A tavern now much more quiet that the guard had arrived, and now that everyone had got a look at the pirates in question. Most pirate crews were homogeneous, primarily made up of disenfranchised mariners from whatever nation their home port called lord.

Not this one. His was filled with dark elves, dwarves, orcs, and sundry other creatures that he had to leave on the ship for fear of them being killed on sight. And so it was lucky for Rainie and Brandar both that one look at his mug had the roar of the crowd die off into silence so profound you could hear the couple arguing down the street.

Everyone knew that In Irons was docked in the harbor. The ship was, in fact, the reason the fog bank had settled over the town. It's Captain stood before them, her pack in hand.

"No one stole anything." He says, staring down at Rain but talking to the guards. Behind him, the rest of the pirates remained seated, clearly not too worry for the moment. "In fact, the dwarf, drunk as he is, didn't realize it hadn't been left behind. If it's yours, well..."

He held the sack out to her, his other hand on the pommel of his blade. There was no hiding the fact he was tense, and no keeping it out of his sandpaper voice. But for now, things had calmed.

 

[Rainie]

Hastily, Rainie snatched the bag with a bit of a flourish. Loudly, she said, "Thank you, kind sir! So sorry for this misunderstanding!" She faced resolutely away from the guards, shaking her hair into her face to hopefully conceal it. It was unlikely anyone would recognize her; it had been a long time since she'd been in Elbion. Problem was, she tended to cause a bit of trouble anywhere she went.

As she avoided looking at the guards, she instead focused very intensely on the definitely-pirate's face who had spoken. His face was scarred and disfigured, and Rainie could tell he'd been burned very badly. His voice, too, had sounded like it had been dragged through gravel then shoved in a meat grinder. His face was, put quite frankly, disturbing to look at. A chagrined smile slowly over took her face as she colored red.

She cursed internally. He was definitely a pirate. And she'd just sang a stupid ditty about him not minutes before.

It was no wonder that the guards slowly trickled back outside. Rainie's heart was still racing, and she waited until the very last guard finished talking to the barkeep before she let out a huge breath she'd been holding. Quite suddenly, she realized she'd stood frozen to the spot like a dumb statue. And had been staring at Brandar the Burned, Captain of the dreaded pirate ship In Irons, the whole time. Well.

"Well," she drawled aloud. "Thank you for my bag. And I really am sorry about the guards." Not like they seemed to be a problem for this particular crew. It was very likely only she who need worry about getting caught. Or maybe she was just paranoid.

"I'll just..." she trailed off, looking back towards the table. Raising her eyebrows, she marched over to the dwarf who had allegedly taken her pack. He was leaning heavily on a stool to stay standing. Quick as a whip, she snatched one of her belongings which was caught on a buckle of his clothing. It was a pair of rather inappropriate undergarments. She stuffed them out of sight, and suddenly felt very exhausted. Where was that barkeep; she needed a drink.

 

[Faurosk]

The buildup to an all out brawl might sometimes be compared to a firing an arrow.

At first, an arrow is nocked. Maybe somebody takes something that's not exactly theirs, perhaps a loaded question gets tossed out at exactly the wrong moment, or maybe there's just a series of terrible coincidences that build into a savage conclusion.

"Don't be a hero," the cruelest of his teachers at the college had told him. "Heroics are for when you have no other choice, you fool. When you can afford to take on a tremendous risk because there is no alternative. That's probably not today." He'd heard her speaking to someone he knew to be bad news. But did he raise his voice in warning? No. He took a deep swig, muttering a toast to the longevity of cowards.

After the inciting action occurs, or the proverbial 'arrow' is put into place, tensions build. An unseen hand tugs back on the bowstring, holding it taut and letting that elastic energy build.

Faurosk looked at the bottom of his mug, tinted a deep bronze by the three-quarters of a pint that still remained to be downed. For a moment, he thought he saw something glimmer along the metal surface of the tankard's rim- A memory long forgotten. He saw his childhood self being consoled by a man in flowing silken robes, having explained why he came home for the third time that month with a great big welt across his cheek. His father had always tried to be understanding, but it was on that day that he decided to teach his son in the arcane arts. Magic was, after all, the weakling hero's primary means to stay alive.

Once enough tension is built, all it takes is a wanton slip of the finger to release all of that pent-up energy into the flight of some pointed projectile, destined to deal damage, whether in denting some poor knight's platemail or perhaps by killing his squire. Now that would be an inconvenience.

The mage felt a small tug at the toe of his boot, and he glanced down to see his quadrupedal companion tugging him into the direction of raised voices and mentions of theft. "You know you're going to get us killed someday, right?" But the dog just tugged again, harder this time. "Alright, kid, you drive a hard bargain."

Faurosk sighed, pushing himself up from the bar and turning towards those attempting to rouse the rabble. He slung his staff around to his side, casually gripping it near its center and preparing himself mentally for whatever's to come. He didn't expect, however, that several guardsmen would run into the establishment at that precise moment. Tension immediately leapt into his shoulders, though he tried his best to disguise it. He hadn't done anything wrong, after all. He was simply in the right place at the wrong time. Though there's always the possibility that a series of unlucky coincidences could crescendo to yet another bloody conclusion.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Eilasandree watched as the tension in the bar began to build up, mouth still half open from where she had been about to assure the red head that she needn't bow or beg in such a way. She had been annoyed initially, but found the thought of being angry at the woman displeasing, and so was halfway through telling her it was okay when things began to move rather quickly. Closing her mouth, purple lips set into a disapproving frown as she watched the woman storm over towards a group of reprobates, lounging around on one side of the tavern. She had to hand it to her, the red head was as brave as she was beautiful, if she was willing to act in such a manner to people who quite obviously viewed violence as more of a first resort. Especially for a mere mortal.

As the tavern had begun to get louder, anyone with an inkling of magic would have felt a minor buzz coming from the necromancer as she preemptively called upon her power. There was a surprising amount of corpses around them, but very few weren't either coated in or underneath several feet of cement and stone. Fortunately, as a banshee the elf had access to more than just that, and to anyone vaguely perceptive they would have seen the tips of her stark white hair coalesce and begin to move minutely in ways that defied gravity. This quickly stopped, however, with the arrival of the local authorities.

Striding over in the direction of the guards, it took them only a glance at her attire to have what must have been the group's leader standing to attention with a "Ma'am. We were told of a possible commotion?", a glance directed towards the burnt commoner and his filthy looking crew. Looking away from where she had been raising an eyebrow at the red head's choice of undergarments, Eilasandree held up a hand and embraced her most imperious tone. "You needn't be concerned, guard." She says, voice commanding and well practised at giving orders.

"There was a simple misunderstanding, too much alcohol I believe." The guard opened his mouth in response, but was only halfway through asking who the drunkard was when he was waved off. "As i said, you needn't be concerned. Please, go about your day." Her voice grows darker and firmer at the last sentence, brooking no argument as slowly the man nods before signalling his underlings to shuffle out of the bar. Once the heavy oaken door was closed, Eilasandree took the moment to check her hair was back in its right place, before focusing once more upon the red head as she made her way over towards the barkeep. "Now, where were we, my dear?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Watching the woman take her panties back from the dwarf's belt, he laughed out loud, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet of the room. After a moment, he turned back to the crew, raising a brow. "I think it's time we cleared out." He says simply, motioning for them to get up.

Gathering up his cards, he slid them back into a pack, their dirty cardboard construction meaning he was going to need to get a new pack the next time he came across one. "Kare, I entrust you with the Quartermaster. Make sure he gets back to the ship." The Dark Elf scowled, then nodded, tucking his helmet under his arm as he stood.

With a forceful grip of his hand, fingers like claws on the dwarf's shoulder, he manhandled him towards the door and out of the establishment. "The rest a' ya, find another tavern to bother." Waving the grumbling sailors off, he moved to the bar, passing the barkeep a few coin for the trouble before walking towards the door himself.

He liked to keep a low profile, at least in port. Tensions ran high just imagining him docking, let alone if he actually made a hassle of himself. Pausing next to Rainie, and sizing up the Elf, he simply gave the redhead a tight smile - "Keep your wits about you. There's a lot of snakes hiding in the grass."

With that, he moved to leave, providing no one stopped him - he knew the guards wouldn't.

 

[Rainie]

Brandar's harsh laugh caused Rainie to jump, but she did have a little internal giggle at herself. Why was this her life? At a few sharp orders, the pirates began to pack up and head out.

Rainie felt a presence beside her and turned to find the lovely elven lady peering down at her. Rainie was struck by the sudden, subtle change in the woman's scent. Before, she had smelled of delicate and expensive perfume. Now, she seemed to carry the scent of petrichor.

"Now, where were we, my dear?"

Rainie felt herself flush at the endearment, and promptly scolded herself. She was a damn bard, she ought to be used to this. She found herself smiling despite herself.

She opened her mouth to reply, but she felt eyes on her again. T'was the pirate captain, pausing beside her and pinning her with a look. His smile looked like it pained him. "Keep your wits about you," he said. "There's a lot of snakes hiding in the grass."

Rainie knew at once what he meant. The woman beside her seemed to crackle with an aura that made her arms break out in goosepimples. It was kind of him to warn her, really. She tilted her head as he left, wondering what his life was like. She had always been enamored with the idea of pirates, ever since she was a child. She and her brother had played pirates from noon til sunset in the streets of Alliria's slums. The sea held a draw of unimaginable freedom, of not being rooted to land. Anything could happen. Living on a ship, being that free, never knowing what the next day would bring. It was an idealistic picture in her mind, and she sighed just daydreaming of it.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she turned back to her potential buyer. What the pirate captain didn't know was Rainie craved the danger of the unknown. She had sized the woman up upon first setting eyes on her, and not only did she like what she saw, but also the mysterious air about her. A puzzle to unravel. She was too curious for her own good.

Rainie cleared her throat. "Yes, well," she began, "Please choose a seat, and I'll come join you. I'll be but a moment."

Once the lady turned her back, Rainie allowed her stiff shoulders to slump. It'd been an age since she had last entertained nobles. But at least she still knew what to do.

First and foremost, she trudged over to the bar and ordered a strong drink. What time was it, anyway? Huffing a sigh, she looked around, measuring the mood of the room. Everything was fairly calm, but the bar's patrons were buzzing about the dramatic scene from before. Her gaze found kind dog owner, Faurosk, who was looking a bit tense. A tall walking stick (or staff) was clutched in one of his hands. She caught his eye and gave him a wry smile, gesturing helplessly, as if to say What just happened? I have no idea. Just the absurdity of it all!

Chuckling to herself, she retrieved her bow and quiver before returning to her buyer, taking a seat and scattering her items over the table and empty chair beside her. Rummaging around in her damned bag, she pulled out two heavy tomes, a slim guide on healing herbs, a small stack of letters, and a sparkling amulet on a leather cord.

She pulled the tome on Necromancy toward her first, angling it to allow her potential buyer to inspect the rich purple cover. "This is Animation of Corpses written by Alexium Guarapolos the third, transcribed over 80 years ago. Most of these copies were burned about 30 years ago due to superstition and prejudice regarding the study of Necromancy, as it goes against the Five Laws. It's unknown how many copies are left." She spoke as assuredly as she sang, not stuttering over a single word and making frequent eye contact.

Next, she pulled the amulet towards her. "I recovered-" stole "-this piece from the same place as that book. I suspect they're connected. I'm afraid I don't know very much about it, only that it holds some kind of enchantment that is currently in stasis." The gem, cut and sparkling, was set into a simple silver setting. The gem itself was odd; upon first glance it was a rich lilac, but light refracted green and yellow tones as it moved.

She described her other goods: a one-of-a-kind autobiography of a renowned alchemist, and an assortment of letters from various nobility. Rainie tucked the letters to the side, not exactly wishing to part with them if she didn't have to. She would, of course, for the right price. She rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward onto the table and taking a leisurely sip of her liquor with a demure smile.

 

[Faurosk]

The sparsely populated had calmed down to be sure, yet Faurosk couldn't drop the stress from his shoulders. The grip on his staff loosened idly, and he passed the focus to his offhand before trying and failing to straighten out his hair. The gesture did little to fix what short waves had fallen out of place since the morning, but it certainly helped to calm him down some. Even so, images of red eyes clung to the corners of his mind's eye. His gaze followed the Elven noble in spite of himself, his vision narrowing on her back as she walked to an empty table across the bar.

Something lavender glinted at the corner of his vision, drawing him back to his senses. He glanced over to his flank, realizing the kindly woman from earlier had met his gaze. His eyebrow cocked upwards in that moment, and he read her smile and gesture of helplessness roughly as she'd intended. The tension immediately lessened throughout his body, his shoulders slouching into an easy and open shrug. His head rolled to the right, and the pursed smile on his lips paired with the motions of his body, seeming to say I have no idea, either. Just glad it's over.

He couldn't help but crack a crooked smile as she departed, and he could tell that it was an odd sense of familiarity that provoked the action. He broke away before seeing where she was going, though, for he knew all too well how it felt to be gawked at as a spectacle. Returning to his bar stool without any more hassle, the wizard glanced around to see where the lute player from before had gone off to. While the excited chatter of the tavern served as a fine mesh of background noise, Faurosk always saw music as a means to centering himself, and he was disappointed to see the musician off talking in hushed stutters to another excitable tenant. The mage shrugged, glancing down to his previously abandoned tankard before taking a drink. If there wasn't to be any music provided, he would need to make his own. And so he sat there, thumping his fist lightly against the bar and singing to himself in a hushed tone. It was a simple tune, to be sure, but one he remembered quite fondly from his younger years in the outer city of Alliria.

"I come from a town of wealth and bridges old, where we tell a tale of pirates..." And so on he went, singing quietly to himself while his familiar dozed idly at his feet.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Eilasandree enjoyed the look upon the red head's face at her words with a warm sort of satisfaction, a small smirk adorning the noble's face as she acquiesced to the woman's request to seat herself, sauntering her way over towards the indicated seat and sitting in it, back straight and posture perfect, as it should be given the countless hours of drilling she had been installed with as to how to present oneself in every situation. She wasn't blind, and had seen the red head's reaction to her, and found herself... interested, she supposed. In more than one way, it was something exploitable. Her purple lips parted slightly, and she embraced a more sultry expression as the woman ordered herself a drink. She would have gone further, but the clothes she was wearing were expensive articles, and in the end what really mattered was the book. It was new, by tome standards, and yet there had only ever been five copies made in history. She had looked up Guarapolos in a way. The man had been eccentric, but that was what she supposed had allowed him to push the bounds of their craft so far. Whilst she stagnated and stuck to only what was known, he had pushed, further and further, learning and refining an art that had existed for uncountable aeons, and yet never been touched upon in such a way until then. Then again, the banshee supposed it was exactly this that had ended with his.. rather grisly demise by his subjects and the templars.

Still however, his legacy echoed on. There was really only one copy left, and as the beautiful woman made her way over and spread her wares upon the table, Eilasandree found it hard to... to... the ancient elf shook her head slightly, ruby red eyes closing in annoyance at herself as she found her eyes naturally trailing way from the book she had been hunting for almost eighty years and towards the thief in front of her, those pale lavender orbs meeting hers with an impressive amount of frequency, drawing her attention almost as well as the posture of the red head took. Mentally forcing herself to look down towards the book (with only a mild amount of hesitation), she elven noble couldn't help the smile on her face as she recognised Guarapolos' personal workbook. The tiny details, really only visible to a necromancer or a mage experienced in recognising magical disguises, spelt a picture to her others had missed for decades. Some of the traps on this were brutal, even by her standards. The only question was, what was so special about these notes that he would go so far to keep them safe?

Her attention was gained by the red headed woman once more, and not in the way that she had expected. An amulet recovered from the same collector that held Guarapolos' work? It had... potential, she supposed. Slowly, the elven lady drew her hand up from where it had been seated in her lap and uncurled her slender, pale fingers in an asking motion. "Would you mind if I touched it, miss...?" She trails off at the end, leaving the invitation open to the thief. For the first time in almost fifty years, she found herself somewhat interested in another mortal.

 

[Rainie]

Rainie was temporarily distracted by Faurosk at the bar, who was quietly singing her ditty from earlier. She supposed he had to have heard her sing earlier. It didn't necessarily mean he was from her hometown or anything... Even if he was slightly familiar. He was rather unassuming, his looks fairly plain. It could just be that she was confusing him with someone who was equally plain.

"Would you mind if I touched it, miss...?" The woman's voice trailed off expectantly.

"Oh," she intoned in surprise. "My name is Lorraina, but please, call me Rainie." Tempted as she was to ask the woman's name in return, she held off. Typically her buyers wished to remain anonymous. Instead, she wordlessly passed her the amulet, watching the object for any change or reaction with avid curiosity.

 

[Faurosk]

The disguised mage continued in his quiet singing, only being shaken from the time consuming by a small 'boof' from his feet. His dog, startled awake, barked at nothing in particular and blinked the sleep from its eyes. Concerned for the little guy's well being, Faurosk leaned forward and glanced down, smiling as kindly as he could and speaking in hushed tones. "I know, bud. I think it's been a long day for us all."

So, without another moment's thought, he leaned forwards and scooped the mutt up into his arms, resting the beast on his lap. The dog, however, is no chihuahua, and it's only due to a couple solid years of training and getting used to its owner that it doesn't fall back to the floor once more. "Bet you're envious, though. Unlike you, I can find rest and recreation after a long day walking. Don't feel too left out, though- between you and me, the ale's not all that it's cracked up to be"

The dog seemed to smile back, though perhaps not quite so widely as the mage himself grinned in self satisfaction. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, Faurosk idly waved a hand over his glass. Anyone looking might just see a few small flecks and sparkles of arcane energy wick off of his hand and fall into his tankard as he worked what was evidently some minor prestidigitation. While it would be considered a small miracle by some, salvaging the flavor of a beverage through the power of the arcane was a fairly regular occurrence for the frugal wizard.

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

As soon as Lorraina handed the amulet over into the expectant hand of Eilasandree, the banshee's porcelain face creased into a frown. There was... this was... hm. The amulet held the magical signature of Guarapolos all over it, for sure, but there were... barriers. All over it, and in such intricate and mixed ways that the necromancer found it almost mind boggling to comprehend. The man had seemingly been able to not only reinforce the amulet with necromantic wards, but also every type of common magical school that wasn't divine. It was impressive, and beyond frustrating. Biting her lip lightly out of scorned anger, the noble elf couldn't help but scoff in derision. There were ways around this. She would just need to contact a few researchers in the city, a few mages at the top of their field. Work down the wards one at a time. It would just... take time, she supposed.

How annoying.

Still, she did have what she came for, plus a little extra. Depending upon how much the rogue charged, however, she may need to retreat to gather more gold from where she was staying. She was sure that the Von Humperdings wouldn't mind her inviting a... business partner into their mansion, if needed, but the elf would rather not. Those people were... annoying, to say the least, and tended to be a little too nice to the common rabble. Sighing to herself, a habit still not broken after being dead for so many years, the banshee reaches into the lower half of her outfit, slender fingers slipping past purple and black silk, to grasp the small bag of pure gold, elven coins there. Withdrawing it, she places the brown cloth on the table with the clatter of metals. "How much for the both of them..." A pause, as she comes to a decision, "Raine."

 

[Rainie]

Rainie considered for a moment, tracing her bottom lip with her callused finger tip. Her mind raced through the numbers, considering all the probable prices due to all the circumstances. The amulet had been difficult to get appraised, as the enchantment was still unknown. The price for such a bauble without an enchantment could be around a hundred or so gold, perhaps two hundred for the uniqueness and size of the stone. Depending on the enchantment, it could increase the value greatly. However, since she didn't know what it was... she may as well charge top dollar, just in case the enchantment was something amazing or unique. So, two-ninety for the amulet.

Then there was the book, which she had had appraised by a shifty partner of her old Thieves Guild. It was a very rare book, she knew. One that would be very difficult to come by because of the prejudice around it's subject of study. But then there was the damage, which the elf had not yet noticed.

Peeking over at the lady, Rainie considered her options. As horrible as it sounded, a friendship with this lady could be very beneficial to her. At the very least, going by others' reactions to her, she was not someone she wished to make an enemy of. Plus, well, Rainie may have a bit of a weakness for tall, intimidating women. Okay, she thought the lady interesting and wanted to know more. It wasn't the first time.

All of this went through her head in less than a second. Coming to her decision, she reached for the book once more. She flipped the pages through to near the very end, where around five pages had been torn out. Whatever had been written there, for there indeed was ink on the scraps left, was the last thing Guarapolos wrote. The remaining pages were blank.

"So, considering both the value of the tome, and the damage, I price the book at five and fifty. The amulet's assumed value, accounting for the unknown nature of the enchantment, I'd price it around two-ninety. For you," she flicked her gaze up to meet the lady's eyes, "I'd be happy to round that off at an even eight hundred." She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward on her elbows. She let that sink in for a second.

"Now," she continued before the lady could speak, "I would be willing to negotiate the price. However, I've personally been looking high and low for these missing pages. I'm willing to continue that search and give you the pages should I ever find them, free of charge, if you take my offer."

She smiled beatifically and held the lady's gaze unblinkingly.

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk's nose wrinkled involuntarily, and his drink caught momentarily in his throat. Something foul was sending a deep resonance throughout the bar- the kind that the average person couldn't quite pick up on. Since Faurosk was- in spite of his current looks -far from 'average', he felt the most peculiar sense of dread well up at the back of his head. The kind of dread that he'd only felt a few times before, and always within the context of learning to defend himself against dark magicians.

He cast his drink aside, lowering his pup to the ground before taking a stand and rising to his feet. The dog growled for a moment, though it wasn't sure whether it was more upset by the 'bad vibe' rolling through the astral plane or the fact that it had been dismissed from cuddling. Faurosk grabbed his staff casually, casting one glance over the worn runes engraved around its grip as if to verify they still had some amount of magic left in their reserves to shield him from whatever was to come. Without any further ado or showmanship, he made his way to where the two women sat, arriving just after the subject of pricing had finished its course. Along the way, the phrase "...unknown value of the enchantment," stuck out to him. He took a stance right at the table, resting a hand on an empty chair's back and looking over what merchandise had been spread about the table. His eyes locked immediately to the amulet, suddenly identifying what it was that had been clouding his senses with shades of gray and entropy. "I'd be careful not to touch that," he said, raising a finger in the direction of the pendant. "Some kind of dark magic, I'd say, but it's always better to be safe than sorry with these things."

He smiled at Rainie and Eila in turn, though the expression to the latter came off as somewhat forced. "If you could use some assistance in figuring out exactly what it is, well, today may just be your lucky day."

 

[Eilasandree Ival]

Eilasandree looked up from where she had been looking into Rainie''s eyes silently, mulling over what had been told to her. She couldn't lie that she was extremely curious as to the ripped out pages, and appreciated the thief's honesty about it. What she didn't appreciate was the price of the two items. She would pay it of course, and she knew people of her profession could be quite... emotional, so she wouldn't try to barter. The noble simply put on a beatific smile to match the woman's before her and gives a firm, commanding nod. "In that case we shall need to take a small detour to the residence that I am currently pre-" She begins, straightening in her seat and still maintaining eye contact, ruby red clashing with lavender, when a male voice interrupted her.

Scowling out of both annoyance and anger, the elven noble looks towards the man who had arrived with a dog in barely contained anger. How dare this commoner be so rude as to interrupt someone, especially elven nobility. It was only his next words that stayed her tongue, eyes instead glancing down towards the amulet in her hand and then back towards the mage. Her face marred into a frown as she slowly digests his words, and it was for this reason only that she wasn't attempting to verbally maul him. "Oh?" She begins, turning slightly in her seat to face the man. "I presume you would be able to aid me in disenchanting the locks on this amulet?" While he may be rude, if he was useful... well, she had enough money to pay both. "If so, I believe I can meet whatever price you so desire to charge."